The morning after the Penguins won the Stanley Cup I woke up, looked across the hotel room and told Britt that my Steelers were in possession of the Lombardy Trophy, my Penguins were now the Stanley Cup Champions and I was so happy, if she wanted I could fly.
When I finally had the opportunity to fucking HUG Lord Stanley’s Cup it was a miracle that my feet stayed on the ground.
Although my knees did go kinda weak when my favorite former Penguin agreed to pose for a photo with me!
I might have squeeed. A few times. 
The moment I saw Phil Bourque enter the room I did the happy girl wiggle. Of course I approached him and asked if he would pose for a photo with me and The Cup. The man is incredible and quickly obliged. Later when we were talking I mentioned that he was always one of my favorite Penguins (well, him and Trots…Brian Trottier). The Ol Two Niner didn’t believe me. He actually said that I probably tell all the Pens that. I only got mostly pissed, telling him I hate liars so I don’t run around telling all the Penguins that they are my favorite. Then I sort of smiled and said that back in the day, while the entire city had a crush on Lemieux, I had a HUGE crush on him. I might have went on about how attractive he was and still is, might have rambled a bit about the way he skated…blah, blah, blah.
All I know is that the Ol Two Niner is ADORABLE when he blushes. And he doesn’t mind the happy girl wiggle he witnessed several times. Squeeeeeeeee!
(I don’t think many people saw me totally making out with The Cup, though. Whew!)
Ξ September 9th, 2009 | → 3 Comments | ∇ sports |
I got suckered into joining a fantasy football league. When I say suckered it is because I know nothing of fantasy sports. If the team isn’t wearing Black and Gold, I really don’t care about the players, which makes fantasy play kinda difficult. More like completely difficult.
But I enjoy the smack talk going on in our league. And I refuse to trade any of the players that the computer picked for me. Basically I just talk shit all the while knowing that my guys are gonna suck it up. Did I mention that I named the team Visions of Victory? Yep. Totally did. Coz I am stoopid.
One of the guys that I adore was enjoying the email smack talk and stirred up a little more on the league homepage by posting this:
“AP is reporting that Rebecca “Sugar Plumb” Z was out on the town Saturday night, incognito, scouting for Tight Ends. Surveillance cameras caught team owner Z leaving a Pittsburgh Piggly Wiggly in with several unidentified hopefuls, and a case of Old Milwaukee.”
My reply was simple:
“First, Pittsburgh does not have “Piggly Wigglies” ya nutbag.
Second, I haven’t consumed Milwaukee’s Best since my junior year of high school.
Third, call me Sugar Plumb one more time and I am seriously going to break your arm.
Fourth, I scout Tight Ends every day of the week.
Fifth, you know I do nothing incognito, baby.
Also? I hate you all.”
Hey, I said simple, not classy.
Today I realized that the “logo” I uploaded as a placeholder really sucked. I mean, a giant letter V is not a logo. I have seen my share of sugar plum images these past few days from those in my league so after work I went searching via the Google Gods, trying to find some free V with Viper teeth or V with a snake wrapped around it. The greatest V logo ever was easy to find, but not something I was allowed to steal since it already belongs to an arena football team.
So I cried to my coworker. He is the one that tolerated Britt and I crashing at his home in South Carolina back in January, which means he is an all around great guy who doesn’t mind me boohooing on his shoulder that I can’t find a decent fucking logo. Next thing I know, there is an email in my inbox. I have my new logo.
Yeah, bay-bee!
Also, first fucker to say something about “Visions of Sugar Plums” in the comments gets tackled.
Even though it is a crappy photo, it is still magnificent.
Lord Stanley’s Cup, home in Pittsburgh:
It is funny how this town kind of gets into your blood. Even when people move far away, they still have a soft spot for the Three Rivers, still bleed Black and Gold. When I went to visit my uncle, who has lived in Hawaii for over 10 years, I jokingly took a Pittsburgh flag. He wrapped it around himself like a blankey. I couldn’t help but giggle at how a man who lives in paradise could have his face light up at such an inexpensive present.
Gawd, I love this town.
FUCK PHILLY! GO PENS!
Yes, the Penguins are playing game two tonight against the Flyers. One would think a Pennsylvania girl would be happy having two teams in the playoffs, but there are crystal clear lines drawn and I am wholeheartedly on the Penguins side.
We won the first playoff game and I would love another win tonight.
Fuck Philly.
Updated to add this photo from That Guy. He got it from The Pens Blog.
Monday I had the pleasure of getting to the ballpark early. Maybe stick my toes in the grass, maybe watch batting practice, maybe grab a beer for breakfast. Ya know, spring training baseball stuff.
Which lead to me meeting several players. Only one of the guys I met I could pick out of a lineup. Not that Jack Wilson is anything but the pilar of society. Seriously, I ran into him a year ago at a Penguins hockey game and he handled himself with poise and kindness. Monday when I mentioned the situation he immediately smiled and said, “You mean that Pens game against the Maple Leafs?” I was sure to inform him of how impressed I was with his character. Not your typical sports douche bag.
See: 
Then I met a guy who reminded me of Britt‘s husband. Jared is tall and thin, so is Bixler. When I slid my arm around his waist, it kept wrapping around because little Brian did really not have much of a waist. I giggled and told him he was too skinny. And then, embarrassingly enough, I told him to eat a cheeseburger and to bulk up. Because obviously I am an ass and should not be permitted in public. Anyhow, doesn’t he totally remind ya of Jared: 
Brian was way cool, even though I said stupid stuff to him about him being too thin. Hell, he even let me photograph his hand. Love me some strong hands on a man.
My favorite typical me part of the day came when some cute player that I didn’t recognize was there, being all friendly. I pose for a photo and tell him not to worry, that my hand is where it belongs, on his lower back. He made the mistake of asking where it didn’t belong. So I um, well, I slid my hand down to firmly cup his perfect ass. He smiled for the photo and chuckled a southern laugh a bit. My knees may have gone a little lot weak at the Southern accent. We took a bunch of photos. Here is one:
Turns out Matt Capps is a relief pitcher. I seem to have a thing for closers.
More to tell, but I am tired. And you guys are probably all about tired of me gushing about Spring Training.
At least I am not gloating that the Pitt Panthers have advanced to the Elite Eight. (Oh yeah, bested Xavier and are movin on…whoooooooooooot!)
Sunday my Pirates sucked it up against the Reds. All was forgiven considering how wonderful and intimate our Spring Training facility is. I was THISCLOSE to every thing and every one. It was almost too perfect, like a dream baseball experience. Especially when I thought I caught a glimpse of my all time favorite baseball player.
When I was a little girl, he was our closer. Our relief pitcher who broke records. The tall, skinny guy with thick glasses and an unusual sidearm throw. The Rubber Band Man. It was a pure love, nothing sexual. I was just a kid and he was a winner. The Pirates’ theme song was “We Are Family” and we spelled relief T. E. K. E.
As the youngest of six kids, baseball games weren’t a weekly pleasure. When I had the rare opportunity to attend, I would pray that Kent Tekulve would be our relief pitcher. Most people went to see Dave Parker, Willie Stargell, John Candelaria and later Tony Pena. Not me. God and I had conversations where I begged to have Tekulve take the mound and save a game for the Buccos.
When the Pirates traded Teke in 1985 I cried. Major sobs. Wailing, actually. NOT pretty. I just didn’t grasp the business side of baseball and was truly angry with the Pirates for not continuing to love Tekulve as much as I did. A solemn vow for a boycott of the Pirates was promised. There was no way I was ever going to see another game. It only lasted about two years, but to a girl who was only 14 or so when the Pirates broke her heart, it was a long time.
Flash forward to this past Sunday, while I was in Bradenton, FL to watch Spring Training games. I could have sworn I saw a tall man wearing number 27 and hanging around. At one point he turned enough towards the stands and, embarrassingly enough, I squealed. Loudly. Might have even hollered, “OH MY FUCK, THAT’S TEKE!”
I told anyone who would listen that they had to get me an opportunity to meet Kent Tekulve. He currently works for FSN Pittsburgh and does post game analysis. Someone had to have the connections to get me to meet my all time baseball idol.
And then Monday at McKechnie Field it happened.
I was lightheaded. I was shaking. Kent was encouraging, reminding me to do the natural thing and breathe. Somehow I didn’t throw up or pass out. The only thing I had for him to sign was my $200 bar bill from the night before. He was a good sport and signed it without calling me a drunk. Then it dawned on my that he could sign the back of my jersey. Without complaint, he signed my jersey.
Then we sat down to lunch. I shit you not. Lunch! With my all time baseball hero! Even though he laughed at me for my by my teenage self boycott, he was kind and open, sharing stories about his grand kids and life in Pittsburgh. While he ate lunch.
It was all that I imagined it to be. More, actually. The photos don’t show how happy I was. Still am.
Thanks, Kent, for somehow teaching a young girl to love baseball and for proving that dreams really do come true. Even if sometimes it takes longer than 20 years!
(Tomorrow I’ll post photos of me with a few of the current players. Especially the one of me with the cute pitcher where I am holding his ass in my hand. Nice!)
I am so excited. Late Thursday I found out that I am officially going to Bradenton, FL to watch my Pirates play baseball. Sunday the 22nd the Buccos take on Cincinnati’s Reds and Monday they play Tampa Bay. I’ve never done the Grapefruit League thing before so this a brand new adventure. Way cool.
Best part? All free! Free plane tickets, free transportation to the free hotel, free shuttle to the games and free tickets. Even one free meal with the players. Only thing I have to pay for would be my souvenirs and anything I want to eat. And all of my drinks.
Fuck, this might be an expensive trip.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
See the photo above? I feel that happy and I wasn’t even on the field. Man, I love this town. And my Steelers. Way to bring home the Lombardi Trophy again.
Although if we are able to get to the Super Bowl again? Try to not have the game get down to the last few minutes. I almost peed my pants. More than once.
There is so much I want to say, yet my sweet sleep is calling. Hope I have happy, winning Super Bowl dreams.
P.S. The punch a koala commercial made me laugh harder than I wanted to. Anyone else?
Our Father, who art in Pittsburgh,
Football be thy game.
Thy Kingdom come, 5 Super Bowls won,
On earth as it is in Heinz Field.
Give us this day a playoff Victory, and forgive us our penalties,
As we defeat those evil birds who play against us.
And lead us into a victory, and deliver us to Tampa!
A-Ben
GO STEELERS!!!
Not only did my beloved Steelers pull out one hell of a win, but I received all kinds of encouraging messages before, during and after the game. Some text messages, a few Twitter messages, several text messages to my phone and a few phone calls. All to tell me that the Steelers made folks think of me or that they were watching and rooting for my boys. From California to Massachusetts to Florida and many parts in between. I’m telling you, sometimes I fell like I am 80 because the internet *still* manages to amaze me. Love being connected to you guys. Awesome. Like a possum.
Oh. Guess I should explain that one. hehe
Well, one of my bosses has about a hundred cats, give or take 20, plus she also puts food outside for any of the ones who live outside that she can’t lure in. (Sure, I am exaggerating here, but the woman does love the kitties and she does make sure that if any are passing through the neighborhood, they can grab a bite safely on her back porch.) ANYhow, several raccoons enjoy the free buffet also. It is pretty cool to sit in her dining room and look out the sliding glass door to see two raccoons and a feral cat eating out of the same bowl. Some of the cats have even taken to washing their paws in the water bowl, just like the raccoons.
So one day, K’s teenage stepson looks out the sliding glass doors and says, “Wow, there is an anteater out there.”
“???”
“There’s an anteater out back.”
“Possum.”
“Yeah, it is awesome.”
:doh:
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