Finding Heaven in Steel Town

Growing up in Montreal, being a fan of any other NHL club is sacrilege. It's foolish folly. During playoffs, it's a death wish. If you're a Toronto Maple Leafs fan, you should just go ahead and walk around town with a paper bag on your head. But growing up just two blocks away from Mario Lemieux's old house in Ville-Emard presents an interesting dilemma. A big piece of my heart will always belong to the Montreal Canadiens of old - the Jean Beliveau's, the Maurice Richard's (I wear a 9 pendant around my neck in tribute to him), the Ken Dryden's. The glory days. But I simply can't hide it anymore - I grew up a Penguins fan, through and through. Mellon Arena, or the "Igloo" as it is affectionately dubbed, is home of the Pittsburgh Penguins; and the oldest rink in the league. It opened in 1961 as the Civic Arena, originally for the Pittsburgh Civic Light Opera. When the Penguins came to be in 1967, they took over the Igloo. The rest is history. But Old lady Mellon is being torn down next year in favour of the new Consol Energy Center, a much-needed upgrade for Captain Crosby and his funky bunch. While Mellon will always be the House That Mario Built, his legacy is stepping aside to make way for the new era, and the Temple That 87 Built. An old soul at heart, I knew I couldn't go without ever seeing Mellon Arena. The Penguins are a franchise I'm determined to work for one day (sooner rather than later), and this was a huge part of their history. So just like that, tickets to the game vs Montreal on Feb. 19 in hand, I grabbed my best travel buddy and a big hockey fan (my dad) and we were on a plane to Steeltown. I had always heard Pittsburgh was absolutely insane with pride over their Steelers, which is no surprise. In the same way an old-time Montrealer will speak fondly of our 24 Stanley Cups, a Pittsburgh native will get teary eyed when discussing prodigal son, Steelers' quarterback Ben Roethlisberger. You don't even have to leave the airport to know you've landed in an NFL twilight zone. The Delta airline desk is covered in Steelers photos, signs, and even a yellow and black lei. After exiting the gate and descending just one escalator, a larger-than-life replica of Franco Harris making "the catch" is on proud display. As I would later learn, ask any local Pittsburgher about The Immaculate Reception and they'll get extremely emotional. The Immaculate Reception was conceived in a playoff game between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Oakland Raiders at Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on Dec. 23, 1972. While many locals would vehemently argue that there is much more to the story - in short, Steelers' running back Franco Harris made an incredible catch, ran like hell, got the touchdown and won the Steelers' the game - they didn't even win the Superbowl that year. They just won the game. After pausing for a picture with Franco "Jesus" Harris, it was time to explore Steeler City on the shuttle to our hotel. Despite having two of the brightest young stars in the league and a roster comprised of young, exciting players, the Penguins are taking a backseat to the Steelers (maybe rightfully so) and, as hard as it is to imagine, NCAA basketball. Everywhere around town, Steelers memorabilia is hung and displayed with pride. Every person I passed in a mall had some form of Steelers paraphernalia on them - gloves, hats, toques, jackets. Pitt University sweatshirts were a dime a dozen. Ben Roethlisberger, Troy Polamalu and Hines Ward are on bus shelters, license plates, car windows, houses, everything. Sidney Crosby can be found on a small bus shack poster in West End, proclaiming what a great day it is for hockey. Across the centre of his Penguins crest is a messily written "Steelers rules!" It's strange to think the Penguins are talked about so much more in Montreal than they are in Pittsburgh. While Montreal is indisputably Hockey Mecca, it feels as though the Penguins should be a pretty big deal in their hometown, with the talent they possess on their roster. Upon opening Friday's issue of USA Today, however, I got my answer as to why. There on the fourth page of the sports section was a small picture of a Penguin player outmuscling a Hab. That's all there was. Just a picture, and a stat saying the Penguins had won the game 5-4. Hockey will always take a backseat in America, while it's the driving force in Canada. Pittsburgh is big city living, small town style. Everyone is remarkably friendly, chatty, and if they don't know you by name already - they want to. The steel mill days have been done and over for more than 35 years, yet every single local I talked to - from kids aged seven or eight to adults in their 80's - had some very strong connection to one of the many steel mills that Pittsburgh is known for. It's a classic, blue-collar, friendly town, and it's easy to see how a guy like Sidney Crosby from Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia can find a home in the comforts of Pittsburgh. While quiet and humbling, perhaps striking is the sheer amount of hills that are in the city. It's deceiving that something literally half a mile away could take you over 40 minutes to drive to, for the sheer fact that you can't go in a straight line to your destination. Instead, you have to swerve and curve along multiple winding roads until you twist your way to your destination, often flustered and slightly frightened. This Montrealer was stuck to her seat, and that says a lot.   Upon noticing my clear state of distress, the nice shuttle driver tried to make conversation to tear my eyes away from the curving precipice we were climbing.   "Where yinz coming from?" he asked. I stared at him.   Yinz? As unique to Pittsburgh as their hilly landscapes is the native language of Pittsburghese. So unique, in fact, that in one particular pub we visited, a sign on the wall translated all Pittsburghese words into actual English. There's even a website. Yinz, for instance, is the equivalent of "you guys" or "you all." And the Steelers, in fact, are not the Steelers. They're the Stillers. Actually, the "ee" sound doesn't exist at all in Pittsburghese. Really is rilly, nearby is nebby (or nosy), and beer is bir. When the language issue was clarified, I told him we were from Canada. "Ah, Toronto?" he asked. With his accent, it came out "Tarunnah." It would be the first of five times on this trip that, when informed I was Canadian, a Pittsburgh native assumed I was from Toronto. "No," I said, "Montreal."   "Oh. Is that near Toronto?" he asked. I shook my head. "So what're yinz in town for?" he asked. I told him about the journey my dad and I had embarked on, flying all the way out to Pittsburgh to catch the Penguins play a home game at a historic rink. His boisterous laugh shook the van. "Boy, leave it to two Canadians to pull summin' crazy like that," he laughed. I smiled sheepishly and he turned to face me. "How are them Guins doing this year anyway? Mario still cap'n? Good guy, that Mario," he said. It was then that I realized - the Penguins are a really big deal everywhere except Pittsburgh. When the shuttle finally arrived at the hotel, the driver had one small request. "Ma'am, I understand if you'd not be wanting to do this," he said, "But couldya please, just once, say 'what's that about, eh?'" he asked. He was nice enough to give my dad and I a tour of the city, and it was a request I faced nearly every time I made a trip south of the border.   I sighed, put on my best thick Canadian accent (the kind the Maritimers talk with), and humoured him.   "What's that aboot, eh?" I emphasized. He hollered so loud the van nearly shook. A quick drop off of the luggage and we were out of the hotel again, this time to stock up on all American goodies that aren't available in Montreal - dinner at the Olive Garden, an abundance of peanut butter Captain Crunch, and a gluttonous trip to the Cold Stone Creamery that ended in a belly ache and another semi-humiliating performance of "what's that aboot, eh?" Still, I refused to remove the maple leaf from my coat. I'd deal with the attention it brought. A late night snack on a Pittsburgh classic was also in order. An acquaintance in Pittsburgh who works for FSN recommended I try a famous Primanti sandwich. The "true taste of Pittsburgh" was invented by the Primanti brothers, who first opened up shop as a small lunch stand in Pittsburgh's strip district (which is, er, not in the same context as Montreal "strip" district). The sandwich consists of almost any kind of meat you want but each 'wich is topped with a handful of greasy fries and a mound of coleslaw. It is indeed as heart-attack inducing as it sounds. When it was plunked in front of me, I stared at it wide-eyed. My hands weren't even big enough to wrap around the sandwich, let alone get my jaws around it for a bite.While definitely tasty and a great junk food kick, I feared complete kidney failure if I even attempted to finish the mongrel. Thursday was the day of the Penguins vs Canadiens game at Mellon Arena. After exploring just a fraction of everything Pittsburgh had to offer (Heinz field is a sight to behold), it was time to head to the game. Pittsburgh is nicknamed the "City of Three Bridges" because it's the point in which three major rivers merge. The Allegheny and Monongahela rivers bond at Point State Park to form the Ohio River. The three rivers are surrounded by three humongous bridges: the Fort Pitt Bridge, the Fort Duquesne Bridge and the West End Bridge, all vast metal structures binding the city together. And off in a corner, left of it all, is old Mellon Arena. My first reaction upon entering Mellon Arena was being completely shocked at how small it is. You're from a pretty special place when you think a 17,000-seat arena is tiny. Mellon Arena is definitely no Bell Center, but it sure is charming. The seats are small, but not nearly as cramped as the ones at the Bell Center, and the floors at both arenas have the classic, hockey-rink stickiness that is so appealing to the bottom of your shoes. While the delicious wafting of gooey poutine was definitely missing from the air, the abundance of nachos and beer made up for the lack of the Quebecois staple. Despite the boasted sell-out, I spotted many empty seats throughout the game that remained vacated. But there is another shocking reality to watching a hockey game in the USA: it's eerily silent. It's hard to say whether or not this is because the added 4,000+ people in the Bell Centre really make a difference, or simply because Americans just have a different way of enjoying the game. And there's nothing wrong with that. As far as I know, there has been no riot in Pittsburgh when a fan favourite was suspended from the playoffs. And there was no riot when the Penguins made the playoffs two years ago. The crowd did cheer when a goal was scored or a penalty went uncalled, but it was just that - a cheer. There was no thunderous roar that starts off slowly in the pits near the ice and then slowly rises to the point where all you hear is a stampede of vocals, coming, crashing, roaring, until you feel like the entire building is going to come down. I've been up on the press gallery for many Habs games at the Bell Center. When the lights go off, before any player has stepped on the ice and before the opening video starts - the roar begins. Rapidly it climbs the sections, up and louder, as the hairs on the back of your neck rise and your eardrums beg for mercy. I've clutched onto the front glass guarding the long tables on the gallery, for fear that the sheer decibels the crowd reached would cause the entire scaffolding to come down. Once you've lived that, experienced that, any cheering that isn't from the depths of that arena seems to pale in comparison. All cheering also ceased every time the puck was dropped. The arena was so quiet that it was easy to hear the players on the ice communicating with one another, which was interesting. Odour is usually not the only foul thing flowing from a hockey player - their use of colourful language is as good as it gets. Their mascot is a sight to behold too, and I'm sure he won't soon forget the incident Thursday night. While heading back to my seat from a quick nacho run, I ascended the stairs, food in hand. Iceburgh, the massive Penguin, was sitting in a chair to the right, and I smiled as I passed by him. Being naturally clumsy and entirely uncoordinated, one of my shoes got caught in the stair and in a flail of flapping arms and kicking feet, I took a tumble. Nachos went flying, my arms were still flapping as if I was about to take flight. Iceburgh, being a nice mascot, reached out in an attempt to catch me, but I was already ass over elbows - and his massive, fur-covered hands ended up grabbing a fair share of my posterior, in an effort to balance me. As if being slightly violated by a well-meaning mascot wasn't bad enough, the situation was further escalated when a man snapped a photo of Iceburgh and I in the very compromising position. I quickly righted myself after Iceburgh threw his hands up in a plea of innocence, and did the quick checklist of injuries I usually do when I fall down (which happens a lot): Scrapes: minor. Broken bones: nope. Concussion: nope. Bruises: probably. "I'm okay," I said laughing, "I'm not crazy, just Canadian. There's a difference."   "Yinz from Canada huh? Toronto?" the photo-snapping man asked. I shook my head. Iceburgh-incident aside, being inside Mellon Arena was incredible. The small space was intimate, and with Mario's famous 66 hanging from the rafters, this arena and this town earned its place in history. With a roster of the brightest young stars on the market, the Penguins will flourish in their own right, especially with a newer, bigger, more modern rink in the works. The Penguins also have a brilliant marketing team behind them, and have a marketing machine in Crosby. Hockey has already gained popularity, with Crosby teaming up with Reebok and Dick's Sporting Goods to develop more youth hockey programs to get young people involved in the sport. Hockey will find its rightful place in Pittsburgh. It will never be on the same pedestal as NFL football, but maybe after four more Stanley Cups, they won't be that far. After staying in my seat well after the game was over (and after a gentle prodding of "Yinz should be going now" by the usher), it was time to leave old lady Mellon behind. I gave one last look to centre ice and vowed that the next time I'm in Pittsburgh, I'll be working for the Penguins.

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