SUPERBOWL XLV: AN AMERICAN CELEBRATION: PART VI:: American History, Blue-Collar Athletes and Game Time at Wal Mart

In honor of the most American Superbowl matchup of all time, Nosebleed Rumblings has devoted the week to the Pittsburgh Steelers and Green Bay Packers. "American History, Blue-Collar Athletes and Game Time at Wal Mart is the final installment of a six-part series. Click here for Part Five.

AMERICAN HISTORY

Flozell Adams, who traces his
lineage back to former President
John Quincy Adams, is one of five
Steelers with roots in the
White House.

To the delight of scholars, the Steelers roster reads like the index of an American History textbook. The Steelers currently employ the preacher (Emmaneul Sanders), baker (Charlie Batch), janitor (Matt Spaeth), carpenter (LaMarr Woodley), soldier (Arnaz Battle), servant (Crezdon Butler) and the sons of five former presidents (Flozell Adams, Ike Taylor, Anthony Madison, James Harrison and David Johnson). The team also boasts a delicious creation from the neighborhood Jewish deli (the Roethlisberger), a fresh bottle of ketchup (Heinz Ward) and a made-for-adult ice cream float featuring real beer (Heath Miller).

TRUE BLUE-COLLAR PLAYERS

There are no actual Jaguars prowling the swamps of Jacksonville, but the football players in Pittsburgh actually worked in the steel mills during the 1970s. So after battering a few unfortunate opposing linebackers on the field, Franco Harris and his barrel-chested brethren would strap on their hard hats and saunter into the hellfire of the mill for a few shifts of casual weekend smelting. From deep inside a fiery furnace of molten steel and sulfuric air, those Steelers forged a bond that would strengthen their Steel Curtain to levels of unprecedented impenetrability. Meanwhile, down in sunny San Diego, teammates dressed in lightning bolt costumes and spent their spare time peddling cell-phone chargers on the boardwalk by the beach. 

CLOSING THOUGHTS: GAME TIME AT WAL MART

I had the unexpected blessing of stumbling into a Wal Mart last weekend. Though I hate Wal Mart to the same degree that I love freedom, I was in the car with a friend who needed to buy some batteries. 

As tears streamed down my face, I knelt and prayed
at this football altar in the middle of Wal Mart.

Upon entering the store, I immediately felt humbled. Humans like myself usually waltz through the day thinking the world revolves around us, but the unbelievable scope of the Wal Mart really put things in perspective. I am just a small cog in a massive, beautiful machine. As I gazed upon the shelves of foreign-made goods stretching infinitely into the cosmos beyond, I realized how fleeting our time on this Earth is, and vowed to become a better human being.

Suddenly, I was snapped out of my trance by a majestic, leathery voice booming from somewhere above: "In 1994, the San Francisco 49ers transformed football into art, and in Superbowl XXIV, they painted a masterpiece." My eyes wandered hungrily over to the sound, and my jaw dropped upon seeing the dream-like display in front of me: a Weber Genesis E-320 grill; piled high with “Great Value” hamburger and hotdog buns; adorned with gleaming rows of ketchup and mustard bottles; and crowned by an immaculate 72-inch Sony flatscreen TV showing highlights of Steve Young showered in confetti, screaming like a madman while brandishing the Vince Lombardi Trophy.

At this sacrificial altar to the Gods of football and John Madden, I knelt as tears of gratitude streamed down my face. It was as if I, like Christopher Columbus before me, had finally stumbled upon the paradise I sought, in a place I never thought it existed. Through the haze of glory, I heard the narrator’s rich voice say, “When excellence becomes tradition, there is no end to greatness.” The weight of this simple truth hit me like a James Harrison haymaker.

My friend tapped me on the shoulder with the economy pack of Double-A batteries he had found and said, “Let’s go.” I snapped a picture of the altar on my cell phone, muttered a few final prayers, and wandered outside in a drunken haze.

Looking back at my revelation, the details blur together so much so that I’m not sure if my vision occurred in reality or in dream. But the narrator’s words about excellence and tradition still reverberate through my head like a concussion that just won't go away. That’s why I devoted this week to honoring the Pittsburgh Steelers and Green Bay Packers, two franchises with traditions richer than all the gold in Fort Knox.

Today, I challenge all Americans to live by the credo of Ben Roethlisberger, Nick Barnett, Brett Favre and Mewelde Moore and remember that excellence is not a far-off fantasy, but an everyday reality. Then, to the sound of blasting trumpets and shimmering chimes; singing angels and bellowing saints; blasting cannons and exploding rockets; roaring grizzlies and screeching eagles; laughing children and marching men; America will rightfully be restored to its gilded throne of eternal glory. 

--By Brian Beer

SUPERBOWL XLV: AN AMERICAN CELEBRATION: PART V:: Miller High Life, Reinvention and Mike McCarthy's Role as a Modern-American Revolutionary

In honor of the most American Superbowl matchup of all time, Nosebleed Rumblings has devoted the week to the Pittsburgh Steelers and Green Bay Packers. "Miller High Life, Reinvention and Mike McCarthy's Role as a Modern-American Revolutionary" is Part Five in a six part series. Click here for Part Four.


REINVENTION: MILLER HIGH LIFE AND THE PACKERS

In the 1990s, Brett Favre proved that good 'ol
Southern boys could compete with the new
breed of technology-infused quarterback
that threatened to dominate the NFL.

Like Wisconsin’s beer of choice – Miller High Life – the Packers have caught up to the 21st century without compromising their old-world identity. High Life entered the American market in 1955. After flourishing for decades as a heavy, man's-man beer, High Life found itself at a crossroads in the early 1990s. As an increasingly calorie-conscious world turned to lighter beers, the heros at Miller were left with an ultimatum: change or die. But thanks to a successful ad campaign by Errol Morris, High Life had to do neither. Instead, it re-marketed itself with ads promoting the nostalgic, 1950s man-values it has always represented, and is today enjoyed by hipsters and grandfathers alike.

Similarly, the Packers reached a reckoning when the spread offense began taking over the NFL in the late 1990s. Enter Brett Favre, the most notorious and debated gunslinger in NFL history. The iron-hearted, "aw-shucks" Favre, who started an NFL record 297 straight games, successfully brought the Packers into the modern age without sacrificing any of the working class grit that the Packers had engrained in their legacy. As a Green Bay Superbowl champion and the official icon of Wrangler Jeans, Favre combined the downfield precision of a 21st century robo-hybrid QB with the everyday mentality of a good ol’ boy hanging out on the hood of his pickup. Today, Aaron Rodgers has brought Favre’s common-man gunslinger mentality to a new Green Bay squad, making the Packers appealing to the Green Bay faithful and newer fans alike.

MIKE MCCARTHY: THE AMERICAN COLONIST RE-LIVED

While every citizen worth his weight in McDonald’s quarter-pounders knows the much-celebrated legend of the American Revolution, few have as deep an appreciation for the mindset of the average colonist as does Green Bay coach Mike McCarthy. Raised in Pittsburgh’s gritty Greenfield neighborhood, McCarthy developed a fierce allegiance to his city and his Steelers while growing up. When it came time to venture into the world and make his fortune, McCarthy left the cloudy skies of Pennsylvania in search of more prosperous country. The wandering adventurer eventually landed upon the green and gold shores of Wisconsin’s Lake Michigan. Though his heart remained pledged to Pittsburgh, McCarthy thanked God for the land of opportunity he had discovered, and soon landed a fruitful job as Green Bay Packers head coach.

On December 16, 2011, Mike McCarthy destroyed a supply
of Lionshead Kegs stashed in the back of his old friend
George's 1981 Crown Victoria at the local Motel 6.

As McCarthy settled into life as a Wisconsonian, his relationships back home began to show signs of strain. “Call us when you get home from practice, sweetie,” his mother would annoyingly ask. “Send us money when you have a chance,” begged his five siblings. “Ship us down a few crates of that famous Miller High Life,” his old drinking buddies demanded. When a bunch of his old high school teammates road-tripped to Green Bay and asked their old pal to show them around the city, McCarthy finally snapped. That night, under the cover of darkness, McCarthy and several Packers assistants snuck into the parking lot of the Motel 6 where his friends were staying. Dressed as Washington Redskins to throw off any potential witnesses, McCarthy’s gang broke open the windows of his buddy George’s 1981 Crown Victoria and ceremoniously smashed the numerous kegs of Lionshead Beer stashed there. Historians would later dub this event “The Green Bay Motel 6 Lionshead Keg Party.”

The act of defiance sent shockwaves across the Great Lakes and back to Pittsburgh, where McCarthy’s former constituents geared up for all-out war. After months of petty fighting with other lesser rivals (such as wild bands of Kansas City Chiefs, who viciously slaughtered innocent Packers fans roaming the frontier territories to the west) McCarthy and his rebel brethren finally arranged for an ultimate showdown with the Pittsburgh Steelers in Dallas, Texas. The winter was harsh that year (2011), and Packer and Steeler forces, miles away from the comfort of home, had to endure uncharacteristic Texas snowstorms while gearing up for the fight that would decide the fate of Pittsburgh’s renegade son.

Like the American colonists who had to turn on the home they once loved, Mike McCarthy was forced to separate the sentiments of his past with the reality of his present. So while most Americans can only relive the Revolutionary War experience through Mel Gibson’s accurate portrayal in The Patriot, true sons of liberty like Mike McCarthy have just a little bit more rebel in them than the rest of us.

TOMORROW: PART VI:: American History, True Blue-Collar Workers and The Pittsburgh Steelers

SUPERBOWL XLV: AN AMERICAN CELEBRATION: PART IV:: The Unbreakable Bonds of Family and Tradition

In honor of the most American Superbowl matchup of all time, Nosebleed Rumblings has devoted the week to the Pittsburgh Steelers and Green Bay Packers. "The Unbreakable Bonds of Family and Tradition" is Part Four in a six part series. Click here for Part Three.

THE ROONEYS: MOM AND POP STORE OF THE NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE 

Like Daniel and H.W. Plainview, the Rooneys
are a "regular family business."

Art Rooney founded Pittsburgh's pro football franchise in 1933. As the Great Depression continued its merciless beating of America, Rooney blessed his city with a ray of sunlight -- muddy, sweat-soaked, blood-stained sunlight -- by bringing football to Pittsburgh. Seven years later, Rooney actually bought 50% of the Philadelphia Eagles, but was so depressed about leaving Pittsburgh that he sold his share of the Eagles and returned to the Steel City. 


Since then, the Steelers have rested safely in the hands of the Rooney family. In America, we love family-owned businesses, and the Steelers are the Mom and Pop corner store empire of the NFL. Jerry Jones may be the league's Sam Walton, but as long as Old Man Rooney is sitting on the front porch, smoking a cigar and waving to kids on bicycles, the ol' Stars and Stripes will continue to fly higher than a bald eagle on meth.

BATTLE-TESTED TRADITION

Terry Bradshaw wore the same
uniform that fellow American hero Ben
Roethlisberger wears today.

As the NFL's fifth-oldest franchise, the Steelers have long since cemented their identity as a brutish, hard-nosed squad of gritty role players and maniacal manbeasts. While new-age franchises like the Arizona Cardinals and Houston Texans build their teams around playmaking, ballerina-like cyborg-athlete hybrids, the Steelers employ a legion of flesh-hungry, cannibalistic defenders and human-battering-ram halfbacks. Of course, back in the early days of organized football, running the ball was the only option. But in today's increasingly sophisticated NFL, cannon-armed robo-launchers like Drew Brees and Peyton Manning regularly air out 50 passes per game. The Steelers could care less. As always, they build their gameplan on 300-pound Campbell’s-fed linemen and an undying commitment to the inside handoff. 

The Steelers undying adherence to tradition is represented in their uniforms, which have never changed: black jerseys with plain white numbers, gold pants, and black helmets with the logo on only one side. Some wonder, “Well, why not put the logo on both sides?” The Steelers are involved in the game of football, not the world of fashion. So while self-conscious, weak franchises like the Tampa Bay Buccaneers constantly fuss with their outfits, the Steelers stroll out to battle every weekend wearing the same armor they’ve worn since Franklin Delano Roosevelt wheeled into the Oval Office on a chair crafted from the bones of dead communists. Like a regular at the diner who orders without looking at the menu, the Steelers know what they want and go out and get it.

TOMORROW: PART IV:: Reinvention: Miller High Life and the Green Bay Packers; Mike McCarthy and the American Colonist During the Revolutionary War

-By Brian Beer

SUPERBOWL XLV: AN AMERICAN CELEBRATION: PART III:: Lambeau Field, America's Golden Age and the Cathedral of Cheese

In honor of the most American Superbowl matchup of all time, Nosebleed Rumblings has devoted the week to the Pittsburgh Steelers and Green Bay Packers. "Lambeau Field, Amercica's Golden Age and the Cathedral of Cheese" is Part Three in a six part series. Click here for Part Two.

KEEP THE CHANGE, WE’LL KEEP LAMBEAU

Miller High Life was introduced to
America in 1955, two years
before Lambeau Field opened. 

Progress comes slow to Green Bay, and that's just the way the Packers like it. While Jerry Jones lays down plans for the Cowboys next stadium (which will launch into space in September 2020), the Packers are content with good ol' Lambeau Field, which hails from America's golden age (the 1950s). Things were better back then. Men were happy to spend the week in the office, and women were content to pass the days at home. Washing machines and vacuum cleaners brought genuine happiness to the families of freshly-built suburban homes. Cigarettes and McDonald's were crucial components of a well-rounded diet, and fresh Miller High Life bubbled directly from a spring in the golden fields outside Milwaukee. Times were simple and easy for both America and the Packers, who happily bludgeoned the hell out of opponents in a professional, businesslike manner. 

The Packers have played at Lambeau for 54 straight years, making them the franchise with the third-longest stadium tenure in America (behind only the Red Sox and Cubs). While the Seahawks prance through the video-game-like confines of the friendly Qwest Field and the Eagles don white collars to show up for work at Lincoln Financial Field, Green Bay pays tribute to Earl “Curly” Lambeau – the meaty, hard-skulled six-time Superbowl winning Packer founder, player and coach – by continuing to ruthlessly pound opponents into Lambeau’s frozen winter tundra. Lambeau has undergone only minor changes since its inception in 1957, and that’s the way it should be. Hell, if it was good enough for Earl back then, it’s good enough for us now.

HONOR THY LORD CHEESUS 

Hoping for a blessing from the Gods of Football, Green Bay
fans sacrificed an unthinkable amount of cheese to carve
a likeness of their idol, Brett Favre, before the Packers
played the Giants for the NFC Championship in 2007.

Just as Lambeau has stood stoically through an ever-changing 21st-century America, so has Wisconsin's love of cheese. Though trendy enterprises like Mens Health and Whole Foods have vehemently denounced America's favorite food, Wisconsin has stood by its chief product with the fierce brand of rebelliousness and defiance that dates back to the Revolutionary War. And though most Americans are content with simply putting cheese in their bodies, the patriotic citizens of Green Bay love cheese so much that they wear it on their heads. That’s because Wisconsin is the cheese epicenter of the cheese capital of the world. Let the French smear their baguettes with brie – if it ain’t American, it ain’t for me. 

Wisconsin churns out 2.4 billion pounds of 600 varieties cheese per year. It’s nearly impossible to find foods in the North Country that aren’t smothered in cheese – broccoli, cauliflower, apple pie – you want it, we got it. There’s even a whole Web site dedicated to Wisconsin’s curd captivation: at Eat Wisconsin Cheese, you can watch a five-minute video called “Cooking With Cheese,” discover feature recipes involving cheese, and find a link to the Grilled Cheese Academy (although some of the frilly creations on the site involve unnecessary ingredients like pineapple, fig jam and port-wine braised pears). But the good folks at “Eat Wisconsin Cheese” clearly understand the connection between the Packers and America's favorite mold: on their Web site, they urge fans to “Cheer on the best football team with the best cheese. Go Pack Go!” 

So whether your from Green Bay, Pittsburgh or somewhere in between, you have cause to celebrate on Sunday. With pride and allegiance to the deliciously juicy hamburger that is America, let's raise our buns and give thanks to both the Steelers and Packers for bringing the ketchup and cheese.

TOMORROW: PART IV:: America's First Family and Battle-Tested Tradition

-By Brian Beer

SUPERBOWL XLV: AN AMERICAN CELEBRATION: PART II:: Underdogs, Ketchup and the Battle of Bunker Hill

In honor of the most American Superbowl matchup of all time, Nosebleed Rumblings has devoted the week to the Pittsburgh Steelers and Green Bay Packers. "Underdogs, Ketchup and the Battle of Bunker Hill" is Part Two in a six part series. Click here for Part One.


CHAMPIONS OF THE UNDERDOG CITY

A sunny summer day in Pittsburgh.

Pittsburgh: the name alone resonates with a factory-tainted haze, a thick smog of impenetrable sadness. And in true underdog fashion, Pittsburgh isn't even the coolest underdog city in the unbearably boring state of Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, that dubious honor belongs to Philadelphia, city that spawned Rocky, the guy Mark Whalberg played in that Philadelphia Eagles movie, and the nation's most loathed fanbase. 


But Pittsburgh's battle-scarred citizens have rallied around their city's second-class designation, facing the world with a fierce loyalty for the Steelers, Penguins and...well, not the Pirates, whose biggest contribution to baseball in the last 50 years has been Barry Bonds...everything else Pittsburgh. Backed by the hungry pride of its eternally chip-shouldered fan base, the Steelers approach every game as if they're a small band of Continental soldiers fighting for their beloved Bunker Hill. Which brings us to...

KETCHUP & THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL

The Steelers protect Heinz Field from enemies of America.

The Steelers do in fact fight for their own Bunker Hill; it’s called Heinz Field. Holy God, are you listening? Every weekend between September and January, the Steelers don the black and gold to defend their realm. And every weekend, the blood seeping from their battle wounds mixes with the sweet syrupy ketchup that Heinz doles out to every diner, burger joint, steakhouse and lunch counter in America. 

Before there was soy sauce, salsa and Subway, there was ketchup. And as long as Pittsburgh's proud ketchup crusaders continue to wage weekend wars against ingredients of evil that relentlessly threaten our national diet, America's holiest tomato-based condiment will march strongly into the sunlight of each new morning.

TOMORROW: PART III:: Keep the Change, We'll Keep Lambeau & Blessed be Thy Lord Cheesus

-By Brian Beer

SUPERBOWL XLV: AN AMERICAN CELEBRATION: PART I:: The Most American Superbowl of All Time...Ever

America is under attack. Under an onslaught of evil from freedom-haters like Wal Mart, Twitter, the Kardashian family, Wife Swap and Osama Bin Laden, it’s easy to forget that this great nation was founded on two pillars of strength that still stand strong today: Steel and Cheese.

Forget X’s and O’s: Within the mythology of the National Football League and the United States of America, this is the best Superbowl matchup in not only the history of the world, but also America. 

The Panthers would win more football
games if they stopped playing Tron
and started playing football.

Today, the National Football League is plagued 

with space-age, futuristic franchises like the Seattle Seahawks, Jacksonville Jaguars, Atlanta Falcons and Carolina Panthers. These technological organizations pay running backs who wear TRON-like visors under their helmets. They employ robo-hybrid quarterbacks who laser passes to receivers wearing numbers in the teens, not 80s. They are as artificial as the newest flavor of Mountain Dew and as fleeting as the sugar rush from a 24 oz. Monster Energy drink. With no history to fall back on when times are tough, their identity is as empty as a brand new McMansion lacking a strong, loving American family to fill it. 

I could go on about these soulless, futuristic organizations, and one lazy summer day, when the sun is high and we've got a fresh cooler of cold Buds out by the lake, I will. But today, we need to stop and celebrate a Superbowl matchup that rings with the promise of a country that may have momentarily lost its way, but will never yield: the United States of America. 

Steelers: Burly men steeling stuff in the mill all day. Packers: Sweaty breadwinners packing stuff in the factory all day. How blue collar is that? And what's more American than being a blue-collar fighter, enduring through the day with clenched teeth and bloody knuckles?  We've always adhered to good ol', plain and simple, hard-working, common-man, apple pie values (hell yeah, Sarah Palin). So in preparation for the greatest Superbowl showdown in history, Nosebleed Rumblings presents a five-day celebration of the Americanness of these two proud franchises: 

Lambeau Field honors America. This week,
America should honor Lambeau Field.

Wednesday: The Eternal Underdog; Ketchup: The Lifeblood of America

Thursday: Keep the Change, We'll Keep Lambeau; Blessed be Thy Lord Cheesus

Friday: America's First Family; Battle-Tested Tradition

Saturday: Reinvention: Miller High Life and the Green Bay Packers; Mike McCarthy and the American Colonist During the Revolutionary War

Sunday: A Pittsburgh Steelers Textbook to American History; True Blue-Collar Athletes

Grab a cold one, kick back on the couch, and begin your celebration of American glory right here with Nosebleed Rumblings. And remember: no matter what the outcome of Superbowl of XLV, we're all winners in America. 

-Brian Beer

Michael Vick and Ben Roethlisberger: Just Good Quarterbacks

Gene Wojciechowski should submit his latest column, “A tale of two troubled quarterbacks,” to the executives at Hallmark Channel.

The feel-good piece, which celebrates the renaissance of Michael Vick and Ben Roethlisberger as both football players and people, would be a great Sunday night, made-for-TV family movie. The always-electrifying Chris Tucker could play the similarly wiry Vick, and the suddenly-pudgy Russell Crowe could play the corn-fed Roethlisberger. Morgan Freeman could make an appearance as the kindly old inmate who helps Vick fight his demons in prison. Robert Duvall could be the blue-collar next-door-neighbor who mentors Roethlisberger through his hard times. And whether or not Vick’s Eagles or Roethlisberger’s Steelers emerge as victorious on the football field, both quarterbacks will have reminded the world that they are champions off of it.

Wojciechowski is the latest in a long line of sportswriters to spin this magical tale. Though the venerable ESPN columnist only knows the two quarterbacks in a professional manner, he concludes: “You can’t do what Vick and Roethlisberger are doing without undergoing some sort of fundamental, inner self reckoning. You can’t fake this sort of seismic change.”

Let’s evaluate this assertion: does Roethlisberger really need to have a clean conscience to heave an 80-yard bomb to Mike Wallace? Is Vick really repentant every time he evades would-be pass rushers before scrambling for a first down?

Comparing Vick and Roethlisberger is unfair in the first place. Vick was dragged through a hellish legal trial in front of a righteous American public before spending two years in federal prison. Roethlisberger also had to deal with some public humiliation, but truthfully, was anyone really surprised when they heard he was accused of sexual harrasment? Let’s not kid ourselves: the guy’s no Peyton Manning. 

Wojciechowski is right to link Vick and Roethlisberger for their achievements in 2010: both quarterbacks wear number 7 and have their teams atop their respective divisions. But, according to Wojciechowski, the parallels go further: Vick is now a “better person” and Roethlisberger is “smarter now” and “wiser too.”

Wojciechowski uses testimony from people who know the quarterbacks as a foundation for his argument. Vick has drawn “rave reviews” from his coaches and teammates – why not interview his parents and family, too? – along with this glowing praise from the federal judge who sentenced Vick: “He's an example of how the system can work. He’s having a terrific season. I wish him the best of success.” The judge is not only a person who advocates the legal system that employs him, but watches football on Sunday.

For Roethlisberger, Wojciechowski cites “those who know him.” He also conjectures that Roethlisberger “had lost touch with who he was and how he was raised.” Of course, Wojciechowski would know this as well as anyone: he was a regular guest at the Roethlisberger family dinner table during Sunday nights of yore.

Wojciechiowski is not alone in his over-effusive praise of Vick (though he probably has a better seat on the less-popular Big Ben bandwagon). Legions of sportswriters have mistaken Vick’s newfound prowess in the pocket as evidence of a spiritual rebirth. I love tales of redemption just as much as the next American, but I don’t see anything more here than two guys with messy criminal records enjoying successful NFL seasons. It’s possible for people to be better athletes than they are citizens.

As a sports fan, I watch games, listen to player interviews and read columns. As a sportswriter, Wojciechowski does the same things, along with talking to athletes and their peers. Does this give him the authority to cast judgment on these guys as people? Can any a sportswriter, fan or anyone other than close friend truly know an athlete?

I’m just a freelance writer with a blog, while the award-winning Wojciechowski, ESPN’s senior national sports columnist, is one of the most respected sportswriters in the business. But he doesn’t know Michael Vick and Ben Roethlisberger as people, and should be embarrassed for writing about them like he does. His sentiment that the two quarterbacks are, “better people, better teammates and better role models” is touching, but unfounded: on-field performance, post-game interviews and quotes from friends are insufficient brushes with which to paint a portrait of these athletes.

That’s all they are, after all: athletes. I don’t know them any deeper. Neither does Gene Wojciechowski.