The Champions In Latrobe : Scott Silsbe
If the nicknames of the current Steelers are any indication, the art of football-player-nicknaming might not be what it once was—though, to be fair, these days it’s hard to know what the players really call each other, as opposed to what the fans call them. Nose tackle Casey Hampton, for example, claims that none of his teammates call him “Big Snack,” as his fans call him—he prefers “Big Hamp,” “Big Case,” or simply “Hamp.” Most nicknames just seem to lack creativity—sure running back Willie Parker is “Fast”, and yeah, Ben Roethlisberger is “Big” for a quarterback, I suppose. Our friend Bryan got Franny and I calling Big Ben “Circus Bear” or just “Bear” because of how he looks when he scrambles out of the pocket, but I’m not sure that’ll catch on. I’ve heard “Woe-Dee” for Hines Ward, “Potsie” for James Farrior, and, supposedly, some teammates call Willie Colon “Stinky” because he has “the worst smelling feet in the world.” Kicker Jeff Reed is “Skippy” for some reason, and some will refer to Deshea Townsend as “Big Play.” Some players, like James Harrison, have multiple nicknames—he’s either “Deebo” (which I believe to be a reference to the movie Friday) or “Silverback.” When asked once about the derivation of the “Silverback” nickname, Harrison said, “You ever try to fight with a Silverback gorilla? You don't want to either.”
After a guy behind a podium told us some ground rules—which included no sitting, no smoking, and no beverages on the playing field—all of us VIPs formed a black and gold procession from the Rogers Center up to Noll Field. On our way, we all did our best to chug our free beverages, doctored or otherwise. In explaining the camp-rules, the podium-guy had also told us an anecdote about Myron Cope attending training camp back in the day. He claimed that Myron had been nearly run over by some of the players because he had been sitting in a folding chair along the sidelines, smoking a cigarette, drinking “juice” (podium-guy had done the rabbit-ear quotes when saying “juice”). I was happy to know that one of my heroes also believed that alcohol went hand-in-hand with football.
By the time we made it up to Noll Field, the players were already there, decked out in their scrimmage jerseys—the offensive players in white, the defense in a very bright gold. Some of the players had their jerseys hiked up over their stomachs because of the humid day. More fans had gathered on the hillsides around the field, and some of them shouted at the players closest to them. In a corner of the field not far from us, Jeff Reed waved at some of the fans and hammed it up a bit, doing some kind of chicken-dance for them. I heard a woman next to Franny and I say in a heavy Pittsburgh accent, “Dat’s not Paul-mowl-lou, dat’s Key-mwah-too!”
A blow horn sounded, and practice started in earnest. To the tune of short whistle-chirps, the players began a series of synchronized warm-up exercises that looked like the Ministry of Silly Walks, while fans continued to call out to them. As Hines Ward stretched his way past us, people taking pictures yelled, “Hines!” or “We love you, Hines!” or just went “Woooo!” A loud male voice rose up above the others, saying, “You’re the man, Hines!” at which point Hines turned and pointed, saying, “No, you’re the man.”
We saw our star tight end Heath Miller, caught a glimpse of hero-of-the-last-Super-Bowl Santonio Holmes, and we were relieved to see punter Daniel Sepulveda. Despite winning it all last year, we had been plagued most of the season with a rather poor punter named Mitch Berger—we were all happy to have Sepulveda back. After the Silly Walks, most of the players got down on the ground for some stretching exercises—Roethlisberger looked on, conferring with some coaches.
Then the drills started up. The defensive players were sent off to the next field over and the offensive players were broken up into smaller groupings. The offensive line players gathered near the sideline where we VIPs were standing and paired up about ten feet away from us. You had Trai Essex on Kraig Urbik, Max Starks on rookie Tony Hills, Justin Hartwig on rookie Steve McLendon, Chris Kemoeatu on rookie Ramon Foster, Doug Legursky on rookie A.Q. Shipley, and Willie Colon on Jeremy Parquet. These were the really big guys—most weighing between 300 and 350—and no matter how big you know they are watching them on television, you don’t really know until you are up this close to them. When the one-on-one drills were finished, the players lined up six-on-six facing each other. A coach yelled, “Hike! Hike!” and one side of the line jumped up and started charging towards us, giving a woman in front of us such a scare that she jumped backwards and let out a very sincere yelp.
Before long, the heat and humidity started to get to Franny and I (we couldn’t imagine how the players felt!), and we decided to leave the field in search of some water and to do some exploring around camp. Walking the length of the field back towards the willow trees, we stopped to watch the quarterbacks who were tossing balls to each other at mid-field—Ben and Charlie Batch, Dennis Dixon and rookie Mike Reilly. At the far end of the field, the tight ends were taking turns pushing a big metal blocker while our coach, Mike Tomlin, looked on. Tomlin had on large dark Aviators—he smirked approvingly, nodded, and gave Miller and Spaeth a few encouraging words while an assistant coach yelled, “Here we go, here we go…GO! Ho, ho, ho!”
Once we were off the field, we made our way to a big black trailer in the distance that had “The Traveling Great Hall” in bright gold lettering on the side. Franny stopped along the way to take a picture of a very young Steelers fan—all of three years old, I’ll guess—in a Roethlisberger jersey and a helmet that was too big for him. She dubbed him Roethlisbaby. The Great Hall as it turned out was closed for the day, though we got to meet mascot Steely McBeam and we each got to spin a large wheel as if we were game show contestants, each of us winning a small Steelers sticker. And from there it was off to the merchandise tent, where Franny found a Myron Cope bobble head for me, and I bought her a blank pennant for autographs. Back inside the Rogers Center, we found a break from the sun, some bottled water, and a safe place to finish off our flasks.
Walking back up to the field, I looked at the landscape around us. I’d been out to Saint Vincent’s only once before and it was late at night, so I’d missed the scenic beauty of the place. There was a clear view for miles to (what I believed to be) the north of us, and then rolling hills and mountains. I wondered what it must be like to go to college out here, cut off from any kind of city-life. I imagined one got a lot of reading done out this way.
Up on the field, the Steelers were now running plays on each other. Charlie Batch was quarterbacking, trying out some of the newer players. Three large blue cranes I hadn’t noticed before loomed over the practice-field, and each held a cameraman with a camera taping the practice. The heat seemed to be taking its toll on players and fans alike—I noticed some fans tucking Terrible Towels under their ball caps to block the sun. Batch threw a long pass that was caught, and the fans in the grandstand and on the hillsides cheered. Ward, Holmes, and Townsend watched at a distance, Townsend sitting on his helmet. From where we stood, I could see Ward smiling.
Another blow-horn sounded, and the strings switched up—the first-string offense lining up against the first-string defense. Roethlisberger threw a couple passes in a row to wide receiver Mike Wallace, another new promising rookie. The players worked their way down the field away from us, and then started back up towards us. As they approached mid-field, we were told by the VIP-organizers that we had to leave the field and head back to the Rogers Center. I noticed some people lingering on the sidelines, including a girl with face paint that read “Psycho Ward.” But they pushed us along, saying, “Come on, folks, gotta get moving.”
Before heading back to Pittsburgh, we VIPs were promised two Steeler autographs and a buffet-style meal. A large, looping line had formed inside the Rogers Center, and we were told there were two Steelers at the end of it, but we weren’t told which two. Eventually, it was revealed to us that it was safety Ryan Clark and rookie cornerback Keenan Lewis. “Looks like you’re going to have a pennant signed by Lewis and Clark,” I told Franny, who had briefly jumped out of line. After following the line around through a maze of rooms we made it to the end where Clark joked around with us and Lewis was shy—I got a Terrible Towel signed and Franny got her Lewis and Clark pennant done.
The spread of food was somewhat bland but free and therefore good. We ate in the room where the highlight reel had been played, finding a couple open chairs at a round table with some older Steelers fans who talked about attending Steelers games in other cities, about last year’s Super Bowl, and about Jerseyboys the musical. We talked with them about what a great organization the Rooneys had, how they knew how to treat their fans well—the talk was light-hearted, jovial, and endearing in its way. Before we knew it, we were heading back to the car and then heading back on 22, back to our city of champions. A little heat-stroked, a little hung over from the vodka, but happy with a successful trip. And excited for football season to start up once more—soon the city could breathe again.
Scott Silsbe lives in the Garfield neighborhood of Pittsburgh. When he’s not watching Pittsburgh sports, he sells books, makes music, and writes stuff.
