Dorothy Mantooth is a Saint

Sports, pop culture, and politics, Pittsburgh-style, with french fries on top.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

An Open Letter To Steely McBeam

Dear Steely,

You seem like a nice guy, so we're not gonna lead you on. This- this just isn't working out.

It's not you, it's us. Pittsburghers hate change. It's like when the marketing douchebags decided that they were gonna make us call the north side "The North Shore". They can post that on as many road signs as they want, but it ain't happening. Maybe it's that we don't like things forced upon us.

Or maybe we've just been hurt by too many mascots in the past. The Pirate Parrot's cocaine problems have been well documented. He was a user and a dealer and those who've watched him dance might argue that he's never really left the Devil's Dandruff behind. Surely the Pirates record over these last 15 years hasn't helped.

Iceburgh the Penguin has had his share of struggles, too. We'll never forget his killing spree which could only be stopped by Jean Claude Van Damme. But, as far as we know, he's put those days behind him and we're not here to judge. When he puts a kid's head in his mouth now, it's funny. If you did that, we'd have nightmares for the rest of our lives.

Conspiracy theorists might suggest that you were set up to fail from the beginning. It's possible. Maybe the powers-that-be wanted a diversion from the ultimate Steelers change: a new head coach. Hopefully that's not the case because you deserve better than to be used as a cheap pawn in the Rooney family's quest to own Pittsburgh and the world.

But if you search your feelings, Steely, we think you'll agree that we're just not meant to to be together. Could there be any clearer sign than the destructive storms that rained down upon us and sent Allegheny county into a state of emergency the day after you were named? Clearly the football gods are not happy.

You have a lot to offer. With the right team, we have no doubt that you'll be successful. With a few modifications you could be a great fit in, say, Green Bay. A small change in your outfit and you could become Monterey Jack, the Cheese Plant Worker. Or maybe Bob Barker, The Dog Catcher in Atlanta. God knows they could use the help. We're just brainstorming here, but you get the idea.

The bottom line is that we wish you the best. And it's best that you leave.


P.S. Could you leave a few bobbleheads behind? We love bobbleheads.

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