Having lived in Boston for five years, sporting events that pit The Burgh against Boston are high-stress situations for me. My dad thinks it's funny to keep giving me tickets to these events, which last year led me to witness two demoralizing Pens losses to the Bruins and one completely devastating Steelers loss to the Pats. The offer was on the table again to see the Pats play in Pittsburgh, and - against everything my brain was screaming at me - I decided to go.
What a good decision.
Leading up to the game, I had plans to meet my dad at Wingharts, but they were closed (sadface) so we tried out Diamond Market Bar & Grill. I had a burger. It was OK. It wasn't Wingharts. Walking up to the stadium, we encountered this guy:
It was an absolutely beautiful day in Pittsburgh. A little cold, but not uncomfortable. I screamed and yelled and cheered and panicked and basically enjoyed myself. Right down to the last two minutes of the game when I was pretty sure the stupid Pats and stupid Tom Brady were going to find a way to get a touchdown and win by one lousy point. But! They didn't! The end of the game was awesome! I was as happy as I've been all year.