On Sunday, the lowly Pittsburgh Steelers (yes, it feels weird typing that) took down the Tompa Bay Buccaneers in one of the upsets of the NFL season thus far. Overcoming a M*A*S*H unit of an injury tent, the Steerlers rallied around backup Mason Rudolph for a 20-18 win, led in part by wide receiver Chase Claypool, who hauled in seven grabs for 96 yards and a touchdown. After the game, Claypool celebrated in the locker room, packing an inaugural lip in the middle of his postgame press conference.
Needless to say, this dude just became a Pittsburgh hero. He's now up there with Mean Joe, Big Ben, and Bill Cowher. They’ll hang his number in every bar. They’ll sing his name on Christmas Eve. He’s one of them now. But the rite of passage came at considerable risk. I’ve seen dudes cartoon sprinting to the bathroom to puke—eyes bugged out, hands over their mouth—after packing their first lips. Claypool did it in front of reporters with the cameras running. Bold move, Cotton.
More importantly, though, Claypool’s charming indoctrination into Western PA culture continued a trend for the Pittsburgh Steelers, who have morphed from loathed, sanctimonious dynasty—the St. Louis Cardinal of football—into plucky, blue-collar underdogs before our very eyes. We never thought we’d see the day, but here we are, spitting into a water bottle, waving our terrible towel high above the Allegheny. God works in mysterious ways … and something tells us he’s a Grizzly Guy.
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