Loved the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

 

Things that are great:

 

One: The Hall does an incredible job of highlighting the history of the game. It only confirms that Pennsylvania and Ohio are the "Gridiron Breadbasket." Pro football began as a club sport in the industrial towns of these states before the league we know now as the NFL was created here in Canton in 1920, giving the barnstorming, disorganized and seemingly lawless pro organizations of the past some structure.

 

Two: You could touch the jerseys worn by everyone from Bronko Nagurski to Bart Starr. That was pretty cool.

 

Three: You can watch video clips of virtually every Hall of Famer. I saw film of Nagurski, for example, that I'd never seen before in any NFL Films production.

 

Four: There was a letter on display from an NFL owner in 1925 asking a college star to come play for him. The owner asked the player to provide the team with his height and weight. Clearly, the pro scouting process has improved a bit over the last 80 years.

 

Things that suck:

 

One: A "Tailgate" section of the Hall consists of about five tables and four vending machines. That was a bit underwhelming. They should just take the "Tailgate" sign off the room and not pretend.

 

One of the earliest pro rivalries was between teams from Canton and its neighbor of Massillon. The rivalry continues today at the high school level.

 

These guys take their football a little seriously. I popped by the stadium in Massillon after visiting the Hall. It seats 20,000 people (in a town of about 32,000) and has a $500,000 scoreboard. Most Div. 1-AA college programs would be proud to play in the arena. Like half the things associated with football in this area, it's named for Paul Brown, who grew up in Massillon.

 

More later today ...

 

My entire diet for the day consisted of a single Roethlisburger that I picked up at one of the Peppi's Old Tyme Sandwich Shops in Pittsburgh.

 

The place is covered in Steelers paraphernalia and smelled like fried onions, which is on my short list of greatest aromas, and this place is BUSY. The Roethlisburger is pretty good – you can see how it's made here – but it took about 40 minutes for them to make the thing. Not worth the wait.

 

Heard about Bo Schembechler dying on the road out of Pittsburgh, munching on my sandwich. It's impressive that he earned his stature as an iconic coach without ever winning a national championship.

 

Passed through Beaver Falls, Penn., the home of Joe Namath, a little bit later. What a shithole. The entire town seems to consist of a single street of dumpy, old houses. On one side is the Beaver River. On the other side of the houses is some empty, old factory. Looks like one of those post-industrial Pennsylvania ghost towns you see all over the state.

Not to get all Peter King on everyone, but I'm at a Starbucks. It's the only place in the country, as far as I know, that has wireless Internet access at every one of its locations. Plus I like their coffee. Not the sissy mocha peppermint shit. But, like, plain espresso. Black. No sugar. Rocket fuel. It makes me happy.

 

I've actually been to the Starbucks world headquarters in Seattle to write a story about it. Amazing place. And, as you might imagine, they have cafés  all throughout the place. You don't even have to leave to go to Starbucks! What a job. They also have a tribute to Starbucks employees serving in the military in their main atrium. I was impressed by that, because you don't think "pro-military" when you think Starbucks. Actually, you're more likely to think dirty, filthy hippies. Whether you like it or not, it's an amazing operation. I had lunch that day with the CEO, Howard Schulz. Not bad for a cardboard-box-inhabiting little troll. What he's done with the brand is impressive. I think the next step in their quest for world domination should be to advertise with the Cold, Hard Football Facts. But hey, that's just me.

 

In any case, a middle-aged businessman with grey hair and glasses walks into Starbucks. He's wearing shoes, dark slacks and a polo shirt – with a No. 75 Mean Joe Greene Steelers jersey over it. No shit. I guess you can wear that stuff to work around here, even when your team is 3-6. The woman behind the counter has an No. 66 Alan Faneca jersey on.

 

The town here, Wexford, is north of Pittsburgh ... not far from Beaver Falls, the home of Joe Namath, which I'll pass by soon on my way to the Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. One of the features of the Gridiron Breadbasket, of course, is that western PA is the home of major-league QB legends. Besides Namath, Marino (Pittsburgh), Montana (New Eagle, south of Pittsburgh) and Unitas (Pittsburgh) all grew up in this area.

 

A couple notes from the Pittsburgh-West Virginia game, which the Mountaineers won 45-27 by physically humiliating the hometown Panthers in the second half.

 

First: There may be no more dramatic backdrop in sports than that offered by Heinz Field. In fact, you might be better served buying cheap seats so you can sit up high and take in the view. I've sat up there a couple of times and it's pretty impressive.

 

You can see Pittsburgh's beautiful downtown just across the river, not to mention all three rivers (the Allegheny, the Ohio and the Monongahela) that are near Heinz Field. Riverboats crisscross the river continuously and drop off folks right at the stadium. Dramatic cliffs rise opposite the river (think the New Jersey Palisades across from Manhattan), with a tram that ascends the heights. Long trains run along the foot of the cliffs, by the edge of the river.

 

So, if you're sitting in the right seats you can, at once, watch football and see trains, trams, cars and boats carry people and products across a city that, despite its gentrification in recent years, still has the feel of a gritty, working, industrial city.

 

Everything's lit up at night, too – the tram, the downtown, even the ferry boats have lighted Christmas trees on them this time of year. It's spectacular.

 

Two: You know that "Steelers Country" sign that hangs in the end zone at every Pittsburgh home game? You see miniature versions of it hanging outside homes all around the Pittsburgh area.

 

Three: Big cities with pro teams don't support college football well. People around Pittsburgh love their football, but Pitt struggles for attention amid the Steelers craze that defines the region's sporting climate. The Panthers were hosting one of the better teams in the country, but the West Virginia fans probably outnumbered the Pitt fans. The problem with the old Big East is that many of the teams were in big cities with pro teams, so they had to fight for attention. Boston College, Miami, Temple, Pitt ... none drew well (or draw well) compared with smaller-town programs.

 

Four: For a school that's not considered an elite program, Pitt has produced some pretty remarkable players. Its retired numbers include Mike Ditka, Mark May, Bill Fralic, Dan Marino, Hugh Green and Tony Dorsett. You gotta admire the school that gave us DIT-ka!

 

Five: West Virginia continues to lead the nation in fans sporting camouflage clothing at games.

 

The Pennsylvania countryside is pretty rugged in this area, northwest of Pittsburgh. It  feels just like the land you see down through much of West Virginia. The folds of land are sharp and jagged and, covered with leafless trees this time of year, have a primitive feel. Water spurts out from between rocks, and gushing little streams fill many of the crevices between the earth.

 

I saw a roadside store in the middle of the country on PA Route 28 simply called "MeatS." It was an unadorned red shack opposite a raging, muddy-brown stream that, in some parts of the country, might pass for a true river.

 

I drove a half mile past MeatS before its siren call finally lured me back. I banged a U-ie (how do you spell the slang for U-turn?) and headed back.

 

I was greeted by a big mound of scrap pork piled up on a scale. These were my people.

 

I stalked up on scrapple, smoked hot sticks and something called cheese bologna. It's a thick, heavily smoked sausage filled with chunks of cheese. The things a true artisan can do with meat really amaze the porkophiles among us.

 

The meat is best described as "rustic." The whole area around the building (I'll post pictures later) smelled like smoke. It reminded me of Bavaria, where smoky meat shops give large swaths of the region the warm feel of a crackling Christmas fireplace. The Germans, of course, settled much of Pennsylvania, and their mastery of pork is still prevalent at places like MeatS.

 

Of course, it sounds more impressive in Germany, when these havens of smoky pork are called things like Schneider's Rauch und Schwein Zimmer.