Pittsburgh Steelers: Managing My Expectations

I'm not the kind of guy who always sees a glass as half full. In fact, you wouldn't need look too far among those who know me well to find someone who would laugh out loud at the idea I'm a half-full guy at all. Some of that reaction is based on the character I play. Yes, I do some play acting, even among my friends. Inner Russ, the one people don't see much of, usually hopes for the best, but mentally prepares for the worst. Part of that preparation often surfaces as negative statements. Does that make me fun to be around? Probably not. This is particularly true when the Pittsburgh Steelers are involved.

I have friends who won't watch a Steelers game with me. I can't blame them.

Truth be told, I have calmed down a lot where the Steelers are concerned. Life is too short, especially from where I'm sitting, to get all wound up about something that has absolutely no impact on my world. I still wear my black-and-gold colors on most game days and watch the games when I can. My Sunday watering hole doesn't have Direct TV's Sunday Ticket. I'm not willing to forsake my normal Sunday routine to go sit in a crowded, noisy sports bar to see the game. So, unless the game is carried by my local CBS affiliate, which is indeed rare, I miss at least the first half of most of the Sunday early games.I might wander into a sports bar for the second half.

If they have the second Sunday game, as they do against the 49ers today, I'll miss the game entirely if it's not shown locally. I often only watch the first half of night games because, win or lose, I'm too amped up after a game to sleep. It takes me a couple of hours to wind down enough to fall asleep. If I began that process at 11:00, I don't fall asleep until 1:00 or so. I wake up at the same time no matter what, which means I get four or five hours of sleep, tops. That doesn't work for me.

Much of my growing indifference to the Steelers fate results from their colossal under performance the past three years. If a team doesn't have the personnel or the coaching talent to get it to the Super Bowl, well, as a fan, I can understand that. But a team populated with the veteran talent the Steelers have had in recent seasons to sputter and stall enough to either not make the playoffs or lose in the first round of playoffs, is disheartening. It's also inexcusable.

So, now we find ourselves in the 2019 season. Bell is gone. Brown is gone. Ben is out for the season. Does any of that matter? They were inconsistent as hell with those three guys playing. The Steelers couldn't get to the championship game with those three guys there and healthy. What now that we're in uncharted waters?

The good news for me as a Steelers fan is, I have no expectations. If the Steelers manage a .500 season, I will be surprised. Any win they get will be a gift. Christmas come early. I know very little about Mason Rudolph, Big Ben's backup. I was traveling last Sunday and missed the entire game. He may be the second coming of Big Ben. I don't know. Can Pittsburgh somehow get its running game together? I don't know. Can the defense find a path to holding the opposing offense to fewer points than the Steelers offense puts up? I don't know. But, I'm not counting on any of those things.

I have no expectations. Based on the first two games and the loss of Big Ben, I have envisioned a season where every game will be an up-hill slog. We can't even count on beating the Browns this season.

In other words, I am confident I won't be disappointed this season. Hope for the best and mentally prepare for the worst. Oh, I'm prepared.

Make Your Plans and Listen to God Laugh: A Lost Week

Say, hello, to my little friend.....

I'm not the kind of guy who often shares his ailments and infirmities with others. I'm 68; I have my share, believe me. Outside of my surgeon, six people were aware of it before I went into throat surgery that put me into intensive care for two nights: my friend who has my power of attorney and her husband, the friend who I asked to drive me to the surgery and his wife, and my craft-beer partner Big Jon and our Sunday bartender. The only reason Big Jon and our bartender were aware is because the surgery was scheduled the day after the 2018 Super Bowl. I had to fess up as to why I was sipping water rather than guzzling beer during the game.

I didn't tell anyone else because, well, why would I? Those who did know were under strict orders not to visit me at the hospital. I didn't want anyone taking time out of their day to show up at my bedside with a Mylar balloon, making small talk. Screw that. If this involved a six-week stay to recover, then maybe a visit from someone would be a welcome change of pace. But, I knew this would be a short recovery. Just go about your business and we'll have a drink when I am sprung.

I didn't even tell my New Mexico-based family. It would have made a wreck out of my sister. The entire family would have been crazed for the three-day information blackout extending from the surgery until my release. I didn't want the pressure of trying to keep them or anyone else updated. Get in, get out and that's that. I did finally let the cat out of the bag a couple of days after returning home.

I have all the aches and pains someone my age endures, but I don't talk about it. Who cares? I'm old, right? It happens.

Now that I'm on the other side of it, however, I will share that I was as sick this past week as I have been in years, if not decades. It reared its ugly head late Monday (Labor Day) and persisted throughout the week. Apparently a stomach bug of some sort, it reeked havoc with my digestive tract. It was relentless and fierce.

I won't go into the details beyond saying, my water bill will be significantly higher this month and Charmin dispatched an extra tractor-trailer truck of Ultra Strong to the Greenville region.

Twice during the week I flirted with heading to Urgent Care. I'd never dealt with anything quite like this before and the idea that his might be the symptom of something more sinister nagged at me in a whisper for four days.

I didn't sleep for two of those nights, didn't eat anything beyond a couple of nibbles from a protein bar for three days and didn't have the energy to shower. I had no appetite. A couple of bouts with light headedness inspired me to begin chugging copious amounts of water to battle dehydration. On Wednesday afternoon, I dragged myself to my car, headed to CVS and purchased some Imodium. 

At the checkout the clerk cheerfully asked how my day was going. I pushed the box toward him and said, "You be the judge."

Seven of those tablets over the next 24 hours capped the flow. Friday was the day that had me really considering Urgent Care. The worst was past, but I still felt off. I was still listless and weak. I still had no appetite. Was this symptomatic of something bigger, I asked myself for the 20th time. Again, I chose to skip Urgent Care. Most of the day on Saturday was more of the same, but toward the late afternoon I heard a welcome sound and felt a longed-for rumble: My stomach was growling.

Mac & Cheese sounded good and sufficiently innocuous. I thought I might have a box squirreled away somewhere. Nope. No such luck. I opted instead to heat up some Prego and boil some pasta. I wolfed down half a plate. I spent the rest of the evening watching movies and waiting for dinner to cause a sprint to the bathroom. But, no.

I went to bed hoping for my first good-night's sleep in nearly a week. I awoke this morning with my eyelids crusted shut. I pried them open and glanced at the clock. Trumpets sounded, a flock of doves took flight, bells tolled in celebration and a choir of angels sang, “Halleluliah.” It was 7:30. I had managed to clock nine hours of nearly uninterrupted sleep. Oh happy day!

In the negative column: This was to be a week of work for me. I basically produced no revenue in August. This was my week to get back to work. Nope. All I managed to do was edit this week's and next week's episodes of BEER2WHISKEY. I did this week's segment on Wednesday. It was a segment that should have required about three hours to edit. It required around five hours. I'd edit for 15 or 20 minutes and then lie down for 15 minutes. I also managed to sit upright at my laptop for about three hours on Thursday submitting four or five already-written assignments to a client.

It was also to be six straight days in the gym. Nope. I've been twice since arriving home on Aug 30.

So, that's my story. I feel recovered – just in time for beer-drinking day at Smoke, as well as some football – and back on top of my game. Ain't life grand!