So yesterday afternoon I’m walking up Fifth Avenue, as I am wont to do, probably singing some Taylor Dayne song in my head and wondering when jelly shoes will come back in style, when I see a crowd of people hovering around the entrance to the Soup Man shop because apparently it was grand opening time. No big deal. Lovely.
Then, I spotted him. Him. Him was standing near the crowd with a big sign that I never got to read. Probably it said something like, “Hi. I’m the giantest vacuum of suck ever. Trademark PittGirl.”
Steely McBeam was at the grand opening of The Original Soup Man’s new location. And as I walked by, there were women — grown women, hot women, normal women — saying things like, “Hey, Steely!” or, “What’s up, Steely?” as if they were very pleased to meet you how do you do? Instead of kicking him in the beam, if you know what I mean.
My point is this.
Steely didn’t die along with the 75th season. The costumes were not thrown into the fires of hell the millisecond the clock ticked to zero during the Jags game as they should have been.
No, he’s still very much alive, all up in our business, besmirching the good, strong, we-don’t-need-no-mascots-or-cheerleaders name of the Pittsburgh Steelers.
As I walked by, very aware that I couldn’t snap a photo because it would be too risky, I thought to myself, “Where, o where is a giant flock of angry pigeons when I need one?”