The Filthiest Towel in the Whole USA

In honor of the Steelers' important win yesterday and to commemorate the fact that the "Curse of the Smokers' Barn" (long story) appears obliterated, my homage to a legend:

All real Steelers fans have at least one Terrible Towel. You hang onto it, take it with you to games and thrash it about in wild enthusiasm when good stuff happens. As a crazed fan at real-life Steelers games, I've walked my ice cold beer past venders hawking bright yellow Terrible Towels, hot off the iron. I've visited the Steelers store many times and marveled at the piles of brand new Terrible Towels, and once even bought one so mighty Myron Cope could autograph it. (That particular version hangs on my wall, never to be used in any other way but decorative.) But as for my own towel, well...

My faithful Terrible Towel is not bright yellow, though it may have once been - I don't know because I haven't known it since its inception. Now, it's more of a dingy mustard color. I received it as a gift and I think my dad might have found it outside good old Three Rivers Stadium years ago. This could also be a family urban legend in itself 'cause no one is for sure. I know it's old and beat up and I've had it for well over ten years. Before that? Your guess. The edges are frayed from being swung and pulled and thrown in frustration, stepped on, forgotten behind at Kegler's to be frantically retrieved, and drug to and 'fro from single apartments to married homes.

There is no discernable smell, though there should be, since I've used it as a bar rag to soak up bar spills, a napkin to wipe beer and hot sauce from my face, and a weapon to ward away rival fans. I've never washed it, out of fear it might fall apart and out of superstition that it could lose some of its magic. It is, then, far and away, the absolute filthiest, most germ-ridden article ever allowed in any of my many abodes. (Some of which, in college, were themselves quite prone to filth and germs.)

And I love it. I'm proud when with fellow revelers that my towel is of the vintage variety - not brand new and pristine. My towel has seen the thrills of victory (the Colts go down on Vanderjagt's "accuracy", the Steelers win the Super Bowl) and the agony of defeat (Super Bowl loss, how many times did the Patirots beat us?) I've had my faithful towel way longer than most boyfriends or any one of my jobs. You can't beat that kind of loyalty with a stick.

So, I drag that dirty old thing to a new generation of Steelers. From Gary Anderson to Jeff Reed, it's with me through thick and thin. Every time I see it, I smile. I've been through a lot in the past fifteen or so years and I'm reminded that my towel has too, albeit in a different sense.

We've been together this long and I know we have many years ahead of us. Here we go, Steelers. Here. We. Go.