I remember as a kid secreting our big unwieldy plug-in radio under my Lost in Space blanket and listening far past my Petticoat Junction bedtime to Pittsburgh Pirate games when they visited the west coast. On one glorious occasion, my victory whoop when Willie Stargell went “downtown” ( the cool thing to call home runs back in the 60’s-we would even scream-sing that catchy Petula Clark song when we whacked one in wiffle ball) woke the house well after test patterns appeared on an archaic Magnavox legally blind without rabbit ears.
Power-hitting Stargell, 1960 series hero Bill Mazeroski, and the incomparable Roberto Clemente, who would tragically perish flying mercy supplies to his native Puerto Rico, transcended hero status with Pittsburgh area sports fans. Each would be immortalized in statue form by a franchise that was my first love almost a decade before that team called the Steelers rose to the top of that league now more significant than most entire countries.
