Growing up in Pittsburgh during the late ’80s, I often heard stories about the powerhouse Steelers of yesteryear. Usually, the tales of hard-nose sports glory came from my father or uncles. Every Sunday afternoon during football season, they’d sit in my grandparent’s front room, paying homage to the days of “Mean Joe Green” and Lynn Swann.

Like most western Pennsylvania folks who watched the team win four Super Bowls in the 1970s, my family drew pride from the black and gold. To many Pittsburghers, the Steelers represented more than just champions. Instead, they carried the mood of an entire city upon their shoulder pads. When they won, people were happy at the week’s outset. When they lost, well….

I quickly learned at an early age that Steelers football was not merely sport – it was something much more uniting. The team’s successes, shortfalls, emotion, heart, and passion extended well beyond the locker room doors.

As a child, game days mirrored nothing short of a weekly holiday. They were a time for family, friends, great food and shared pride in “our team.”

We, however, were not alone.

All around the ’Burgh, crock-pots bubbled with Italian sausage and peppers, Iron City beers chilled in iceboxes, and Myron Cope’s wonderful twang tested the frequency range of television speakers. On any given Sunday in any given Pittsburgh neighborhood, the collective sound of cheering fans spilled out onto sidewalks and echoed between houses.

This was not just a game – it was a lifestyle.

Personally, I remember sitting there at my grandparent’s house. We’d be huddled around the Zenith Chromacolor (II) waiting for the game to start; bowls of pretzels, corn chips and peanuts scattered around the room.

Like clockwork, my grandfather would set aside the daily newspaper about 1 minute before kickoff. With a sudden backwards jerk of his upper body, he’d push out the foot rest of his recliner – fidget for about 10 seconds; then shift comfortably into place.

Game time.

My father, who’s famous for calling the next play – would sling back his beer for a sip, then immediately start talking strategy.

“You watch, they’re going to come out here and do a quick down and out pass,” he’d dependably blurt out. “Seriously, watch. He’s going to drop back…”

We’d all just nod and agree.

See, in my lifetime of watching games with dad, I’ve realized he’s right about 20 percent of the time. Still, I can’t imagine a football Sunday without those play-by-play predictions. After all, it’s tradition.

I suppose that is what makes the Pittsburgh Steelers so unique. The team is the city, and the city is the team. Both beckon stories of friendships and family that span across generations.

This weekend, I’ll sit down with my baby boy and introduce him for the first time to a Steelers’ Super Bowl appearance. Both of his grandfathers will be sofa-bound right there beside us – our Terrible Towels swinging high in the air. Like so many others, we’ll mark a new chapter in our Steel Curtain loyalty. But more importantly, we’ll honor a decades-old bond – one that keeps an entire city living and dying with each snap of the ball.

By Steve