The Pittsburgh Pirates have always been, at least since 1992, the laughing stock of baseball. Peel back this recent streak of ignominy, and a vast selection of baseball greatness will eagerly rise to the surface—as fast as possible to erase records of the past twenty years.
Baseball stars such as Barry Bonds, Willie Stargell and Roberto Clemente—who each led the Pirates to the front of newspapers across the country for their successes—are no longer easily found. Instead, fans need to research arduously just to find out which player belongs to each jersey number as they step into the batter’s box.
Aside from the poor play on the field, outsiders are armed to remind hometown “yinzers” whenever they can about the Pirates lack of support and fan base. PNC Park, opened in 2001, is one of the best in Major League Baseball—built in a location that perfectly highlights the downtown skyline—but it’s hard not to focus on the myriad of free concerts and giveaways in an attempt to coerce fans to show up to the ballpark for all of the wrong reasons.
Fans were offered a reprieve last year when the Pirates stood atop of the NL Central standings more than halfway through the 162-game season. Pittsburgh, like a phoenix rising from fresh tobacco spit and mashed sunflower seeds, was back in the media spotlight. CNN features and front page news stories all asked the one question fans kept in the back of their minds: Could this really be the breakout year the city of Pittsburgh has been waiting for? Pittsburgh had exploded with excitement and anticipation, but Jerry Meals had the answer.
The team spiraled out of control, losing 15 out of its next 18 games, and dropped into the bottom of the standings all within a few weeks. The hype had ceased, and the team returned back to its lethargic losing attitude. Newspapers no longer focused exclusive stories on the 25 active Pirates players trying to make a name for themselves among baseball’s other elites. The season served now as an afterthought to many citizens of Pittsburgh, who now focused across the street to the offseason and potential of the Steelers, the first football game still months away.
However, the revitalization of baseball in the “Steel City” did not go to waste. Fans, while the team was in control of its own destiny, quickly started to buy tickets to watch the game for the right reason. Games were being sold out on a regular basis, and fans cheered for one common outcome: a Pittsburgh Pirates win. Outsiders were left with their mouths hanging wide open, caught with the same ammunition as before, but with no gun to ignite it.
Players can now be easily recognized throughout the majors—not to the same extent as Bonds and Clemente in the past, but a step in the right direction nonetheless. Jerseys flew off the racks at numerous shops and were owned by fans across the state. Pennsylvania is also home to the Philadelphia Phillies, a team favored to make the playoffs in what seems like every season. In one year, the Pirates graduated from the annoying little brother who is destined to lose, to the competitive, confident cousin who gives each team a run for its money.
Twenty years is a long time to fail. Pittsburgh can’t take much longer, but I’m pretty sure everyone said the same thing each year after the tenth. The city is lucky to have two other teams in the Steelers and Penguins that at least know what achieving success entails and how to maintain it. Some would say two elite sports teams are enough for a city; some would say even one makes its citizens rest easy. I say why not three? The potential support for a third is present; the Pirates proved a glimpse of it until late last year. The Pirates just need to keep the hope alive.
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