"I could feel the tears freezing on my face."
Amber Kirschner's a therapist in our city. She's young enough to have never seen Franco Harris play, old enough to know that hypothermia's very real, but also wise enough to know that the latter wouldn't prevent any self-respecting season-ticket holder from honoring the memory of the former in the most Pittsburgh way possible: By rooting on her football team to victory.
So she did that. And it was ... well, a little stupid, as I'll bet almost anyone among the 40,000 or so in attendance at Acrisure Stadium — the paid figure was 64,761, though it appeared to be about two-thirds of that — would acknowledge on the coldest Christmas Eve in the region's history at a feels-like minus-12. A temp that'll burn exposed skin before long, magnified by a weird whipping wind logged with a thick moisture.
But yeah, she still put herself through that. For three hours. From kickoff to the riveting conclusion of the Steelers' 13-10 ... oh, Immaculate Interceptions of the Raiders, I guess one might say ... she shouted support, shrieked when plays would go awry, and stood -- alongside almost everyone else -- throughout the fourth quarter.
Ultimately, this was Amber's reward:
Boom. Kenny Pickett to George Pickens. The clock at 0:49. First lead of the evening. Followed by the roar, the leaping for joy, the embraces visible all across those yellow seats.
"It was emotional," Amber would recall, "to say the least."
Made it all worthwhile. And maybe even made it all happen.
____________________
I'm born and raised here. I've been doing this job since I was a teen. And I'd never covered a scene like this.
More important, to hear the participants tell it, they'd never experienced one, either. But not, obviously, just because of the weather.
Our city'd been revved up for months to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Immaculate Reception and, within that, to recognize the architect by retiring Mr. Harris' No. 32. Then, of course, the unthinkable occurred. And now, sadly and suddenly, there'd be a swirl of emotion related to Mr. Harris, an arriving sea of his old teammates that'd include none other than Mean Joe Greene, several days of discussion about what it meant to be a part of this franchise and -- as if more was needed -- the oh-by-the-way factor that it'd be wonderful to win and keep lit the dimmest of playoff lights.
As Pickens, the rookie, would acknowledge afterward, "There was a lot going on all week. And all of it mattered."
Sure did. But it might not have mattered somewhere else, certainly not to this extreme.
"It was more than three hours," Terrell Edmunds would correct me when I asked about the fans being out there for three hours. "Even when we were out for our warmups, an hour before the game, we had a lot of fans there already, supporting us, trying to cheer us on pregame."
He shook his head.
"Man, I can't tell you what that does for you. It just shows how much the fans are ridin' and dyin' for us. Even though our record's not the best right now."
Nope. Both these teams entered 6-8, and the winner's still only 7-8.
"But they still love us. They still trust us. They still believe in us. And we don't take that for granted."
He then mentioned the swirl that Pickens referenced.
"It was a big night. There's still a possibility for us in the playoffs. But it was so much bigger because we were honoring a legend. And what you saw here was everyone coming together."
Everyone, as in everyone.
It'll all eventually be wiped from the collective memory, but the bulk of this game was a barking dog. The Raiders moved the ball far too comfortably in the first half, whereas the Steelers' offense barely budged, in large part due to Matt Canada's continued incompetence but also due to Pickett being equally uninspiring. So, with 10 minutes to go, Las Vegas led, 10-3, with scant hope in sight.
But the secondary plucked three Derek Carr passes in the second half to at least begin turning the figurative tide.
First on this elegant effort by Arthur Maulet:
Then on this rapid reaction by Minkah Fitzpatrick, who'd proceed to bounce into the crowd, as illustrated on the photograph atop this column:
Then, finally, after the aforementioned Pickett-to-Pickens strike, on this Willie Mays imitation by Cam Sutton:
My goodness. To all of that.
Small wonder that, when Levi Wallace overheard me asking his secondary mate Edmunds about the crowd, he kiddingly interjected, "Hey, what about us? We were cold, too. I mean, look at my feet!"
I looked at his feet. There was a sinister-looking white outline around his toes. I shuddered and then shut up.
"Yeah, man," Wallace concluded, "that stuff's crazy!"
The man's point stands: The players had to push through it, too. Cam Heyward, who'd been the bearer of the No. 32 flag in pregame introductions, played like a man possessed with two sacks, three tackles for a loss and a batted pass. Pat Freiermuth became a beast once Canada remembered he was on the roster, with seven catches on eight targets for 66 yards, almost all of that in the second half when needed most. And Najee Harris, though limited in both his 16 carries and his 53 yards, did this frothing-pit-bull imitation on the decisive drive:
To say nothing of the sweet touchdown that'd come next.
Look, there's seldom anything worth commending about 7-8, and I'm hardly pretending otherwise. But I'm comfortable applauding this group's collective resilience following the 2-6 start, which had some cynics openly pining for 2-15 or whatever it'd take to secure a higher draft pick. It's legit impressive within context. Not a soul would've wagered on a winning record after that start, much less even a microscopic chance at the playoffs at this late stage.
That said, I didn't disagree with a syllable of this from Mike Tomlin: "We just better keep rolling our sleeves up, keep our head down, keep our mouths shut, and keep working. We've got a battle awaiting us."
Two of them: Ravens and Browns.
Not many in the locker room were talking about playoffs, either, instead using terminologies similar to Tomlin's.
"We're headed in the right direction," was how Maulet would word it. "We're holding each other accountable. I see everybody locked in. That's where we are. Let's see where it goes."
That's fair. But I'll admit, for the moment, I'm far more interested in where this just was.
____________________
Don't believe in sports' countless mystical elements?
OK, good luck explaining the Steelers scoring exactly 13 points against the Raiders, same as Dec. 23, 1972.
Or the Raiders blowing a late lead.
Or the officials having to huddle up late to determine if a running back named Harris had really caught a low pass.
Or Carr's last interception leaving his right hand with precisely 32 seconds showing on the clock.
Or Sutton making that interception at precisely the Pittsburgh 32-yard line.
Speaking for myself, I've soaked up that supernatural sort of stuff in all sports since childhood. But on an occasion like this ... wow, it's just so much easier. Borderline unavoidable. Because when I witness the convergence of these extraordinary events -- Mr. Harris' tragic passing and the moving reaction of his family on the stage alongside Art Rooney II at halftime here, tens of thousands of people persisting through perilous weather and, not to be forgotten, the rare sight of the Steelers digging out of a hole of this scope -- I'm inclined to reiterate Edmunds' assessment that this was really just "everyone coming together."
And again, that's everyone, as in everyone.
Which always, always, in my eyes, begins with this team's first name rather than its last.
Let me ask: Do the Steelers really pull this one out without all that visible, vocal support in this once-in-a-generation cold?
Like, if this were played in some soulless pins on a map like a Charlotte, a Phoenix or ... hey, anywhere in Florida?
Don't think for a second they don't notice.
"I mean, it just shows who's a real fan," Kevin Dotson would tell me before giggling as he'd add, "Hey, I'm a fan. But I'm from the South, and there's no way I'm sitting in that. I'm not going to lie. I'd watch on TV and cheer from my couch."
Turning serious, he'd add, "But them being out there just shows how much dedication they have to this organization."
Now watch when I brought this up with Maulet:
"I was on the sideline, and I was giving them little hearts like this," he'd say, bending his fingers and thumbs into a heart shape. "Cause bro, that's love. It's love, man. I go out there and it's negative-12, and I'm, like, 'Do I even want to play in this?' But I've got to. They're sitting in the stands, cheering us on ... and that just means the world to me."
Same for Heyward.
"We appreciate everybody who came out tonight," he'd say. "We were able to use that to our advantage."
When I broached this with T.J. Watt, he'd say, "We hear everything. We feel everything. I can't tell you how much it means to us at field level."
And of the fans at this one, he'd add with a broad grin, "They knew the assignment."
Let me ask this now: Do the Steelers really build this family feel in a civic setting that hasn't forever fostered such an atmosphere? One in which the loss of Mr. Harris was taken so hard by so many, as if he were one of their own? Or vice versa?
I asked Denny Scott, a season-ticket holder and proprietor of the Downtown institution Wiener World, why he put himself through this, as well as why his family'd willingly tag along:
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DENNY SCOTT
The Scott family, by the Immaculate Reception memorial on General Robinson Street, North Shore, Saturday night.
"We do this because it connects us to our city in a special way," Denny'd say. "For three generations now."
"The Steelers bring us all together. Families, friends, strangers," his wife Melody would add. "It gives us all something to believe in."
I asked our friend Amber the same.
"We bundled up with lots of layers and hand-warmers, and it was absolutely worth it," she'd say. "Growing up as a Steelers fan since birth means I knew the importance of Franco to our team and this city. I couldn’t miss this game, no matter how cold it was. I love this team and this city. I wouldn’t miss this for the world."
Merry Christmas, my friends and fellow citizens of the finest place on the planet.
THE ESSENTIALS
• Boxscore
• Live file
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• Schedule
• Standings
• Statistics
THE INJURIES
Hurt in the game: S Tre Norwood (hamstring), though he'd tell me later he was 'fine.' And LB Marcus Allen (biceps). Chris Halicke has the full report.
The inactives: S Terrell Edmunds (hamstring), QB Mason Rudolph, G Kendrick Green, DT Jonathan Marshall, LB Mark Robinson
THE SCHEDULE
It's New Year's Day in Baltimore, 1:02 p.m. kickoff at M&T Bank Stadium. Chris and I will be there.
THE MULTIMEDIA
THE CONTENT
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