The Curse of the Pottsville Maroons: Stand with the Steelers

So I returned to Donahue's Dive, tucked in a crossroads in the rolling ancient Appalachian hills of Schuylkill County, Pa., to see what its rakish old owner, Jack Crabb McClawski, "Crab Claw," thought of the Philadelphia Eagles' performance against the Arizona Cardinals, and of what it all means for the Maroons of Pottsville.

Crab Claw was rubbing his wrinkled temples and pulling at his long white mane tied back in a ponytail. He said his head hurt badly from the previous night's festivities. His green eyes were rimmed with red, giving them the look of an aging decadent Christmas decoration.

"At 109, its hard to be an excitable boy anymore. My face, like the singer said, looked like something death brought in a suitcase this morning. Ahhh, that Magyar girl had a twin, and today I feel every day of 109."

He pulled old a glittering gold pocket watch and quickly checked it and groaned. "I won this from Wyatt Earp on a horse at Santa Anita Racetrack in 1924. Earp was such a poor sport and he tried to give me his hard Tombstone stare, but it didn't work and the old gunman stormed off grumbling and cursing looking to find his wife for some gambling dough."

"And I got an angry Cuban girl coming here from Miami at seven tonight. Always screaming about Castro this and Castro that and that her Grand Momma was in the mountains with the Beard and the Beard betrayed her and she wants revenge.

"It gets like that Spaniard said in the movie with that giant wrestler man: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. Over and over. But she wants the Beard gone.

"What am I supposed to do? Hell, I don't like him either. I used to gamble there with Meyer Lansky back when it was nice. But now I'm too damn old to go hunting the Beard in those hills."

He struck a wooden match and lighted a small cigar. "Cubans. She brings me these and has the most dazzling dark eyes. What's a poor old boy supposed to do?" 

He blew a smoke ring. "I got drunk with that big French wrestling fellow, the one in that movie with the good looking girl who married the big mouth actor, one time over in Reading.

"Well that Andre fellow sure could drink the beer he drank about 50 and passed out in the hotel lobby. Hell, no one could move him. He just laid there snoring. He's dead now."

As he poured a shot of rum into his green tea and down a vitamin C and a dose of milk thistle I tried to steer him back to the Eagles and the Pottsville Maroons.

"Milk thistle keeps the liver strong. And this, rum and tea, helped the damn Brit Navy conquer the world. Anyway, the Eagles. Yeah the damn gutless birds."

"The Eagles were always gutless. Well mostly. They were tough with Old Greasy Neale, hell, no coaches are called Greasy or Curly anymore; I miss that, and the rough running of Steve Van Buren.

"Buren was a tough one, came up an orphan from Honduras via New Orleans, and ran like his life depended on it. Because at one time maybe it did.

"Well Van Buren and Greasy whipped the Cardinals in a blizzard in '48. Van Buren thought the game was off and had to run 12 blocks in the blizzard to make the game and still played great."

"Being an orphan makes ye tough. Remember Night Train Lane? No? Now that's a nickname. The Night Train. Night Train was an orphan found in a dumpster, fought in Korea and was working at a job he hated, an air parts place, when he tried out for the Los Angeles Rams as a walk on.

"I drank with him once in a dark jazz club in Detroit where his wife, sweet Dinah Washington, the Queen of the Blues, was singing old Hank Williams' 'Cold, Cold Heart.' Well the Night Train had a cold heart on the football field.

"He wouldn't like all these prancing, perfumed princes playing wide out today. No, Night Train had a move he called the Night Train necktie and it neared ripped runners heads right off. Hell, he did that today, the Commissioner likely try to put him in jail."

"But the Eagles, the Eagles. Well, the Eagles grabbed one of Night Train's teammates, The Dutchman, Norm Van Brocklin and he lead the Birds to their last title. With an assist from Concrete Charlie Bednarik who held that big Taylor back from the Packers down as time ran out.

"Van Brocklin was near the end of the line then but he was a tough old bird, hell he been a frogman in World War Two, and he got the Eagles a Championship. Since then its been mostly a gutless group."

Crab Claw walked around the bar and tapped a Yuengling slide it to me, grab himself one, click my mug, then said to the sunny slopes of long ago and downed his in one long gulp.  He reeked of garlic and was eating a raw onion dipped in hot horseradish.

"Yes, gutless. They had that Tose fellow that loved to drink and gamble. Yes he did I once took 10 grand from him in a poker game at Atlantic City. Never good to drink a ton and gamble big.

"And that outfit in Atlantic City loves them that drinks then gambles and has a big bankroll. And they fleeced old Tose of everything last I heard he was broke, living in a small tenement in Philly. Everything gone in a gambler's roll."

"But he had a Super Bowl trip. And what a trip it was. Down in New Orleans against the Raiders. And Raiders they were. I was in the French Quarter the night before the game and saw them big boys carousing; that big fellow they called the Tooz had three Creole Strippers hanging from each arm and he was curling them and growling like a pirate.

"The Eagles boys were all locked up, uptight, in a hotel. That coach that liked to cry all the time was uptight too and their Polish Quarterback was worse. And it showed he kept throwing the ball to the fellows in Silver and Black and the Raiders Big Indian quarterback put them away. Al Davis was buying that night, laughing and grinning, and telling nasty stories about Pete Rozelle."

"Then the Eagles had that fat Irish fellow, Ryan, and that used car saleman of an owner, they had a hellacious defense but never could win a playoff game. Now they got an even chunkier lad, that Reid, and he looks like the sick python that swallowed the village goat in every big game.

"I mean the lump comes up and when the quarterback is blowing his oats on the sideline in crunch time. Well that ain't never a good thing. Van Brocklin never did that and he took some beatings. Back then ye actually could tackle the quarterback. But after being a frogman, nothing on the football field will frighten ya."

He rubbed out his cigar. "Like Gino Marchetti once said after the Bulge football was, well, just football. One wouldn't think that this Super Bowl week. But like that miserable running back once said if its the ultimate game, why do they play again next year?"

"But last week the Eagles defense let them down. Yes it did. They blitzed, blitzed, blitzed at that holy rolling Cardinal quarterback and he gave it right back to them. The Eagles tried to ambush him with the blitz and he beat the blitz like ye beat an ambush you attack right through it. You attack it."

He smacked his fist on the oak bar. "I learned that in the Bulge and before boy. See those Krauts, even though they had no air force, little artillery, and less gas for their few tanks they were always attacking, attacking and counter attacking. Damn Krauts aggressive to the end. And what a pain in the butt.

"Finally one day, after a Kraut stitched Joe McGee from South Boston with Sten gun while he was walking point in the snow and then they came at us with machine guns we had enough. Just had enough, as Joe bled out red in the white snow we went right at them Krauts. Waffen SS they were and we laid them low in the bloody snow. Look here."

He pulled a small, gold laced derringer engraved with an Eagle and a SS symbol from behind the bar. "Took that from a dead Kraut Colonel. Had it snug under his arm. One shot. I reckon it was for himself if the Russkies caught him. They didn't cotton to the SS. But I got him before Ivan did. Anyway we were Slim Jim Gavin's boys, we led the way, and Slim Jim, that dangerously lucky son of a bitch, was always out front."

The old man winked an old green eye and grinned. "Except when he was in the rear with Marlene Dietrich and Hemingway's wife the good looking news lady. Slim Jim sure was something. Hell Hemingway didn't care. I drank with him on leave in a hotel bar in Paris.

"Papa was liberating Paris one bar room at a time. He said over shots of absinthe it took war to get rid of that damn women. All things truly wicked start from innocence he said and slammed another shot. And that women is wicked. Then he fell right off his bar stool. 'I can be destroyed but not defeated, so pass me another absinthe.' he roared from the floor."

"Are you boring that poor boy with your damn war stories, Crab Claw?" An old man named McGrath growled from a table where he sat playing euchre with three other grey head men. "Are ye still in the bar business? Can I get a damn drink?"

"Get off your lazy ass and get it yourself you old buzzard. Drunken old goat, I ought to throw you out." Crab Claw snapped back. 

"Look!" A man called Zeno pointed at the flat screen television screen where Dick Cheney was rolling by on a wheelchair. "His back went out after shredding papers all night."

"Nahh." A shrunken man snarled through swirling cigarette smoke. "He's been on the government tit all his life; he's just trying for workmen's comp before he's off the rolls. Hell we ought to all be bleating because we all been fleeced."

A fellow at the bar in a pith hat pitched in."He looks like that Doctor Strangelove guy. Watch he'll stand up and say mein Fuhrer I can walk."

"No politics in the bar." Crab Claw disappeared into the kitchen. "Unless I'm doing the talking. And now I'm talking sports."

The old man emerged with a massive near raw steak, buried in onions and smothered in portobello mushrooms, he dropped a chuck of butter on it then poured a pile of salt, pepper, and steak sauce on top as the steak sizzled in its juices.

"Want one?" I declined as he began stabbing the bleeding steak with a big butcher knife.

"Don't now what ye are missing. A man gotta eat. Anyway back to the gutless Eagles. So when the Eagle geniuses finally figured out how to cover that tall wide out, why only put one man on the other teams best man?, and their offense finally became untracked, well, they almost pulled it out. Yes they did.

"Despite the quarterback missing his men most of the day, or underthrowing them, or overthrowing them and their defense being a sieve and being tricked, they almost won." 

"See, the Cardinals banged about that Westbrook. They said that little feisty fellow ain't gonna beat us, you beat us McNabb, you do it. The Patriots did that to that shifty Faulk fellow in the Super Bowl a few years back. And McNabb almost beat the Cards.

"After the Eagle defense folded its hand and let the Cards grab the killer lead again late, McNabb had his chance. Two minutes, down by five, left that's where legends lurk. That's where the legends be born. That's where that Joe Montana fellow man made his money. That's where Unitas made his bones."

The old man chewed on a huge bloody piece of meat. "But not McNabb. And not Andy Reid. And sure as hell not that choker of a kicker. And they whine about the fourth and ten interference call? Well it should not of come to that, right? A fourth and ten floater? Like Emmet Dalton told me his shot brother said Die Game, boy!

"That's right go out game. Not complaining about a missed call. Gutless Eagles. Shame that Farley fellow croaked or he could have played Reid in the movie, Gutless Eagles. And now they're done. Their old. This was their last shot and they were lucky to get it"

"Or a manatee could play him." A man shouted from the card table to laughter. " A frightened manatee could play Reid. Play Reid like he just surfaced and got caught in the boats lights and the propeller was whirling closer, closer."

As a gaunt man threw out a jack of hearts he snapped "I heard when they botched Charlie Weis's fat sucking operation it was cause the fire hose got a Louisiana license plate caught in it and the Doc panicked and said he must of came up in the Gulf-stream. I mean did you ever see a good fat coach? I mean Abe Gibron was hilarious but the Bears were terrible."  

"What about the Tuna? Parcells?" A man in huge black glasses snarled. "He's a fat ass."

"Not so much anymore. I'd call him chunky." The Thin man said. "What he have, about a half dozen heart attacks?"

"What about Weeb?" A third man heavyset chimed in. "Old fat Weeb?"

"Ewbank was just short. Like one of them drunken dwarfs in that Lord of the Rings movies. He wasn't fat. He was stout." The Thin Man was studying his cards carefully. "Thick."

"Weeb was fat and Weeb won." Black glasses growled from above his ample gut. "Fat guys can win. What ya gotta look like Bill 'Bela Lugosi' Belichick to win? Or like Doogie Howser in Denver? Give me the fat man over Doogie any day. And Bela's lucky he has Brady."

"Weeb won because he had Unitas and Namath. And Weeb wasn't fat. Fat guys don't win. Players do not like being bossed around by fat guys. It's that simple.

"I mean they say, 'what your ordering me around and you can't stop after the first half dozen donuts? Control your damn calories before you control the team.'" The Thin Man struck trump.

"Listen to Nick Charles, here! Where's Nora? Weeb was fat. What about that Fridge fellow in Maryland? He's a porker!" Black glasses drank a short shot of Jack Daniels.

"The Devil has put a penalty on all things we enjoy in life. Either we suffer in health, we suffer in soul, or we get fat." He grabbed a beer pretzel and a chunk of Cabot extra sharp cheese and crunched them loudly in his mouth.

"Yeah and how many championships have them Maryland turtles won with Fridge? None! Not even in that weak sister ACC." The Thin man sipped a light beer. "He can't even beat Wake Forest and North Carolina anymore."

"Buddy Ryan was fat and he won!" Black glasses snarled as pretzel crumbs made a small avalanche down his chin."I mean not in the playoffs, but the Bears never win if he ain't the defensive coach. I mean Ditka might have looked like a damn Bear but he wasn't a master of x's and o's..."

"Fat assistants don't count. Football is riddled with fatso's. Fatso's just don't win in football. Ryan made the Eagles tougher but he still lost." The thin man grinned. "They say there's a thin man inside of every fat man wondering what the hell happened."

"Bah!" Crab Claw chomped on his steak." The Steelers were always tougher then the Eagles. They will handle them Cardinals for the Maroons sake."

"Like hell they will." McGrath yelled. "Take the seven, kid. The Cardinals got their best player in that Fitzgerald fellow, a Pennsylvania product, and the holy rolling Quarterback might have God on his side."

"God's on the side of the team with the most artillery. " Crab Claw pointed at the man with his bloody knife. "And you owe me a hundred bucks from last week. That James running back is one tough Card though. I like the way he blocks the rushing linebackers and even defensive ends. He ain't afraid of sticking his head in there. Walter Payton used to love to that. And tackle players on interceptions, and damn those Bears had a lot of them.

"Once I went to Kentucky to buy a horse from Buddy Ryan, and he poured me a bourbon and said watch this. It was a tape of Payton tackling this poor Packer man who made an interception and was just strolling down the field like he was on a picnic and BOOM!, like that fat announcer man used to shout, BOOM!

"Payton appears and damn near ripped that Packer's head right off. Ryan looked at me his Irish eyes glittering and said some of the most vicious hits he ever saw in football was Walter Payton making tackles."

An argument erupted, sounding like a murder of crows cackling actually, over a missed played hand. "Shut the hell up!" Crab Claw cracked.

One of the old men shouted you shut up and Crab Claw shouted back.

"As Al Sweargenen said over time, your quickness with a cocky rejoinder must have gotten you many punches in the face. I love 'Deadwood.'"

"But I hate that damn Dutch euchre game. Play poker like men! You know I once played poker with the President? Warren Harding. What a game. Doug Fairbanks was in it and smashed on gin, Al Jolson was there, and a half drunk Tom Edison kept trying to cheat and complaining about Tesla. Edison was a nasty old man ye had to watch the bugger ever minute.

"And you think that satyr, that Clinton, was a women chaser well he couldn't hold a candle to crooked old Warren. Hell they said Harding was so crooked his aides screwed him into his c hair in the mornings. And it ticked Mrs. Harding off to no end.

"And it might of cost. It's whispered she mixed him a special potion and soon the jig was up for old Warren. Buy the ticket take the ride they say. But I wonder if Hilary thought of using that recipe while in the White House. Harding loved sports though..."

"Anyways the Eagles..." He grabbed another Yuengling. "Nothing like cold beer on a icy afternoon. The Eagles would have crumbled against the Steelers anyway. The eagles are gutless, as the man said better a cruel truth then a comfortable delusion, But what poor sports those fans are?

"It goes way back they tried to burn old Ben Franklin's house down after the stamp act so Andy Reid is getting off rather easy. But these Steelers will lick those Cardinals and put some pride in Pennsylvania.

"Attack with the defense, those Steel men got to get to the Holy roller and they got to cover that big haired  wide out. It will be hair on hair with the ball in the air when that Hawaiian lad hits Fitzgerald. The fur, er the hair, will be flying."

"Both these quarterbacks been there before, though that Big Ben didn't play well the last time, so they should be calm. Sometimes the big stage panics those boys. That Eason lad looked like he wanted to cry against the '85 Bears but who could blame him? And that Grossman guy for they Bears gave up the game a few years back.

"So the spotlight shining might break some. And surely some nitwit will get arrested or disappear into Mexico. Get caught with a call girl that's a cop or miss the game in some damn drug den. Something strange will happen always does."

I asked the old man if he would go to the game if had a ticket.

"No way. Besides the damn airports being like the Berlin Wall its all a corporate hustle. Hardly any real fans at those things. Big bankers, big wigs, high priced hookers, Hollywood types, fat cats, and politicos. And they will all act so shocked if they see a young girls beast by accident. Not for me.

"Enough of crowds for me, and them bankers and politicos they leave ooze, trails like slugs leave roll behind them. This is cranky man in the desert told me once one man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity, there ain't nothin' can beat teamwork. And then laughed and said he was a humanist, that he rather kill a person then a serpent."

"Rather kill a person than a serpent..." Crab Claw pounded the table laughing. "He was a strange one. Stir society up, he said as he walked off or the scum floats to the top. Nope, no game for me. I'll watch it on the television with a mojito and me black eyed Cuban senorita."

The old man checked his watch. "Maybe I should nap before he plane gets in. She's a handful. My last big event was Ali and Foreman in Zaire and I missed it. I was working as a kind of military aid with this son of a bitch Van Owen battling the Bantu and ran into this crazy man from Kentucky name of Hunter Thompson.

"We got so damn bombed on gin at the hotel bar we missed the fight. He had this little English fellow chasing after him, nagging him, but he kept drinking then he threw this big bag of wacky tobacco into the hotel pool and swam around in it. Mad, bad, and dangerous to know that beastly Thompson bastard was."

"Ali used to come in here a lot. He drink but he trained up the lane at Deer Lake. Dundee would sip a beer and me and Ali would banter. Boy could he talk. And he was sharp. I never liked they way he treated Frazier but he was friendly with me. Said he loved my stories.

"The heavyweights today would be butchered by the boyos he fought. They think Tyson was tough and mean? They ain't never meant Ron Lyle or seen that Big Ugly, Bear Sonny Liston when he stared at you with those sleepy, dead eyes. And Foremen? A monster, not the sweet Gramps selling grills." 

"Last week I though the Eagles might rope-a-dope the Cardinals. You know they had taken their best shoot and were still standing. The Cards had punched themselves out and the Eagles had seized the day it seemed.  The Cards were dazed, down and out.

"But unlike Big George in Zaire, the Cards didn't collapse they crawled and got back up. And caught the Eagles with haymaker. Or a hard left hook to the liver the most devastating punch in boxing when delivered by an expert. And Warner, with those holy eyes, delivered. McNabb and the defense didn't. End of story."

A giant black dog walked into the bar. "Ahhh Watchbear..." Crab Claw grinned as it shook its enormous head. "Don't worry he's friendly, even to reporters. He doesn't like actors though, he sat on Jack Palance once when the old braggart was trying to show off his one armed push ups over by the jukebox.

"I never could stand braggarts I once told MacArthur I was gonna shove that pipe up his ass. Yes Daddy did." Crab Claw began rubbing the dogs ears causing the dog to rumble.

"Yes Daddy would have shoved that pipe right up where the sun doesn't shine if old Dugout Doug hadn't blown the retreat right quick."

"He's a Newfoundland. his great, great, great, great, great, great Doggie Daddy, Seaman, walked across the wide continent with Captain Lewis and Captain Clark. Yes he did. All the virtues of man without his vices, yes you do. Scared the Blackfeet yes Grand Doggie Daddy did. Damn Blackfeet killed Jeremiah "Liver Eating" Johnson's kin but then they learned didn't they? The wrath of a wronged man is wicked."

"But boy don't lose any sleep over the Bidwells, because believe me they ain't losing any over you."

The old man shuffled over to the jukebox and punched in a number. Dinah Washington began to sing.

I tried so hard my dear to show that youre my every dream.
Yet you're afraid each thing I do is just some evil scheme
A memory from your lonesome past keeps us so far apart
Why can't I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold cold heart

"Now ye got me dreaming of Dinah...Hank loved her version. Me and my Cuban are going to Rumba to this later."

He was lost in thought for a moment. Then he turned old, green eyes still sea bright.

"Boy I got to go rest for that spicy Cuban cooking that's coming my way. As I ponder Pittsburgh, I am tempted to take the points. Plus seven, eh? The over and under 47? 21 Cardinal points and your guaranteed at least a push? And those mad prop bets what ye think of them? Don't tell me, as the old saloon keeper said, announcing your plans is a good way to hear god laugh. Good luck, kid.

"And if the Cardinals win, they win. Hell nothing lasts for ever, not even that old sun or moon." He toasted the full bright moon rising in the window."The Roman Empire fell, the Red Sox won the series so curses can end too. Even for the Bidwells. And that dancing old orb, that bright old girl, watched it all. Eternally unmoved by our antics, of course.."

"Now I gotta lay down." He drank a shot of rye and one of bitters. Shook his head. "This Cuban...yea Gods. Last time I was in Cuba was in April of 1961 and they shot me. Shot me in the ass with an old Enfield. Lead to three months rest and recovery in Key West so it wasn't all bad. And now let's hope this ones crazy Cuban husband doesn't shoot me. Being shot once by an angry Cuban is enough for any man's lifetime."

He laughed. "Well she said he split, went to Vegas to see this Jose Perez fellow casino business. Perez was his old Colonel he said. Anyway being shot by a jealous husband at the age of 109 ain't a bad way to check out, is it? Hell, the great Stanley Ketchel went out like that at just 24.

"Imagine that? A great fighter laid low by a little .22 bullet, a cheap whore, and a cowardly husband. And old Emmet Dalton said he was shot 23 times and still survived to buy me a beer in Hollywood. Life does the damnedest things. Pray to the Gods but row away from the rocks."

"Come on Watchbear. Nap time." The mammoth, drooling, dog rose and rolled into the kitchen. "Stay and drink if ye like boy, them old boys bitch but they don't bite. Sometimes the shade of old Yellow Jack Donahue walks about hereabouts at night, but don't be a fright, for he is justs wandering, lost, lonely, and thirsty. And as the old sailor said to me long ago the years thunder by. The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed."

"Have some fun kid, never know when its check out time. Someday ye will go no more a roving by the light of the moon as the old poet said. Some of these twisted up Boomer folks are trying to kill fun. Well the hell with them. F the Anti Fun police. Fun ain't done as long as old Crab Claw is sneaking around. Just watch your wives and daughters.

"And maybe take the Cards and the points and the over or just fire it all on the coin flip? Why not? Maybe big Ben runs in the first TD?  What is he 12-1 on the first score? But remember those Card coaches coached Big Ben and might now how to ring Big Ben's bell or rattle Big Ben's brain. The Cards did beat 'em last year. Or stand with the Steelers."

"Who knows how the Cards will fall or rise?" The old man cackled."Those who believe in telekinetic powers raise my hand! Hell maybe take Old Fashioned in the Kentucky Derby futures instead. Depend on the rabbits foot but remember it didn't work for the damn, dead bunny! Sometimes ye get lucky like old Bill Doolin and yer pony breaks down at the perfect time! Or sometimes the shitstorm sinks yer battleship. So it goes.

"Now I'm tired, I feel like old Randy the Ram. Plume tuckered out but still trying to climb to the top rope one last time. And now this mad eyed, soaked in rum Cuban is coming! Last time she arrived she was on the luggage rack at the airport singing sweetly like Alan Swann."

"Come on Watchbear...we got a long night ahead of us."" He disappeared into the kitchen singing loudly.

"I'm a mean old Wolf from Bitter Creek and tonight's my night to howl!"

The big black bear dog looked back at me once, howled deep and long, then grinned and danced before disappearing into the darkness.