Being a Pittsburgh Steelers fan is more than just wearing the team colors on Sundays. It’s a legacy passed down through generations. A legacy of toughness that reflects the steel mills and coal mines of Western Pennsylvania. A legacy that is heralded by the scenes of Terrible Towels waving in the icy winds of Heinz Field (or Three Rivers depending on your age).
Since the Steelers were first broadcast on local TV in the mid-70s, I have not missed a down. (A very few times, I had to rely on Myron Cope’s radio broadcasts to get me through the game.)
To be a Steelers fan is to venerate the grit, loyalty, and sense of unpretentious pride our teams have embodied for generations. That’s why, when the news broke that Aaron Rodgers — yes, that Aaron Rodgers — was named the new quarterback of the Pittsburgh Steelers, my body and soul convulsed in abject confusion. It is not hyperbole to say I experienced a full-blown identity crisis.
To understand the pain, one has to understand the lore. Steelers fans don’t just root for football. We root for our culture. We cheer for legacy quarterbacks like Terry Bradshaw and Ben Roethlisberger. Although each had issues and were far from perfect role models, they were undeniably “ours.”
Moreover, we admired the grind of guys like Jack Lambert, Jack Ham, Troy Polamalu, Hines Ward, and James Harrison. They were players who bled black and gold, who seemed as connected to the city of Pittsburgh as the three rivers themselves.
Aaron Rodgers? He’s always felt like the antithesis of that.
Don’t get me wrong. Rodgers is a future Hall of Famer, who could make jaw-dropping throws look effortless. But in Pittsburgh, greatness isn’t just measured by stats and MVPs. It’s measured in toughness, team-first mentality, and a certain humility that aligns with the city’s blue-collar roots.
Rodgers, with his headline-grabbing interviews, celebrity and family feuds, offseason disappearances, and bizarre list of conspiracy theories, has never quite fit that mold.
Most fans excuse (or even enjoy) a little quirkiness in their hometown heroes. In the 1970s, even the most curmudgeonly mill worker found humor in Frenchy Fuqua’s platform shoes with goldfish in the heels. But Rodgers’ outlandish views and lies are beyond the pale of “eccentricity” – they are outright mean and dangerous.
For years, we mocked the Packers. We rolled our eyes at “Rodgers’ drama.” We comforted ourselves in the knowledge that while Green Bay had a more “famous” quarterback, we had a real team. Our quarterback controversies were tough, yes, but they felt authentic. They were the result of injuries, age, or draft struggles, not ego or philosophical rants.
Despite the months of pre-draft rumors, it seemed unimaginable that we could wake up one day to find that Rodgers is not only on our team – he’s actually leading it.
I remember the moment the announcement dropped. “Steelers trade for Aaron Rodgers.” I thought it was a meme. My phone blew up with friends asking, “How do I root for this guy?”
But there it was. Rodgers, holding up a Steelers jersey at his press conference, grinning like he’d just been handed the keys to the Iron City. His beard was a little too manicured, his tone a lot too smug. He talked about “honoring the legacy” and “bringing championships back to Pittsburgh,” but it felt like PR-speak. Scripted. Hollow.
As Steeler fans we’ve been through weird transitions before. (Bradshaw to Cliff Stoudt, Kordell Stewart to Tommy Maddox, Maddox to Big Ben). Change is part of the game. But this wasn’t just a roster move. This was a cultural earthquake.
Unbelievably, many in the national and local media jumped back on the “Steelers are a contender” bandwagon. But I couldn’t feel the usual pride.
Even if there is success, every win will be tainted. His celebrations consisting of that smug smirk, tossing the ball into the stands like a king bestowing gifts. We’re used to blood and guts, not enlightenment monologues and condescending sideline glances.
Off the field, there will be his musings about energy fields and ancient knowledge and “the need for Pittsburgh to expand its mind.” He will spew some pseudo-intellectual nonsense about the “quantum nature of competition” and how he was helping “elevate the collective frequency of the locker room.” True Yinzers should find this cognitive disconnect with their roots unbearable.
Because as a fan, you’re supposed to want your team to win. That’s the contract. But what happens when winning doesn’t feel good? What happens when each victory chips away at your sense of identity?
I can imagine many conversations in bars, at tailgates, and at work. “I mean, yeah, he’s good, but he ain’t us.” That’s if he does well and brings victories. If he plays like he has over the past few years and things go south, it will be far worse.
Being a fan is not always easy. It’s not always clean. Sometimes, the jersey on the back and the player inside it don’t match and you cheer anyway. Not for him, but for the city. For the emblem on the helmet. For the memories. For the people around you who still show up, who still believe, even when it’s complicated.
Of course, there are Steeler fans who would root for the devil himself if he put up a 100+ quarterback rating or if he could cover a crossing route.
However, I just can’t get there. As much as the Steelers have meant to me over the years, I will be rooting this season for any team with one or fewer Super Bowls in their trophy cases (except the Browns or Bengals, of course).
