Yoi and Double Yoi

While the world of the NFL continues to turn, and big events seem to happen on a daily basis, I find myself getting further behind in catching up with them all and popping in here to visit. Heck, I have not even done my official season end wrap up yet. It seems as though every time I find an opportunity to sit down and start, my attention is required elsewhere. We all get busy in our lives, and understandably it delays our ability to do the things we love. I mean, who knew planning a wedding took so much effort and involved so much detail? Bridezillas seems to knock out a wedding an episode! But one event occurred that I could not delay in speaking of was about a man whose voice told us the story of the Pittsburgh Steelers for 35 years, a man who Steeler Nation recently lost and will miss fiercely. I speak of course of Myron Cope.

Like most of us, I’ve been reading memories of Myron Cope, who passed away last week. Like many of us, I have been remembering the good times and the laughter he brought to Steeler fans around the world. Being far away from Pittsburgh, it’s difficult to feel the impact on the city itself with Myron’s passing.

I smiled at the thought of legions of Steeler fans waving towels in Myron’s honor. And I loved the idea I read from one fan who thought the Steelers should create a new tradition of raising a terrible towel flag before each home game, ala the stupid 12th man flag in Seattle. I think that’s brilliant. Myron’s family could raise the first flag, and then former greats, local dignitaries and even lucky fans could each get a shot at raising the Terrible Towel. As the flag went up, so would the towels of all the fans in attendance. I love it.

Myron was a unique and singular individual in the world at large, and especially in the world of sports broadcasting, which no longer seems to want personalities that engage and educate the listener while drawing them into the game with their enthusiasm, wit and style. Now broadcasting seems to merely want people who fit within predetermined parameters, and we find the landscape filled with homogenized cookie cutter personalities. Myron’s passing only emphasizes what we’ve lost in terms of entertainment, knowledge and friendship with the team, its fans and listeners in the broadcasting world

Myron was a stellar broadcaster who had the ability to draw the listener into the game, make them feel a part of it. He was a pure homer during broadcasts, making no bones about being a 100% Steeler fan while he engaged the audience. He also held a quick wit and an encyclopedic knowledge of the game and the players, always prepared and ready for whatever occurred during the game. He used this knowledge to explain the action, point out the nuances of each play and educate the listeners, but never in a way that made people feel stupid or on the outside. Quite to the contrary, Myron made you feel like you were one of the gang, and an important cog in the Steeler machine. All of this was made all the more special by his colorful colloquialisms and unique western Pennsylvania twang.

But broadcasting was merely where Myron ended up. He began his career as a gifted writer. So gifted, in fact, that he was successfully able to build a freelance career, before being hired by the Steelers, in a time when freelance writing was not as widespread as it is today. During the time Myron started out, you had to be great to make it on your own. And great he was, garnering multiple awards during his career and penning books, with none of those books focusing on the Steelers he loved. These books stand not only as a testament to his skill, but also the breadth and depth of his knowledge.

And of course, one cannot overlook perhaps the most enduring feat of his life, the invention of the Terrible Towel. While many may overlook this as a cheap gimmick or a sports world footnote, those who follow sports know the power of this magical device. Myron, in an effort to get the crowd up for a playoff game, urged fans to bring in yellow towels to wave at the opposition. The urging worked, and people flocked to the game towels in hand. The Steelers won, and that evening Myron coined the phrase Terrible Towel. At that moment, a Steeler tradition, one that is oft copied by teams of almost every sport, was born.

Myron’s towel did well, for the Steelers, the fans and Myron himself. And Myron never forgot that and used those powers for continued good in his humanitarian efforts. Myron donated the trademark of the Terrible Towel to the Allegheny Valley School. This school is a private, non-profit agency that cares for children and adults with intellectual developmental disabilities. Thanks to Myron’s generous donation, the school has earned $2.2 million since 1996, allowing them to pay for improved equipment, new programs and much needed renovations. Of all the great things Myron and the towel have done, this may be the greatest, and least talked about.

Since Myron passed away, many already have said great things about Myron, spoke of the great things he has done, about his character and love for life and just the wonderful person he was to many. And these eloquent words and recollections were written by fans, friends, colleagues and people far more poetic and able to weave a better tale than I. The man himself had a natural gift at weaving tales, and I know my small musings will barely do him justice.

But as Myron loved a good story, and everyone seems to have some great story of Myron to share, I shall make an attempt. Trust me; this story will not make you Oooooh and Ahhh like many out there. But I’m sure more than a few familiar with Pittsburgh, the Steelers and Myron will be able to relate.

I took a trip home in the fall a few years ago, and due to a case of poor scheduling, I had to drive to the airport to return to Los Angeles during the Steelers game. The drive would be 3 hours, so I figured I would at least get to hear the whole broadcast, and probably pass by Heinz Field in the 4th quarter, just in time to see the place erupting as the Steelers pushed for the win.

As I drove off from home, I tuned in to the Steeler broadcast. And as soon as I hit the station, I heard that voice. One voice so singular and unique that it could only come from one man, I heard Myron Cope. Immediately a smile drew across my face. I knew I was in for a long lost treat.

Having moved away from the area years before, it has been quite some time since I had listened to a Steelers radio broadcast. Myron was at the top of his game, cackling, joking, getting excited about Steeler successes, and down about missed opportunities. He razed the visiting team, surely raising the cockles a few of their fans who tuned in, but like Myron ever cared. His loyalties lie in black and gold. He inspired the fans to back the Steelers, and grabbed the attention of anyone within the sound of his voice. It had been years since last I heard Myron, but in some ways it did not feel like a day had gone by.

The drive flew by as Myron painted the picture of the action at Heinz Field. As I thought, I passed by the stadium in the fourth quarter, at the same time the Steelers scored. I saw the stadium erupt in euphoria and heard Myron explode in glee. The only way it could have been better is if I were in the confines of Heinz Field itself.

Listening to him again made me realize how many odd football related colloquialisms and references I picked up from Myron through the years, most of them without realizing it. Heck, I still refer to Cincinnati as the Bungles to this day. When I started writing football two years ago, I automatically started calling Cincinnati the Bungles, never once giving the proper credit to Myron. I know I’m not creative enough to come up with that one. That’s pure Myron. But it had become so ingrained in me, from years of his special brand of magic that I never thought twice about it. As I drove and listened, I laughed out loud to myself. Something tells me Myron would be pleased to know loyal Steeler fans called Cincinnati the Bungles without a thought.

Listening to the broadcast also made me feel good, like I was reunited with a long lost friend. During that drive, not only did I get to experience Steeler football, but I also felt there was something familiar, comforting and just right about hearing Myron’s nasally twang blasting through the car radio. I felt reconnected to my favorite team, friends, family and where I came from. Try to find someone around from western Pennsylvania who does not know of Myron Cope. I’m sure there are a few, but I’d bet you’d have to look hard to find them.

Myron’s impact is far greater than I think those of us in Steeler Nation realize. You never thought of Myron as larger than life, like broadcasters such as Harry Carey. Not because he did not possess the talent or the wit or skill or any other quality necessary to be larger than life.

On the contrary, Myron was indeed larger than life. For a man who stood only 5’ 4”, he could command a room, grab the attention of thousands and hold court in any venue in any city. His zeal and zest for life were unmatched, and he always did what he did so well because he had fun. It came out in his broadcasts, his writing and on his shows. He was having fun. So few of us are lucky enough to be able to say they had fun at their job. Myron was one of them.

No, you never thought of him as legendary or larger than life because he was always one of us, a fan. It’s why I think as Steeler fans we do not realize how great of an impact he made. Because to us, he was not some iconic figure with a microphone bigger than the game or the world around him, he was Myron Cope. In some ways, we may have even taken Myron for granted, being treated to that great football mind, razor wit and special brand of broadcasting each week. And I never blame any fan for that, heck, we were spoiled. It was not until his retirement that we finally realized how spoiled we really were.

And we never had to or thought to compare him to other legendary broadcasters. Why would we? We had him, and he had us. How many Steeler fans could imagine Joe Buck watching a game in the stands with the fans? Zero. But how many Steeler fans could imagine Myron Cope saddling into a seat surrounded by Yinzers with a Primanti in one hand and an Iron City in the other? All of us could.

And that was the beauty of Myron. His talent in the booth and with the written word was undeniable, and his knowledge, storytelling ability and personality were without peer. But he was a fan at heart. When you listened to him, he drew you into the action of the game, the excitement of each play while simultaneously teaching the nuances of what was happening. He would throw you off base with a wise crack here and there, and make you laugh uproariously with a patented Cope-ism. By the end of a game, you felt like you’d just spent three hours watching football with old friend and fellow diehard.

The impact of Myron’s passing will be long felt, just as his retirement from the booth is still felt amongst the fans. So, to Myron, we will miss you. We wave our towels, which you gave to us as fans to show our support for our team, to you one last time. And each time we fly them in the air, we’ll think of you. I think we should end with that special closing Myron always signed off with one last time. I cannot speak for everyone, but I know I’d love to hear it again.



This is Myron Cope……………………………..on sports.