(Pandemic Diary - day 209)

From my notes: 23 September 2020 (Wednesday)

Steelers don’t dance in the end zone, and there’s no name on a Penn State uniform.  That’s the football-based identity I grew up with, anyway, and it was integral to that feeling of Allegheny exceptionalism that made us proud of our roots.  It was a working-class ethic of community, of striving for excellence, and of never having to brag about it.

Now, many of the people who grew up with that same identity and those same metaphors have traded it away.

They’ve chosen to worship a peacock of a man, a character they would have derided back in the day, a man who is the antitheses of that Steeler/Nittany Lion archetype.  Donald Trump is an end-zone dancer, he’s the Dallas Cowboys or the late 80’s University of Miami (or Pitt).

It’s hard to understand, harder still to watch.