PITTSBURGH — In all, we had 15 tickets to Sunday’s game; 13 in a row located in the end zone nosebleed bleacher seats at whatever they’re calling the ketchup palace these days, a pair more under shade in section 541, where my late father-in-law has held season tickets since the place opened in 2001.
Seven years after his passing, he finally came home.
His instructions were exact. The ashes were to be spread in the Three Rivers that served as tributaries throughout his upbringing in the City of Bridges. They were specifically to be dumped in the Monongahela River, a matter that his children, grandchildren, and other assorted, extended family members (Hello) managed to accomplish under a dusked sky on the eve of his favorite team’s home opener.