Tired of the Pirates not living up to Pittsburgh standards

Another trade, another day.

The story of the Pittsburgh Pirates seems to be the in-season trade. What's bothersome is that they do it with no hope for the present, and with little thought to the future, although they would say otherwise.

I called it months ago, partly in jest, hoping it wouldn't be true, but my false prophecy proved itself tonight: the Pirates traded one of the young, promising players of MLB -- Nyjer Morgan -- the left-fielder and one of the fastest men in baseball.

He's fun to watch. He enjoys the game, and has a youthful glow as he takes the field. His stolen bases ignite the crowd, and his antics win over critics, as well as his stolen bases and beat-out bunts. But here the Pirates go again, trading away the talent that appears in front of their eyes, and right to the Nationals, a team Nyjer can't be too excited about joining.

The Pirates weren't too far below .500, a win percentage they haven't touched for a record number of consecutive years in MLB. I guess that makes us the worst team in recent baseball history. And as we do increasingly well, we continue to remove the talent that has gotten us to a nearly not-embarrassing-to-the-point-of-vomiting record. Moves like this lose fans, faith, money, and even the support of the team. Check out the Post-Gazette's article on how Jack Wilson is taking it. 

He was bonding well with up-and-comer Andrew McCutchen, the centerfielder with a knack for speed and flair similar to that of Nyjer. And these smiles were bringing hope back to Pittsburgh:

When will it end? Because before we return to the storied days of old, we need to make sure we're not trading away the next Willie Stargell, Roberto Clemente or Honus Wagner.

Hating big cities...

...but not Pittsburgh. That is definitely the only city I can say I would deal with living there, and not only because my sports teams are supreme. Although I'm continually amazed with how much Pittsburghers love the Steelers, Penguins, and yes, even the Pirates.

After checking out the Buccos game (which they oh-so-lovingly won for me), I saw all the Pittsburgh natives strolling the streets and the stadium, all sporting shirts from one of our majors teams, I just realized how much people can come together. I think Pittsburgh quite literally is a small town masquerading as a big city.

The cultures merging, Italian, Polish, Croatian, Irish and just about any country you can imagine -- all can be found in the Strip District. Bargaining with shoppers, hawking food and shouting about $5 t-shirts, it shows the diversity of a farmer's market and the friendliness of a southern small town -- you just feel at home, and maybe a little overwhelmed.

Driving through the Fort Pitt tunnel reveals the beautiful skyline and Heinz and PNC stadiums along the waterfront, where the historic and beloved Three Rivers Stadium once stood. The old bridges and buildings welcome you, and the city is far from trendy, yet perfectly okay with that.

So many aspects make me love that city, but it's the little things that truly steal my heart. A simple nod of understanding while walking around in a Roberto Clemente shirt -- the city knows his greatness, as acknowledged by his large statue. A smile when someone notices a shirt denouncing Cleveland -- what a healthy and lovable rivalry. The discussions over food orders in restaurants and purchases in stores -- reminiscing about one of the best years in sports for a single city, the inspiration of Sidney Crosby, the unlikely touchdown from James Harrison, the disappointment in the Pirates, but the promise that is seen in Nyger Morgan and the stability in Jack Wilson.

I tried to enjoy my latest trip like it was my last, because I very well might not make the trip to the city again, but I certainly hope I'm wrong. Columbus has never been that type of city, and neither has Cleveland or Cincinnati. With three major sports and a troubling economic history, the city has become a cultural maven with grandmotherly women talking about the good ol' days and young children crooning over their hockey autograph. I couldn't think of a better city in which to spend a summer weekend enjoying life.

Basking in the glow

The road is long and difficult. Longer and more difficult than any other road in sports. The silver chalice is storied -- more so than any other professional trophy. In the middle of the season, nobody would have been caught dead predicting the Penguins in this position right now.

One year later. One lost, prima donna winger later. One coaching change later. One year older, wiser and more experienced, but still young with excitement. Young enough to fully appreciate this opportunity, but skilled enough to actually take advantage of it.

The Penguins showed their depth, the same kind of depth that announcers, sports writers, coaches and players have bestowed upon the Red Wings. Nobody talked about Max Talbot, or Jordan Staal. Everybody talked about Marc-Andre Fleury, but it wasn't positive. Ruslan Fedotenko, Tyler Kennedy, Bill Guerin, Chris Kunitz -- the smaller-named hockey players -- were the ones who vaulted this team led by Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin beyond the team they were last year. Losing Marian Hossa freed up finances to pay Guerin, Kunitz, Brooks Orpik, all the players who played a significantly better game than Hossa did for the other side.

We all knew this day would come. Sidney Crosby was meant to write history. There's a reason he's been slated to win the Cup since his teenage years, a reason he's the face of the league, a reason he gets all those commercials. He may not have been the playoff MVP (an honor which deservedly went to Geno), but at 21 years old, he's the youngest captain to ever hoist that shiny cup. And words can't describe his face, and the feelings every Penguins fan felt as they watched his expressive and childlike smile spread to his teammates, with the Stanley Cup lifted high.

Until next year, boys.