From an urban point of view, suburban people are the dumbest people alive.  After years of radiating hatred toward suburban chatterboxes while riding Chicago’s “L” trains, this past weekend I found myself on the receiving end of hate filled furrowed brows, and head shaking.  Blame my kids.  Saturday was their last day of soccer.  Every kid got a trophy.  Everyone’s a winner!  Later in the day we found ourselves walking through an urban neighborhood full of restaurants, shops, etc.  My kids were still wearing their suburban soccer uniforms, waving their trophies proudly.  Lordy.  Somehow I didn’t get beat up.

Two winners.

On Wednesday I took the family to yet another crappy restaurant.  Pittsburgh, you can do better!  So many restaurants in the North Hills.  All bad!  But I didn’t care.  My mind was drugged by the opiate of the masses.  Sports!  I could only think about THE game.  In a matter of hours, my Penguins would play what turned out to be their last game of the year against the superior, but hated Detroit Red Wings.  (Wow…what to do with the extra 6-9 hours a week I’ve killed for the past 6 months watching hockey)  Upon my triumphant arrival, everyone stopped eating and stared.  Scanning the sea of fellow Penguin enthusiasts, my gaze was met by hate filled furrowed brows, and head shaking.  Had Anti-Christ followed me into the restaurant?  Hitler?  Osama?  George W?  No, just me and my BRIGHT RED polo shirt.  A wardrobe malfunction of blasphemous proportions!  Somehow I didn’t get beat up.