My Dad called this morning to break the news, and it felt like somebody in the family had died. Amazed at my own reaction, I realized how much this incredible talent meant to me and my family. I never even met the man, but he was as much a part of my childhood as anybody else.


Cope was always there. No matter what, Myron would help us make sense of it all, every game, win or lose. Myron gave us the Terrible Towel so we could celebrate, and he let us know when it was alright to bring the Towel to the stadium.

And we followed him religiously. The Steelers were our religion. Even our priests knew that in Pittsburgh, there was the Christmas Season, Lent and Easter Season, and Steeler Season. Period. Some of them even had black and gold stoles.

Rule #1: The Terrible Towel only came to the stadium for the playoffs. That was when we were all but certain we would get there every year. And when the Steelers weren’t so great, Myron was there to tell us why, “Hmmm, haa!”

Rule #2: Listen to Myron.

I waved that Towel to the sky this evening, and I wept inside. And laughed. All day, for some reason, I had Myron’s horrific version of “Deck the Halls” running through my mind.

Double Yoi!

The Terrible Towel

Thanks, Myron.