It may not be the biggest party (Hoboken's is bigger) and it may not be in the cleanest place (if that sort of thing bugs you), but you never forget your first time. It was in the dank back room that I first discovered that there were people like me EVERYWHERE: Ex-Pittsburghers who know every Steelers player by jersey number alone, who still want to slurp back Irons, and who want to sing really crappy Clarks songs before and after the game. In a way, I was baptized at Durkin's: At a time when I really longed for home, it was at a table of used-to-be strangers that I learned I'd be OK.

It's for this reason that it's really unfair for me to "review" the Durkin's Steelers party: I judge every other out-of-town party against it. ("This one's bigger than Durkin's. That one has worse food than Durkin's.") So let it suffice to say that the party's plenty big (two full rooms that spill into the mixed crowd front room), full of Steelers stuff (banners, helmets, towels, you name it), the fare is excellent (Primanti's-style sandwiches can be ordered from another spot, but the bar's own fare is awesome; also, they have Iron and I.C. Light) and the game is the absolute focus (you're surrounded by TVs, all tuned to the game with sound; the DJ cuts back to game sound in plenty of time to not miss any action). So anyway, it's awesome, and the whole thing's an A+. Go there if you're in Chicago. And while you're there, see some of this:

This is Tim, the bartender in back. He started the Durkin's party a number of years back, and it's grown ever since. I'll keep the details on him sparse (because I'm probably going to profile him for a post at some point and don't want it to be redundant), but I'll let you know that 1) he is a phenomenal bartender who will not keep you waiting, 2) he really is a huge Steelers fan, and hails from the 'burgh himself and 3) he is singing Journey's "Separate Ways" in this photo. I can't think of a lot of things more awesome than this.

Besides being my first Steelers bar, Durkin's was also the first place where I heard the "Super Steelers" polka pumped through the speakers after each score. It was a watershed moment, one where I immediately ran outside and called everyone I knew to relay the experience: The place goes completely NUTS for this song. And this guy (above), whose name I've never gathered (my reporting instincts take a backseat to my fan instincts during the game…it's why I sit on barstools instead of in press boxes), polkas with a different woman with each playing of the song. I'd like to pretend that it annoys me because I've got to move each time he swings by, but I'm really just (excuse the phrase) player-hating: I mostly wish I'd thought of it first.

On the week of my first Steelers game upon returning to Chicago (Week 1 of this season), I told a few Non-'burgh-bred friends who were coming with me that the over/under on people I'd know from back home upon walking into Durkin's was set at four. All of them took the under, and all of them lost.

I can't walk through this place without running into a ton of people from my past: There's a entire table of people (including Alan and Tom, pictured) from my high school, a girl I used to work with at Ross Park Mall, a guy who was in my buddy's wedding, a couple guys from college and even a girl from my Kindergarten class. Add to that the fact that everyone you meet knows someone that you know, and it's no wonder there's such a sense of belonging. It's the essence of the Ex-'burgher idea: You feel an instant connection with these people, and you bond over the game. When the team loses, you embrace hours-ago strangers as if consoling a loved one. And when the team wins, you hug in a joyous, adrenaline-fueled frenzy that messes up your hair and makes everyone smell a little more like each other.

On this Sunday, it was a stinky bad hair day hug, perhaps the best I've ever experienced. As the game followed its roller coaster path—from the euphoria of the two early scores to the disappointment of Troy's non-interception to the revelry that followed Vanderjagt's missed field goal—the emotions of everyone in the bar were as one. And while the Bus' fumble was a punch to the stomach for all of Steeler Nation, it was this scene (pictured above) that would be the weekend's lasting image. As the clocked reached :00 and the shots flowed and the music blared, I ended up wedged between a screamer from Wexford, two guys from Dubois and a Terry Bradshaw lookalike in a Lambert jersey. And I could think only one thing: I'm home.

----Greg

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