Steelers on Hollywood Blvd.

They say that Steeler Nation travels well. Sometimes, it also travels begrudgingly.

As has been the case for the past few years, the Steelers season opener found me in an alien zip code. Last year, I was perched at a bar near the front of Palms resort and casino in Las Vegas watching the Steelers knock Charlie Frye straight out of Cleveland (I was supposed to be making script revisions in our teleprompter). This year, I was in Hollywood, but instead of watching the game by myself, I decided to check out the Hollywood Steelers Fan Club (yeah, there is such a thing). I stumbled across the club while shooting the Iron Man premiere at Grauman's Chinese Theater earlier this year. The club literally sits right across the street from the theater, and their banner -- and the fact that they set up shop at a Hooters -- caught my eye (it was either that or listen to Terrence Howard). It was April, but they were still flying their banner. I didn't know if I'd ever be in town during football season, but I made a mental note just in case (and by "mental note," I mean "a fleeting through that was eventually washed away by Jack Daniel's").

But there I was last week at the Roosevelt Hotel, the kind of LA hotspot frequented by fedora-ed douchebags and the Russian models who love them (think "The Hills," but with more Eurotrash). By the end of my week there, I was ready for what Bill Hicks called "the cool, beautiful serenity called Arizona Bay... when L.A. falls in the f---ing ocean and is flushed away." The upside was that the hotel was about a half a block away from the club (well, that and the room service burgers... there's very little that a 2 a.m. cheeseburger can't cure).

I adjusted our show day schedule to ensure a late start on Sunday, making sure I could catch at least the first half with Hollywood's black and gold faithful. They did not disappoint -- the place was packed, there was vintage gear on the walls, and many chants of "here we go Steelers" (and the bartender, Ruby, didn't hurt either). I was literally hoarse by the time I got to work. According to Toogie, the founder/head chef/spiritual leader for the group, it was actually a scaled back event -- there's usually music as well, but he hadn't pulled that together in time for kickoff. The sea of Terrible Towels more than made up for it (as did Ruby... did I mention her yet?). Before my BlackBerry died for the weekend, I managed to grab some fuzzy, dimly lit photos as evidence. Please to enjoy.

Flying the colors:
















Vintage gear:
















The view from the back:
















Me and Toogie: