FLYING SQUIRRELS & THE 97 AFCCG

 I�ve been watching Steeler football for 40 years. I�ve been a consumer of pest control services for 23. One would not expect these two experiences to ever converge. In 1997, such a convergence indeed occurred.

 First some background

Pest-control history: There they were shortly after the purchase of our first home in Haverhill, MA in 1983. Carpenter ants; big-ass creatures that not only bore through wood, but looked as though they could carry saws and a tool belt. You hit the bastards with a magazine, they kept on running. These mother-fuckers could break tackles.  Forget Lendale White; let�s take the carpenter ant in the first round.

We purchased a homeowners policy, which entitled us to unlimited visits from our friendly bug man, and it wasn�t long before we had another visitor. Upon coming home from work late one night, as I was known to do as a 28-year-old, I was informed by Mrs. Swiss that we had an unwelcome addition. I soon heard fairly loud scratching emanating from a kitchen cabinet. I think it�s a rat, said Mrs. Swiss. Don�t be ridiculous, I said. You always exaggerate, but I�ll call. Bug man came the next day, inspected the droppings, the nest activity, I think it�s a rat, he said. Bait boxes were set. No more scratching. No rat was visible until we found the remains two years later while re-doing the kitchen.

We moved to New Hampshire, to a wooded lot in the Live Free or Die State. We had the usual collection of carpenter ants, mice (seasonal invaders as described by the bug man). There was nothing overly concerning until the day in 1992; I heard a blood-curdling screen at 5am, coming from the upstairs bedroom. No, a pregnant Mrs. Swiss was not upset at the Steelers� hiring of one William Laird Cowher, but rather was buried underneath the covers, as a bat settled onto her knees. The bat then circled the bedroom furiously. I grabbed a baby gate, swung at the bat, it flew behind the curtains.  I crushed it.

We immediately called our pest people, who informed us that they didn�t do bats. Well, they were no longer our pest people. We called another company, and later that morning, we met Scott. Scott is still our bug man, 13 years later. Scott inspected our crawl space and estimated there were 20 bats frolicking above our bedroom, told me that I could have been fined $1,000 for killing the endangered species earlier that morning. He proceed to fog the crawl space, having attached a sleeve that allowed the bats to fly out, but permitted no access back in. He then recommended a bat exclusion. It involved stuffing every crevice of the house with steel wool, and would cost $700. We should think about it, Scott said. Wait a minute, said Mrs. Swiss, you�re not going anywhere. When can you do it? Two days from now, said Scott. Where do we sign, said Mrs. Swiss. And off she went to the Holiday Inn, not to return until the bat exclusion was complete.

Forward 12 years to the spring of 2005. We own a cottage in Prince Edward Island, the Canadian Maritimes. Mrs. Swiss travels there alone in the spring to open up. There is evidence of mice. She calls PEI Pest Control. They visit, think the problem is not extensive, and recommend not treating in the spring for fear the mice will die within the walls. Two mornings later, Mrs. Swiss senses something as she lies in bed. She turns..there on the pillow where my fat head would ordinarily lie, is a cute, furry little micey. Mrs. Swiss shrieks, has near convulsions, calls me hysterically, and gets the hell out of there as soon as she can. I call PEI Pest Control. After we both have a very good laugh, they make arrangements to treat.

The 1997 Campaign: One of my favorite, non Super Bowl Steeler years, I attended four Steeler games. I was there on a Sunday night in November as the Steelers defeated the Ravens, 37-0. That game, I helped the Steelers win. Three Rivers Stadium (TRS) was a hecklers paradise.and you could stand across the street as the opposition departed their busses. One of the first Ravens to step off was Vinny T. As a Penn State fan, I knew that Vinny had been forever haunted by his Fiesta Bowl performance after the 86 season, having thrown five picks. Vinny described it hindering his development as a pro. Knowing this I scream repeatedly, �Hey Vinny, Fiesta Bowl, Vinny, Fiesta Bowl Vinny, Fiesta Bowl.�  Vinny proceeded to throw picks on all of the Ravens first 3 possessions, and then was relegated to the bench. I�ll take credit.

I was at the Immaculate Interception Game in Foxboro, as 60,000 shit-talking Pats fans exited the stadium like zombies after the Kevin Henry interception. My nephew and I laughed without restraint as Pats fans called us assholes and gave us the finger.

I attended the Divisional Playoff at TRS, watching the Steelers hold off the Pats, 7-6. And then....

The Convergence:  I was in deep shit with Mrs. Swiss. It would be my second consecutive Saturday flying to Pittsburgh for a Steeler playoff game. She was wicked pissed. What else was new?  It was football season, a successful season. I arrived in Pittsburgh. My brother, Tonyv15220 and my nephew, took a ride later that night. Tony stopped in front of the Broncos hotel on Penn Avenue. �Fuck you, motherfuckers�, he screamed into the night air. We drove to TRS. Revelers were already lined up at the lots. One sign stood out, Elway takes it up the ass. Simple, but to the point.

We travel back to Tony�s house around midnight. Phone rings and Mrs. Swiss wants to talk to me. Dave, she says, there�s an animal in the house. I reply, and what the fuck do you want me to do about it?, I�m in Pittsburgh. Apparently, my daughter, 8 at the time, was on her way to bed, when she saw a gray paw protruding from the vanity in the upstairs bathroom. Now, my son lies with impunity..the girl..honest to a fault. Mrs. Swiss inspects, hears scratching and rousts the boy. Okay, asshole, she says I guess Ill figure it out.

I go to bed, call her the next morning, day of the AFCCG. No answer, I call her sisters house on the NH seacoast, an hours drive from our house. Yeah Dave, she�s here, got here around 2am she�s not to pleased with you.

What a bad fuckin omen.  Kordell Stewart played like a fuckin pest.  Chan Gailey called plays like a dullard, and we lost to Denver 24-21, after holding a 14-10 lead, 4 minutes to half, 2^nd & 1 on the Denver 35.

I go directly to the airport and have a late night flight back to NH. I enter the house and the whole family is camped out on the living room floor.

The next morning, trying to be nice, I dig out the Have-a-Heart trap, one that allows you to corral a pest without killing it. I stuff that trap with crackers and peanut butter, put it in the vanity, and wait. Dawn of the next day I check the trap..all the foods gone but no fuckin animal. Next night, I take a more dastardly step; crackers, peanut butter, generous helpings of poison as icing. Next morning all the food is gone but no fuckin animal. Scott comes to the rescue. He inspects, makes his diagnosis; flying fuckin squirrels!! These creatures don�t so much fly as glide, creating an appearance of flying. Of course, I�ve never seen one of these mother-fuckers fly or glide, I�ve only seen them with their goddam nose attached to a glue board, but more on that later.

Scott put together a cocktail of poisonous substances. Trust me, he says, give this 10 days and you�ll never hear them again. What an unmerciful 10 days!! In addition to the usual, post AFCCG Steeler depression, I must contend with the Flying Squirrel version of Chinese acrobats doing back flips in my walls, somersaults in the vanity. These sons of bitches are noisy!! Every night, Mrs. Swiss awakes, �Dave, they�re at it again. What are YOU going to do?� My first response is, What the fuck do you think I can do? This response curries no favor; in fact it breeds much animosity. Only when I rise from the bed, and sit in the bathroom, fireplace shovel in hand, ready to smash one of these foul creatures, does Mrs. Swiss� civility return.

Anyway, 10 days pass;  14 days pass and the Flying Squirrels continue to command my house. Scott returns. What I like about Scott is he takes it personally. Goddam son of bitches, will get them this time. He unveils 3 king-size glue boards, rat trays and places peanut butter on them and places them in the vanity. Says, Call me tomorrow. Thirty minutes pass..I hear some noise and I peak in the vanity. One of those furry little mother-fuckers has his fuckin nose stuck on the glue board, struggling to get off. I laugh my ass off. By bedtime, there are two more little shits stuck on their respective boards. We go to bed and sleep like fuckin babies.

I call Scott the next day.  BTW.Scott is my favorite Patriots fan.  His ex-wife is from Pittsburgh, Steelers fan..stabbed Scott once and that sort of put a damper on the relationship. Anyway, Scott comes over with a bag, takes out the Flying Fuckin Squirrels. One is still breathing, still trying to pry his sorry ass loose. Fuck that little shit..it took every ounce of restraint I could muster not to take a hammer to him.

So there you have it.  The Flying Squirrels and the 97 AFCCG.

Swissvale72