Illness can't slow Cope

PITTSBURGH (AP) -- The Pittsburgh Steelers troop into a hotel lobby the night before a game, scores of black-and-gold-wearing fans huddling anxiously in waiting for their favorite. Player upon player goes by, yet he still hasn't shown up, and the crowd is growing nervous.
Finally, amid a sea of mountainous men who tower over him by at least a half-foot, a small septuagenarian man appears to a frenzied response: "Myron! Over here! Sign my Terrible Towel! Myron, give me a hug!"
It's a familiar scene for announcer Myron Cope, who, at age 75, remains as popular in Pittsburgh as the players whose deeds he describes. That he does so at many decibels with a one-of-kind-voice -- think of a car careening to a screeching stop -- adds to the allure, as does his invention of the towel that two generations of fans have twirled at Steelers games.
"He doesn't play, he doesn't put on a pair of pads, but he's revered probably as much or more in Pittsburgh than Franco [Harris], all the guys," said running back Jerome Bettis, who, like countless other Pittsburghers, occasionally performs a Cope impersonation. "Everybody probably remembers Myron more than the greatest players, and that's an incredible compliment."
1970 debut
It's one Cope accepts with a cackle of delight, just as he does the news that, in his 35th season, his career predates ABC's Monday Night Football -- by one day. Cope and a rookie quarterback named Terry Bradshaw both debuted Sept. 20, 1970. The first Monday night telecast was a day later.
"Amazing," Cope said, marveling at his own endurance.
Cope didn't become a broadcaster until age 40, and only when radio station WTAE asked the Sports Illustrated freelance writer to do daily commentaries. The Steelers weren't selling out as they moved into brand-new Three Rivers Stadium, and, after hearing Cope, owner Art Rooney and publicist Ed Kiely thought his knowledge and unique style would bring the team more attention.
At first, Pittsburghers didn't know what to make of this man of modest size and many words, some not in any dictionary.
A Steelers touchdown -- rare in the day -- elicited a "Yoi!" He dismissed doubletalk from an opposing coach as "garganzola." New coach Chuck Noll was the "Emperor Chaz." The despised Browns were the "Cleve Brownies," the mistake-prone Cincinnati Bengals the "Bungles." Something meriting his approval was "okal-dokal."
As former Steelers lineman Craig Wolfley said, "I just thought the guy had some loose screws going on."
Within a few seasons, the Steelers were Super Bowl champions and Cope had a highly rated talk show that lasted until the mid-1990s. He wrote five books, none about the Steelers, but never returned to full-time writing despite once being listed alongside George Plimpton as Sports Illustrated's only Special Contributors. His radio jobs provided health care for an autistic son -- and, too, a fame he never got as a writer.
Every Steelers employee has a curious Cope tale to tell.
Cope once jammed tight end Dave Smith, fully dressed in uniform and pads, into a cab for a hectic ride to the airport after Smith missed the team bus. He talked a then-retired Frank Sinatra into attending a 1972 practice in San Diego to make him an honorary general in Franco's Italian Army fan club. He took a wintertime river swim in 1977 to celebrate an unexpected win -- and was sick for days. He told Redskins owner Daniel Snyder to "stick his head in a bucket of paint" after Snyder demanded he not refer to his team as the "Red Faces."
"Never once have the Steelers censored anything I said," Cope said.
And then there's the Terrible Towel, created by Cope to be a good-luck charm. Hundreds of thousands have been sold at $5 to $10 each, with profits going to charity.
Still, the Steelers' unexpected surge to a 13-1 record, this has not been Cope's easiest season.
Weary after battling sickness for two years, he was ready to check into a care home last spring until friends, including former linebacker Andy Russell, found a specialist who diagnosed a rare but treatable illness. And a concussion forced him to miss a game for only the second time.
"It's hard to believe it's been 35 years, though my aches tell me it's been 35 years," he said. "But when there's a game and I get going, it doesn't seem like it at all."
Count coach Bill Cowher among his longtime listeners.
"My dad would listen to his talk show and I would think, 'Why would you listen to that?' " Cowher said. "Then I found myself listening to that. Now, I do my [radio] show with him, and he makes me feel young."
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