I recently flew out west via Pittsburgh. During the layover I amused myself by chronicling the bizarre  aspects of the airport in my notebook. Most confounding was a sign posted at Villa Pizza across from my gate. It read “You’re in Terrible Towel Country.” This struck me as a rather ominous warning for an airport pizza joint. What might a Terrible Towel be? Would it come in a set with a Brutal Bath Mat and some Ferocious Flip-Flops? Since Villa Pizza was nestled between two other fine airport-food establishments with names like “Chuck’s Steakateria” and “Beaks ’N’ Batter,” I imagined that maybe the Terrible Towel was something kept in a glass case, to be broken out in the event of a grease-related accident. I resolved to find out for sure later.
    As it turns out, the Terrible Towel quandary was resolved on my way back through Pittsburgh. The timing of my flight coincided with the Patriots’ win over the Steelers in the AFC championship and my gate was rife with happy Pats fans. I finally put it together that the Terrible Towel was what the Steelers fans waved before their team got summarily dispatched by New England.
    There were certainly no Terrible Towels to be seen at gate A-13. This crowd was to regular Patriots fans what Green Berets are to army infantry. They’d spent a big chunk of change to fly to Pittsburgh (one guy told me the flight, game and hotel had cost him $700), and the Patriots had done them the favor of actually winning and advancing to the Super Bowl. The result, of course, was utter mayhem.
    As the gate filled up, it became apparent that the majority of the passengers on Flight 73 had celebrated the win by drinking a wee bit. In fact, many of my fellow travelers should have had claim checks wrapped around their necks, because they were definitely baggage. On my way to the bathroom one such gentleman stumbled up, looked me in the eye and emphatically declared “Patriots! First down!” Unfortunately, he failed to make it to the end zone of the gate before being taken down by the tenacious defense of the moving sidewalk/stationary ground intersection. He was fine except for spilling his beer, but the play was challenged by the US Air staff, who called in four county police officers for the review.
    The police remained at the gate until the flight boarded to ensure that there were no further shenanigans. They mulled about trying to look menacing, which was difficult given the abject silliness of their hats. For some reason, the Allegheny County Police Department headgear features a chin strap that rides not under but across the front of the wearer’s chin. This gives the impression that there is an invisible hand yanking on the hat from behind, the comedy of which was elevated by the officers’ scowls. They looked as if they were constantly on the verge of turning around and yelling “Stop that!” to the unseen hat-
harasser. (Note to the ACPD headwear-purchasing department: Order some Shriners hats and salvage a little dignity.)
    Aboard the plane I had mixed feelings about the Patriots’ success. I was psyched that they made it to the Super Bowl, but if they hadn’t reached the AFC championship, chances are I wouldn’t have been seated next to an individual with a Tom Brady jersey and a bad case of giantism. While many of the jersey-wearing fans were the physical opposites of the objects of their admiration (a middle-aged white woman, for instance, will not often be mistaken for Lawyer Milloy), the guy next to me looked like he should be giving Brady the snap. I worried that if he got belligerent, we’d have to hope there was a veterinarian on board with a case of elephant tranquilizers. Since he was oozing into my seat, I pressed my face up against the window and pondered how I could come up with a fan gimmick for New Englanders—my own version of the (Not So) Terrible Towel.
    This is what I came up with: You take all the consonants out of “New England Patriots” and you’re left with “E-E-A-A-I-O.” There you have it: the Vicious Vowel chant. By the time you read this, the Super Bowl will be over, but I hereby declare that next year the Vicious Vowels will strike fear into the hearts of our opponents. Who’s with me, huh? Who’s with me?
    I know one guy who’s with me: Patriots! First down! *