 
        from FUGUE FOR AN OCTOBER AGE                        THE STEELERS 4
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        like  he  said, how about the way we wiped out the Indians?  Or Hiro-
        shima and Nakasaki?  How was that any different?"
             Above  the  rim  of the stadium, the houses on Duquesne Heights
        are barely visible against a leaden sky.   The neon sign shines like
        a  beacon, flashing in careful succession time, temperature and Iron
        City Beer.
             "I'll  tell  you how it was different," he says. "Again, it was
        just like Ron said.   We got away from it and they didn't.  It isn't
        that  we're  somehow  more  humane; it's just that we're better bull-
        shitters, better con artists."
             The Steelers sprint onto the field, a thin, black, bobbing line.
        Flashguns pop and beercans fly and we all stand up and cheer.
             "To  get  back to what I was talking about, old Hitler knew what
        he  wanted  and  he  went after it. And you've got to give him credit
        for that."
             "Credit?" I say.
             "Okay, so maybe that's the wrong word.  But he did have his con-
        victions  and  he  did  have  guts and he wasn't afraid to speak out,
        which is a hell of a lot more than you can say for the mealy-mouthed
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