Before yesterdays crucial game six, I viewed a picture of a Pens fan on Twitter, huddled in the trenches of Xfinity Live!, in a t-shirt that said “Jesus Loves The Pens.”

But as the Philadelphia sun snuck up from behind an April shower, it cast an orange haze that painted the Sunday morning sky as if to say the hockey Gods had placed their bet on the game already.

You can keep your Jesus, Pittsburgh.

Yesterdays 5-1 Flyers victory was the final nail into the coffin of the cross state nemesis. It was a cause for revelry in the bowl of the Wells Fargo Center, and in swollen bars across the Delaware Valley for good reason. A majority of NHL writers, and hockey personalities, fingered the Pens as the odds on favorite to raise the Stanley Cup for the second time in five seasons. After five games that displayed more lamps lit than a Lamps Plus showroom, the Flyers’ imperious game six victory ended an epic folklore of a series full of embarrassment, attitude, acerbity, and merriment.

But there’s one group of Flyers fans whose chests protrude a few inches further than the rest this morning.

It’s those Flyers fans transplanted in Pittsburgh.

Those of whom, like myself.

For the past six years I’ve called the Steel City home. I’ve bought a house, started a family, and managed an altruistic living for myself and loved ones. But like many Philly transplants out here, I have spent the preponderance of my time in the shadow of championship trophies I can’t call mine. Having awareness of how many Lombardi trophies the Steelers have kissed, or how many times the Pens have hoisted the Stanley Cup, is something you will never forget even in the most advanced stages of dementia.

Because you are reminded of it every day.

It’s on T-shirts. It’s tattooed on calf muscles. It’s on yellow towels that twirl in vivacious October winds. And if your team is lucky enough to leap their team in a regular season series, or a playoff bout, you’re rhetorically reminded of it again.

“How many yinz got?”

Sure, the Flyers haven’t held Lord Stanley’s covenant cup since 1975, but Sundays final blow to Pittsburgh’s inopportune chimera of comebacks and paybacks, was a moral victory for us transplanted Flyers fans in the ‘Burgh. That’s a taste all our own. It doesn’t come topped with coleslaw and French Fries.

There’s still three more rounds the Flyers must escape from before the tangible hoopla can begin. But for now, us transplants can hoist a thirty five inch, silver middle finger, high in the air. Because the 2011-2012 Pittsburgh Penguins are now the most star powered underachievers in Pittsburgh sports history.

Another trophy for you, Pittsburgh.

You’re welcome.

Pens fans were anticipating to come out in droves for a game seven white-out at the Consol Energy Center, tomorrow night. Instead, a mid-spring snow squall brewed, and dumped a couple inches of wet and heavy inconvenience on the northern Pittsburgh region.

Now, that’s the only white out Pittsburgh has to show.

And for Flyers fans in the Steel City dusting off their cars this morning, there’s one bit of truism we can all agree on.

Rather it was a snow storm to dig out of, and not a Fleury.

The Steelers Standard is often less appreciated through a Birds eye view.

Whether it’s the teeth sucking Steelers envy, or just the bare fact that it’s podunk Pittsburgh, many Eagles fans are hesitant to give the Steelers organization their proper eulogy. But face it, they draft better. They’re coached better. And most of all, they have the hardware to prove it and defend it.

And as the deadline for teams to place franchise tags on their players is set to expire today, the Steelers have proved to also maintain the better brains over their long lost Pennsylvania neighbors.

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Everyone has a friend like Donovan McNabb.

He’s the guy who bathes in Axe body spray before going to the bar, and urges everyone to tell him how good he smells.

He’s the guy who wears white socks with dress shoes, then questions the sexuality of his friends when he’s called out for it.

Delusional.

The unshakeable belief in falsity.

McNabb is the guy who despite being dropped off at the retirement center by two teams in the span of one season, still doesn’t believe his own deterioration.

During an interview last Wednesday on the NFL Network’s Super Bowl Live, Philly’s favorite Rudy issued his latest sound byte.

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For American history buff, Ilya Bryzgalov, Philadelphia is a wet dream.

When visiting for the first time, amidst contract negotiations with the Flyers, the team focused on the cities rich historical landmarks to wink its eye and lure the free agent goaltender to the orange and black, by tease.

Soon, both parties were in lust.

The Flyers got their first legitimate goaltender in close to 15 years, and Ilya Bryzgalov got a 9 year, 51 million dollar deal, wrapped in Betsy Ross’ panties.

But while Bryzgalov lurked through Ross’ underwear drawer, gazed at Independence Hall, and learned what cracked the Liberty Bell, the Flyers forgot another landmark that may be more of use to him than just sights.

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The latest chapter in the Flyers/Pens saga went to the win column of the Philadelphia Flyers.

But last night was for the Pens fans.

A night for anguish, healing, and getting even.

Pittsburgh was nothing short of Nazi Germany yesterday as talk of the enemy turned Crosby funeral mourners into dictators of the boo. Last night, the Consol Energy Center was the platform for those boos, those tears, and that scorn.

There were plenty of shoulders willing to hold the heavy heads of the crestfallen.

The Console Energy Center.

The Flyers cruised to a 4-2 victory as public enemies 1 and 2, Jaromir Jagr and Max Talbot, scored goals in their new digs.

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