Pizza Is Cheese, Pepperoni And, Maybe, Sausage — And Other Lies They Tell You

I wish my Grandfather would have experienced pizza in Italy

Rocco Pendola
Rooted

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Source: Author / Pizza in Naples, Italy

A quick story about my Grandfather that — I promise — ties into pizza, other food and drink, provincial and nationalistic norms and traditions, and how nobody knows what the hell they’re talking about anymore.

My Grandfather died a few years ago, in his mid-nineties.

He was Italian-American, but never made it to Italy. He was married to my Grandmother, who died quite a few years before him. Another Italian-American who never made it to Italy.

Anyhow, back in the day, I worked in sports radio. During a stint in Dallas, I got to know the head coach of the professional hockey team there. A solid Canadian guy named Ken Hitchcock.

One afternoon, I found myself in the elevator at the arena with Hitchcock. I said to him —

So, Hitch, you guys have the Rangers on Sunday, but Gretzky isn’t playing.

Hitch responded —

Yeah, but you know what Rocco, they might be tougher without Gretzky. When he’s in there, they don't focus as much on their game. They focus on Gretzky.

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