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They're hawking Steelers merchandise in the lobby of the O'Reilly Theater. Folks in black-and-gold jackets with Steelers logos mill about. The pre-show music is a selection of Steelers fight songs and polkas.

Despite living most of my life in Pittsburgh, for me, football has always existed in a parallel universe separate from the theater world.

So imagine my dismay when the Pittsburgh Public Theater put the world premiere of "The Chief," a one-man show about Steelers owner Art Rooney Sr., on its 2003-04 schedule. Would there be a special seating section for cigar smokers? Charcoal grills cooking kielbasa outside the theater? A half-time show instead of an intermission?

More importantly, would I need to bring someone from the sports desk to translate? Should I coordinate a black-and-gold outfit?

Not to worry.

Yes, "The Chief" is about the man who owned the Steelers and oversaw their climb to and through the glory years.

But no phrase book is needed.

It's surprisingly accessible and engaging even for folks like me who think a goal post has something to do with declaring intentions on the Internet.

It's written by Rob Zellers, the director of education and outreach at the Pittsburgh Public Theater, and Gene Collier, a local columnist.

What they've crafted is a 90-minute intermissionless tale of a well-known local guy spinning tales that are as much about the city, its people and its heartbeat as it is about Super Bowl trophies and quarterbacks.

Veteran Pittsburgh actor Tom Atkins breathes life into Rooney, who tells us early on he's "no big-shot, just a d'ems and d'ose guy," an Irishman who grew up in Pittsburgh's First Ward when it was a rough and tumble neighborhood.

The play is set on a March evening in 1976 as Rooney is about to leave for a black tie dinner at which the Knights of Columbus will honor him with an award. Rooney treats the audience as visitors who have dropped into his office. Reluctant to go -- he tells us he'd rather go to a wake than accept an award -- he stalls his departure by regaling us will tales of his upbringing, the tavern brawls and boxing matches of his early years and how he built a $2,500 football franchise into a beloved, legendary football team.

Director Ted Pappas orchestrates the ebb and flow of storytelling, pacing the tale so that it unfolds artlessly, never becoming tedious or sentimental.

Scenic and costume designer Anne Mundell creates Rooney's office in Three Rivers Stadium, a comfortable, down-to-earth place with metal file cabinets, the wooden desk littered with papers and an ashtray for his cigar. Walls and tables are covered with awards, trophies and photos, some of which Atkins as Rooney removes from the walls to give us an up-close look.

He reminisces about characters and political figures who gave Pittsburgh its color and texture -- neighborhood character Stella Geyer and boxer Billy Conn, Mayor David Lawrence, political leader Elsie Hillman and Pie Traynor and, of course, legendary Steelers who played what Rooney calls Pittsburgh-style football, blue-collar style football.

Atkins spins his character and his tales on his own, without a break from start to finish. The line load is tremendous and complex. So when, at final preview, Atkins stumbles halfway through and loses his way for several minutes, it's understandable. He has already charmed the audience who's willing to wait patiently while he finds his way back.

He recovers from the fumble and goes on to finish with a flourish, unreeling yet another look at the "immaculate reception" before he departs for his banquet.

For long-time residents and football fans, the overall effect is warm nostalgia. Newcomers might find it a window into the town's past and present soul. And for those of us not fluent in football, it's a delightful visit with a rough, unpretentious man who has woven himself into the fabric of the city.

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