Is this some sort of costume party? It's Halloween night, and inside the Fox and the Hound at 15th and Spruce streets, everyone seems to be wearing a Steelers jersey. Rather than McNabb, Westbrook and Trotter, we have Roethlisberger, Bettis and Ward in attendance. It gets stranger. People are waving yellow "terrible towels," the traditional Steeler fan's spectator prop, and the familiar green/brown glass of Yuengling bottles is largely absent, replaced by the hard gray aluminum of Iron City—a brand brewed in, named for and linked profoundly with the city of Pittsburgh.

"Iron City was the second brand to introduce aluminum bawdles," boasts Mike LoGreco as he takes a big-guy's swig of Iron City Light. "One company used aluminum before [Iron City]. But they said it was about recycling and keeping the beer colder." Iron City, LoGreco says in his husky accent, used the aluminum for a better reason.

"I was driving in Pittsburgh the other day, and I saw a billboard that said: 'Iron City Aluminum Bawdles: Making Bar Fights Safer."

LoGreco, 26, speaks with this same resourceful pride about all things Pittsburgh. He grew up in the Canonsburg suburb, the son of a nurse and a social worker, and now works in sales in Center City. Back in March, he started an online Yahoo group for Philadelphia-based Steelers fans. Today, the group has over 100 members, and many gather each week to watch the Steelers games at F&H. Though the bar wasn't in on this plan, the managers have embraced the new business, and encourage it by pinning Steelers flags on the walls and showing the game on all 26 of the establishment's TV screens. There is even talk of serving "Pittsburgh-style" sandwiches, with french fries and cole slaw dumped right on top.

At least 50 Pittsburgh expats have packed the bar for tonight's game, a Monday night matchup with the deeply detested Baltimore Ravens. Many are members of the online group; others simply stumbled upon the bar during a previous game—in Tony Raspanti's case, literally. Raspanti was watching the Steelers down the street at the Irish Pub when someone changed the channel to a Bears game. Enraged, he lurched out into the light and wandered, Steelers-less, until happening completely by chance upon this Iron City oasis.

Raspanti's brief exile is typical of the indignities that Steelers fans say they suffer in the City of Brotherly Love.

"The Eagles fans kinda hate us," says a thick man who identifies himself as "Bey-Dog."

But Bey-Dog, who is wearing a Steelers jersey that says "Bey-Dog" on the back, does not seem disturbed by his outsider status. "Steeler nation is in the house!" he shouts somewhat suddenly. "Bleed Black and Gold! Make sure you put that in there!" He turns around and dives into a sea of hugs and high fives. The game has not yet started.

When the opening kickoff does come, the Steelers return man gets drilled—hard—and all the patrons seem to flinch collectively. Steelers fans have a unique bond with their team, LoGreco explains.

"The Steelers are the city of Pittsburgh, and the city of Pittsburgh is the Steelers," he says. "There are very few teams in sports like that. Green Bay is one. The Glasgow Celtics, a soccer team, are another."

As a result of this bond, there are Steelers bars in cities throughout the world, including Baltimore and Austin, Tex. But something still feels traitorous about this bar being in Philly—perhaps because this city, too, is deeply committed to its football team, and because the two teams share a home state.

Asked for the difference between Steelers fans and Eagles fans, the patrons at F&H are not so crass as to suggest that Philly doesn't live and die with its team. But they insist that the groups are distinct.

"I hate to knawk the Eagles fans," LoGreco says cautiously. He takes a moment to ponder. "The Steelers would never sign a guy like T.O. I think that sums up the difference."

As if to drive home his point, Hines Ward, Pittsburgh's tough-as-nails wide receiver, makes a catch, gets absolutely clobbered, and then pops right back up to smile and signal for a first down.

"That's Pittsburgh!" LoGreco hollers, holding an Iron City in the air.

The bastards.

Why would Pittsburgh diehards come to Philly in the first place?

There was a time when Pittsburgh was a booming hub, a town so busy with mills and factories that the air maintained a constant gray-black hue. But the slow death of American manufacturing has taken a heavy toll there, and the city is struggling to attract new industries on par with Philly's biotech sector.

"The reason we're out here in Philly is this is where the jobs are," says LoGreco, whose grandfathers both worked in mills. "Most of us wish we could be home."

It's a classic Pittsburgh paradox: The native boxer Billy Conn once called his home city "the town you can't wait to leave, and the town you can't wait to get back to."

And so these Pittsburghers make do, gathering together and reminding one another of their hometown. Two people have actually dressed up in Steeler-themed Halloween costumes tonight. One of them, Nate Meyer, is wearing a full-body Chewbacca suit with a Jerome Bettis jersey over it.

"Everybody who's anybody knows that Chewbacca is a Steelers fan," Meyer explains. Pressed for evidence, he says, "Well, it's pure speculation, but he's been around for two hundred years, so I assume he knows the score."

The other, John Wilson, is wearing an orange jumpsuit that reads "Pensacola FPC," in honor of Ravens running back Jamal Lewis, who recently served a four-month term for a drug charge. The front of the suit says "Lewis 55612-019."

"I went on to the Federal Correctional Web site and got his actual inmate number," Wilson beams. "I know it's kinda mean, but it's a hated rival. They hate us, we hate them, and I thought there'd be no better way to express that hatred."

The Steelers would end up pulling out a close win over the underdog Ravens with a last second field goal. But the most startling moment of the evening came earlier, around halftime. A young waitress took an order and returned moments later to tell her table, somewhat bashfully, that—and this is true—the bar was out of Yuengling. But there was extra Iron City in stock.

Out of Yuengling? In Philadelphia? This is a sin.

How does the waitress feel about this treachery?

"I might be the wrong person to ask," she says. "I'm from Cleveland."