Breaking Browns

This will probably come off more as a rambling love letter to an ex-girlfriend than a sports commentary, but given how I feel right now, I’m not sure how else to describe it.

Living in Pittsburgh and growing up in Steelers country, I’ve been asked thousands of times, “How did you become a Browns fan?” For years, the standard response has been a story about my dad growing up in Ohio, my brother being a die-hard fan, and the fact that I was a child when the Browns were a good team, and you formulate these relationships when you are that age. I’ve never given much thought to it other than that. My childhood memories include my dad raking leaves in the backyard, me in my Eric Metcalf or Bernie Kosar jersey jumping into them with a football pretending to win the Super Bowl. Without question, my favorite in-game moment as a child was Eric Metcalf’s two punt returns for touchdowns to beat the Steelers in prime time (the second of which set off an eruption in the dawg pound.) Tom Hammond’s call was amazing, and watching the crowd respond summed up everything I love about the city and the team.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z19QQ1jcfG8

It’s a surreal feeling when you discover something about yourself that changes the way you previously felt. Cinemax played the classic movie Major League today; I’ve watched this movie beginning to end at least 200 times, but it was the first time in a few years I’ve watched it in its original form. (The TV-editing of the Charlie Sheen-Corbin Bernson mound confrontation has always been comical: “Strike this…guy…out.”) What I discovered while watching today is that this movie was responsible for many of my emotions towards the Browns: always feeling like the underdog, always having to defend why you are a fan of the team, always hoping for that one magical season that would wipe away the years of losing. I have said for years that if I get one Super Bowl in my lifetime that I will die happy and it will make up for all the years of pain. That is probably as low an expectation as any fan could have.

In 2005 my brother and I bought season tickets. I’ve seen the Browns lose in so many different ways in the 4th quarter in the past 6 years that I would need another 10 pages to write about it. What I can say is that the in-game experience for me has become more depressing that anything else. The scenes in Major League where the fans high five each other in the bar, hug each other after a big play, and are lost in the moment of sport, none of that exists. It’s been replaced by disinterest and dysfunction. I’m as guilty as anyone; I play a game where I count how many jerseys of ex-players I can find. In Pittsburgh, this is a badge of honor: wearing a Terry Bradshaw or Jerome Bettis jersey shows you respect the rich tradition and success of a storied franchise. In Cleveland, fans spend their time and effort coloring the “C” on their jersey to spell “OUCH.”

Yesterday, I watched yet another Browns loss to the Steelers with my wife and her family in the comfort of her living room. Me with five Steelers fans. My wife’s mother waves the terrible towel incessantly and drapes it over her head during big plays. Anyone that knows me would agree that this represents everything I loathe about the Steelers and their fans. Yesterday, I sat despondent.

I actually got emotional watching Major League today; chills during Willie Mays Hayes’ scoring run, welling up during the celebration. It made me realize that I have reached my breaking point. The Browns did the worst thing they could possibly do to me this season: they made me not care. I can deal with the pain and anguish – I just want to feel something again. I will always be a Browns fan and nothing can ever replace them for me. I just hope I can recapture the feeling you are supposed to have when watching your favorite team.