"So why even watch it, then?" My wife is 100% sincere when she asks me this, eyeing me with a mixture of annoyance and concern while I hurl a few choice obscenities at the television, the officials, the opposing team and our own team's lackluster play. It doesn't matter the sport, the season, the year, the players. I've been through this a dozen times since I can remember. They really could win it ALL this year ... They being the Browns, Cavs or Indians. No matter how many times I've explained The Truth before, I always find myself forced to impart my wisdom once more.
God just doesn't hate Cleveland. He/She/It hates me. Period.
On December 27, 1964, Cleveland won its last championship in a REAL sport. (Sorry, all you Hector Marinaro fans. Bush League Soccer doesn't count.) Exactly one month later, January 27, 1965, I was born. As a card-carrying skeptic, I'm not one to believe in curses or supernatural whammies. Except the one where the entire universe and all its forces are poised against me. Somewhere jotted down in the Book of Life, right between the Big Bang and the Apocalypse, is a quick note by the Almighty that reads, "No Cleveland Championships while Mark Kozak is alive."
Look, I've heard all you Pollyannas before. My whole effing life as a matter of fact. From "We've got a lot of young talent" to "Don't worry, we'll come back" to "Wait til next year", I've watched Cleveland fans contort themselves through every permutation of positive thinking in the vain effort to shake a fist at the Iron Will of Divine Providence. Ain't gonna happen, folks. As long as yours truly breathes, Cleveland is destined to come up short time after time after time after time after .. well, you get the picture.
The worst part are the slogans and songs. "Rutigliano's Super Bowl Team," "Bernie Bernie," arrghhhh! Listen, if you go into a Cleveland playoff game armed with banners and bromides, you will have your heart ripped out with the added of privilege of being permitted to see the beating, bloody pulp before you die. Instead of the "All In" or "Witness" gear, how about fitting fans with some good old fashioned hair shirts?
Post Season Sports in Cleveland is not a celebration. It's a penance we all pay for the sin of hope that someday, some way one of our teams will alter ALL natural laws and win a championship. Instead of cheering, we need to be flagellating and scourging ourselves in an effort to extinguish every last vestige of optimism from our sickeningly indomitable spirits. Maybe then, God will take pity on our wretched souls and give us a freaking ring. I mean, hell, we've tried building bullpens, drafting franchise players and bringing in proven genius coaches. Why not try marching en masse around the banks of the Cuyahoga with crosses on our back?
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