Cleveland Browns Finish Season at 0-16, and Fan Relocates to Cave in Patagonia

I don’t normally write about sports. I still remember that managing editor in Florida who informed me “Sports is to journalism what masturbation is to sex.”

But the post-holiday, mid-winter funk has left me without any intelligent material.

This post isn’t technically a “vent.” A venting implies that one is frustrated by something and needs to let off steam. But I gave up on the Cleveland Browns a long time ago, so there’s no steam left in the boiler.

Ah, yes. The Cleveland Browns. For those familiar with American football, even the name brings a chuckle.

The Browns just finished the 2017 football season with a sterling record of 16-0. Sixteen losses, zero wins.

Combined with last season, the Browns are 1-31 (the San Diego Chargers mercifully let them win by three points in their last game of 2016). Over the past three seasons, the Browns have compiled a record of 4-44. A team needs to put in a lot of overtime to produce a stench that toxic.

After the 2015 season, both the head coach (whatzizname) and general manager (whozit) were fired, after they posted a 3-13 record. I’m scratching my head why the current coach (dat udder guy) can retain his job after posting a 1-31 record. In the real world, he’d be polishing his LinkedIn profile and watching “Leave it to Beaver” reruns. But this is the National Football League.

Fans of the Browns are affectionately known as the Dawgs. I’m still not sure if the misspelling is intentional or not. For years, these fans have promulgated all sorts of reasons for the illness on Lake Erie. “We need a franchise quarterback.” “We need a new head coach.” “You build your team around the offensive line.” “The front office sucks.” “The owner cares more about soccer than football.” “It’s all Modell’s fault.” “We need to change our colors.”

The only solution that came close to working was after visionary owner Art Modell 🙂 moved the team to Baltimore in 1995 (where, of course, he won the Super Bowl). The city of Cleveland filed a lawsuit against the National Football League. It was then rewarded with a spanking new team, and three years later the Browns squeaked into one playoff game.

Playoffs?? Did I say playoffs?? That was 16 years ago, the longest playoff drought in pro football history. Essentially, the Browns are in the 19th year of a three-year rebuilding program.

The Browns at one time had an enjoyable rivalry with the nearby Pittsburgh Steelers. But you can’t sustain a rivalry when, since the dawn of the millennium, one team amasses a record of 32 wins and only five losses against the other team. That’s not a rivalry, it’s human bondage.

Since I’m not a fan anymore, I feel I can offer a refreshing outside opinion as to how this team can once again return to the playoffs (forget the Super Bowl… Donald Trump will win a Nobel Prize before the Browns ever reach the Super Bowl).

Boycott.

That’s right. History has numerous examples of how boycotting and civil disobedience lead to results. The big problem in Cleveland isn’t the Browns owner, front office, coaching staff, or players. It’s the fans. They’re sports whores. They’re loyal to a fault. Browns fans are maybe the best fans in all professional sports. But that’s not necessarily a good thing. They continue to buy tickets and merchandise despite the product being seriously flawed. It’s like driving around in an old Chevy Corvair long after the car has been declared a road hazard.

It’s time Browns fans ceased this perverted game of “Thank you, ma’am, may I have another?”

I live in Cincinnati, Ohio, which also has a professional football team (the Cincinnati Bengals sprouted from the Browns 50 years ago after Modell fired legendary Browns coach Paul Brown, who then drove down I-71 and started his own team). Unlike Cleveland, Cincinnati is a “fair weather” sports town. In other words, the fans are smart. They’re frugal and won’t purchase a flawed product. After 14 losing seasons, Bengal fans threw up their hands, then threw up, and stopped coming to games. So the owner, Mike Brown (Paul’s son), started investing in quality personnel, not long after he blackmailed the city into building him a new stadium.

Since then, the Bengals have reached the playoffs seven times. Of course, being the Bungles, they’ve lost the opening playoff game every time. But at least they’re not a punch line like their noodlehead neighbors up north.

Unfortunately, I don’t think Browns fans will ever follow Bengal fans’ lead. They wear their sports loyalties like Keith Richards wears eye liner, or Elton John wears a toupee. It’s a part of who they are. Without their beloved football team, they’d be lost. You can only visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame or troll for walleye on Lake Erie so many times on Sunday afternoons.

Earlier, I said I was no longer a Browns fan. Let me qualify that: I still have a place in my heart for that goddawful franchise. It was once a champion, in a faraway time, before many of you were born. The greatest athlete in history played for the Browns (running back Jim Brown). Best of all, they had northern Ohio native at quarterback (Bernie Kosar) who threw side-armed and ran like a drunken giraffe.

But I can’t watch them anymore. I’m even embarrassed to be seen in public wearing orange and brown (and this is a masochist who wore Browns clothing when Cleveland was without a team). I’d prefer to devote my loyalties to the meaningful things in life. Sports are fun, but hardly meaningful.

So I guess you could label me a “fair weather” fan. Which means that, these days, I’m not only closer in attitude to Cincinnati than Cleveland, but I’ve been waiting for torrential rains to stop for a long, long time.

Does it rain much in Patagonia??

Politics, Cruises, Sports, Halls of Fame, and Other Dumb Things

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Last month I published my 100th article on WordPress. Since then, I’ve struggled to come up with number 101. I even mulled over sending longitudes to a permanent dry dock. But like a pressure valve in a steam engine, there needs to be release.

Should I write about the recent U.S. presidential election? I don’t think so. If I do, I’ll either be preaching to the choir, or my words will fall on ears clogged with wax. Better to wait for the pending avalanche before hurling my snowballs from the chairlift.

I could write about the recent anniversary cruise my wife and I took. We had a wonderful time, but the trip was marred by the revelation that our ship, Caribbean Princess, had, only days before, been fined a record $40 million in damages for polluting our oceans with oily waste, then trying to cover up the crime. trumpYet during the muster drill the first day, the boatswain’s mate (or whomever) had, with the temerity of a Pinocchio or Donald Trump, announced that Princess Cruise Lines is serious about environment protection.

To paraphrase Tiny Tim: God help us, everyone.

However, there were highlights to the cruise. One was meeting music engineer/producer/bandleader Alan Parsons (The Alan Parsons Project). It was following a Q and A session in one of the lounges on the 7th deck (starboard, aft). It was a relief to hear a little good music being played after all the hip-hop, electronica, and lounge lizard sounds.

The down side was that the occasion was instigated by a deal between Princess and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (RnRHoF). This, friends, is a capitalist wet dream as slick as Vaseline (or oil). If you’d like to know my not-so-obsequious views about RnRHoF, please see Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, Part One.i-robot

I could write about how my Cleveland Indians blew a 3-1 lead in the World Series, losing their final two games at home. Against the hapless Chicago Cubs, of all teams.

Or how my Cleveland Browns have lowered the bar for patheticism (is that a word?). They’re currently 0-14 and are aiming, once again, for that top draft pick. And maybe the record books.

But getting back to the marriage between the Princess and the RnRHoF: I could write about the argument I had with one of the guests at our cruise dinner table. He had the gumption to suggest the band Styx was more deserving of RnRHoF recognition than Jethro Tull. Sacré bleu, monsieur!  He’s a doctor, so you’d think he’d be smarter than that.

But, I guess even smart people can have their dumb moments. At least, when it comes to music, voting, selecting vacations, or whatever.

Go Browns… (yes, bloggers can be dumb, too).

Note: header illustration is courtesy of and copyright Tim Shields, 2002

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