Behind enemy lines
01/23/2002
Codding Home / Sports Channel / Bullz-Eye Home
Have you ever had to do something that categorically betrayed all of your principles, morals and loyalties? Something that not only represented a momentary shift of priorities, but also threatened to permanently redefine who you were and what you stood for? Something that forced you to question your entire belief system? Something that literally made you sick to your stomach?
This past Sunday, I did something that I'm not very proud of, something that made me physically ill. Because of a decision I made, everything I just described happened to me last weekend. And it wasn't pretty.
See, as a Cleveland Browns fan I was born with the HS Gene, or the "Hate Steelers" Gene. Because of this mild defect, I'm forced to cope with an intense dislike for the Pittsburgh Steelers every hour of every day of my life. Sounds a little far-fetched? I know -- I didn't believe it at first either. But take a look at the evidence: Terry Bradshaw annoys the piss out of me, those Terrible Towels make my colon clinch, and I danced a jig when they finally tore down Three Rivers Stadium.
I mean, what else could possibly explain all that? It just has to be genetics.
Don't believe me? Ask any Browns fan -- I guarantee they'll all tell you just how deep their hatred for the Steelers runs. They may not specifically know about the HS Gene, but they're aware that something is most definitely wrong.
Of course, this isn't a condition that only affects the Cleveland faithful -- Redskins fans have the "Hate Cowboys" Gene, Bears fans are born with the "Hate Packers" Gene, those freaks up in New England have to deal with their "Hate Jets" affliction... .
... and of course, Carolina, Cincinnati and Detroit fans can blame their misery on the dreaded "Hate Winning" Gene.
Anyway, because of my condition, it's virtually impossible for me to ever root for the Pittsburgh Steelers. It would be like Luke Skywalker cheering on the Dark Side or Richard Simmons pledging his allegiance to heterosexuality.
It ain't happening.
But something on Sunday afternoon actually gave me the strength to overcome the power of my HS Gene, something that momentarily transformed me from the world's most ardent Pittsburgh enemy to the world's most dedicated Steelers enthusiast.
The Ravens visited Pittsburgh with an invitation to the AFC Championship game on the line. And if there's one team in football I hate more than the Steelers, it's Baltimore.
Now, most Browns fans obviously weren't born with the HR Gene because the Ravens have only been around since 1996, but I do believe we all came into this world with a recessive "Hate Modell" Gene, and when the Browns were stolen from the Erie Shores not only did Cleveland fans embrace an extreme loathing for Art Modell, they also instantly developed a passionate repugnance for the Ravens, one that rivaled the sour feelings we already harbored for the Steelers.
Then Baltimore won the Super Bowl last year, and we all had to watch dim-witted sports writers who didn't know the truth heap praise and acclaim onto Modell and his "sparkling" NFL career. Things haven't been the same for Browns fans since.
So when the Ravens traveled to Pittsburgh last weekend, I did what every devoted Clevelander had to do, despite whatever permanent damage it would cause to my body and how much pain I'd have to endure in the process... .
I cheered my ass off for Kordell Stewart, Chris Fuamatu-Ma'afala and the rest of the damn Steelers. Three days later, I still can't get that disgusting taste out of my mouth.
But man, was it worth it.
See, I learned something on Sunday afternoon. I learned that rivalries, aversions and even genetics can sometimes be ignored, even if only for a day or two. But disloyalty and absolute, unreserved hatred? Good luck forgetting about those things.
So I shed the orange and brown for the yellow and black last weekend, and I cheered when Chad Scott picked off that chump Elvis Grbac on the third play of the game. I clapped when Kris Brown made his first field goal attempt and I swore when he shanked his second. I applauded Amos Zereoue's two touchdown runs and laughed at Baltimore's miserable offense. I praised Bill Cowher's play calling and basked in Brian Billick's failure.
Then after the game, a game that ended with a glorious Ravens' loss, I very nearly puked all over my couch before passing out. For three hours I had successfully resisted my body's natural tendencies to boo, hiss and curse the despicable Steelers, and when it was all over my feelings of betrayal slowly faded into a gentle unconsciousness.
Okay, so after the game I got something to eat and then got ready for the St. Louis/Green Bay debacle, but that whole coma thing sounded so much more dramatic, didn't it?
I'm proud to say that I survived my transitory mutation into a Pittsburgh fanatic and that, at least for now, things are back to normal. On Sunday, I thought Fuamatu-Ma'afala was a unique name and that his ponytail gave him character.
Today, I think his ponytail makes him look like a fairy and that he should legally change his last name to "Fu" just to make things easier on sportscasters across the country.
Ah yes, I feel that familiar Steeler resentment building up inside again, waiting to explode this weekend when the Patriots visit Heinz Field... .
Heinz Field -- what a stupid name for a football stadium.
Sorry, I digress. Hopefully I'll never again have to look at my enemy through the eyes of an ally. I pray that this will be the first and last time I ever feel the urge to show my support for Cowher, Stewart and Plaxico Burress, and I respectfully ask the football gods to forgive my treachery.
On Sunday, Jan. 20, 2002, I became the enemy. I rooted for Darth Vader.
Last weekend, I was a Pittsburgh Steelers fan.
But this weekend, I'll be a New England Patriots fan.
In the Bullz-Eye
Mike Tyson. The sports world already was close to giving up on Iron-head Mike, but after his latest lapse in judgment -- a
pre-fight, press conference brawl with Lennox Lewis -- Tyson's reputation, not to mention his boxing license, appears to be in serious jeopardy. In my column
last week, I mentioned how tired we were of reading about Tyson's boxing exploits in the sports pages one day and his legal problems the next. Thanks for making me look smarter than I actually am, Mike.