Cleveland sports: A cruel joke
10/03/2002
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God must have a sense of humor. When He created Earth, I know He looked down at Ohio, chuckled a bit to Himself and said quietly, "I think I'm going to torture Ohio sports fans for eternity, especially those suckers up in Cleveland. Just for fun."
Now, I'm not much of a religious man -- about the only phrase I could possibly quote from the Bible is, "Thou shalt not... ." After that, I'm lost. Still, I'm certainly not suggesting that God is vindictive or vengeful in any way.
But I bet He loves a good practical joke just as much as the next deity.
You see, I've never been a dedicated church-goer; in fact, I could practically count the times I've been to church on one of Antonio Alfonseca's freakish hands. But I believe there's a God up there somewhere and I'm pretty sure that in his downtime He enjoys taking in a baseball game or perhaps even a golf tournament.
In my 25 years on His planet, though, living life as a loyal Clevelander, I've realized that God enjoys tormenting Ohio sports fans in general and, most notably, Cleveland fans in particular.
Come on, how else can you explain the Cavs and Bengals?
The miserable list for those of us from the Lake Erie shores, though, definitely doesn't end with perhaps the worst run franchise in the NBA. Oh yeah, the Cavs are terrible and they somehow took even a few more steps toward short-term futility this offseason by dealing star point guard Andre Miller, but the ugliness isn't confined to Gund Arena.
Check this out: The Drive, The Fumble, The Shot, The Shot II, Art Modell, Larry Dolan, Albert Belle, Jose Mesa, Rocky Colavito, Shawn Kemp, Dwayne Rudd, the New York Yankees, the Florida Marlins, the Denver Broncos, the Oakland Raiders, the Baltimore Ravens, the Chicago Bulls, airborne beer bottles, 10-cent Beer Night, David Justice, Edgar Renteria, Craig Counsell, John Elway, Michael Jordan and, yes, even Willie Mays.
Of course, that list is incomplete but you get the idea. It's the Cleveland Sports Curse, and it's a living, breathing, painfully torturous entity.
Contrary to what you're probably thinking, I'm not going to whine about how bad we Cleveland fans have had it over the years. Sure, the sports world has crapped in our stadiums and arenas for decades upon decades, stopping only to wipe its ass with our hometown uniforms, but that doesn't mean I'm going to complain about it. I'm not going to cry about the 1997 World Series or the 1986 AFC Championship Game. I won't ask for your pity or your condolences.
Actually, I guess that's exactly what I'm doing. We're Cleveland fans, damnit, and we clearly deserve your sympathy. I mean, someone made a movie in 1989 about just how pathetic our baseball team was... and we were proud of it. If that doesn't merit compassion, I don't know what does.
Let's start with the Cavs, fresh off their third-straight 50-loss season and displaying the kind of talent that should deliver another 50-plus defeats this year. Sure, management wants us to get all bubbly over Darius Miles, rookie Dajuan Wagner and free agent retainee Ricky Davis, hyping the "next generation Cavs" in their radio and TV commercials, and there of course are constant whispers of high school stud LeBron James joining the roster next season, but I'm not convinced. After all, Miles was 95 minutes late for the Cavs' Media Day on September 30, an event that Davis didn't even bother attending.
Call me cynical, but that doesn't seem like a promising start to the 2002-03 season.
Oh, and let's not forget that the departed Miller and Lamond Murray demanded to be traded this offseason, Mateen Cleaves failed a physical following his own trade to Cleveland, and Zydrunas "Fragile Feet" Ilgauskas was charged with a DUI last month.
The guy can hardly walk when he's sober -- how the hell could the arresting officer tell that the 7-3 Ilgauskas was sloshed?
I won't get into the details of The Shot or The Shot II; I'll just say that the day Michael Jordan finally retires -- forever -- will probably soon thereafter become a holiday in Cleveland. Then again, the Cavs are undoubtedly the low men on our sports totem pole, behind the Browns, Indians and probably 90% of the high school football, baseball, basketball, hockey, soccer, softball, volleyball and water polo programs in the area, so we may hardly notice.
But trust me, everybody in this city notices what's going on at Jacobs Field these days: a whole lotta losin'. The fair-weather fans, those who first purchased a boarding pass for the Wahoo Bandwagon in 1995, jumped ship months ago -- don't worry, though, they'll be back. Like David Wells to a late-night buffet line, these "loyal" fans will once again be drawn to The Jake by the intoxicating scent of another playoff contender. But until those 90-win seasons return, one of baseball's absolute finest stadiums will be deathly quiet, a silence that will likely rival the stillness that erupted from Municipal Stadium during the summer months in the 1960s, '70s, '80s and the first few years of the '90s.
It's a time of rebuilding for the Indians now. Owner Larry Dolan told new GM Mark Shapiro that he had to cut tens of millions of dollars off the team payroll, and just a few months later Juan Gonzalez, Kenny Lofton, Robbie Alomar, Bartolo Colon, Chuck Finley, Paul Shuey and Ricky Rincon were all wearing different uniforms just as Manny Ramirez and Sandy Alomar already were in Boston and Chicago. And filling their shoes every night? Matt Lawton, John McDonald, Ricardo Rodriguez, David Riske, Mark Wohlers, Bill Selby, Lee Stevens, Ricky Gutierrez, Ben Broussard, Karim Garcia, Chris Magruder and cult hero Coco Crisp, among others.
Yikes.
Even worse, the gem for the Tribe in the Alomar deal with the Mets was Alex Escobar, a supposed five-tool outfielder with "untapped potential." Well, he tore up his knee... during Spring Training. Funny, God. Real funny.
Sure, in between all those decades of hopelessness and this lost 2002 season, the Indians were one of baseball's premier teams, going 718-509 from 1994-2001 while winning five-straight division titles and two American League crowns... .
And, of course, no championship rings. The window has now officially closed for at least the next few years, and we were never able to sneak in that elusive World Series victory while it was propped open. We came close in 1997, but Jose Mesa, Edgar Renteria and Craig Counsell squashed those dreams late in game seven. So for the 54th-straight year, this 2002 campaign will end without a postseason celebration and a championship parade in downtown Cleveland.
Maybe one day that'll change, but let's not get out of hand here.
We'd all like to think that the Browns will soon bring home a championship trophy, but not if the Jokester in the Sky has His way... and He usually does. Butch Davis and his team look like true contenders, especially in the meager AFC North, but a little bad luck and one boneheaded play have yielded an average 2-2 record.
We were sure the Brownies had a shot a couple times in the past, but in 1986 John Elway and his goddamn Drive punished us for our ignorance. The next year, Earnest Byner and his goddamn Fumble on the goal line again confirmed the Cleveland Sports Curse. And then the unthinkable: Art Modell moved our team to Baltimore and for three long years, we watched the NFL every Sunday as outsiders, counting the days until we again had a home team playing in our backyards.
That moment finally came in 1999, a season that started with a 49-0 loss to the Steelers and ended with a 2-14 record. The next year, three wins were somehow salvaged. Then Butch Davis came to town, coming north from Hurricane Land to guide our young team to a 7-9 record despite a loss on December 16 to the Jacksonville Jaguars that culminated in a controversial instant replay episode and a barrage of bottles, cups and trash being launched onto the field. Wait a second -- that's the kind of reaction you'd maybe expect from fans of a winning team.
Suddenly, the playoffs didn't seem so far away.
But in week one this year, linebacker Dwayne Rudd flung his helmet to the ground in the closing seconds of an apparent win over the Kansas City Chiefs, celebrating what looked like a game-ending sack of quarterback Trent Green. Only Green somehow managed to flip the ball to offensive tackle John Tait, who then rumbled for 28 yards and into field goal range. And as we know all too well now: 1. Taking your helmet off on the field of play results in a 15-yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty, and 2. A game cannot end on a defensive penalty.
A chip shot for Morten Anderson sent the Browns to 0-1, and the Man Upstairs was no doubt laughing His divine ass off at us poor saps in Cleveland yet again.
Week four in Pittsburgh wasn't any better. Leading 13-6 late in the fourth quarter, the Browns defense allowed a stowaway from the XFL, Tommy Maddox, to charge down the field for a game-tying touchdown pass to Plaxico Burress with just 2:02 remaining. Overtime ensued and following an interception by rookie linebacker Andra Davis, the Browns found themselves on the Pittsburgh 34. After running the ball three times for just seven yards, a series of play-calling that defined the word "conservative," Davis handed the game to his sure-footed kicker, Phil Dawson, who'd hit 24 of his last 25 field goal attempts.
Fittingly, Dawson chumped the 45-yarder.
Minutes later, the Steelers were in field goal range but Todd Peterson had his 24-yard attempt blocked. Not surprisingly, though, Peterson picked up the ball before then fumbling it into the hands of offensive lineman John Fiala, and because the kick never crossed the line of scrimmage Pittsburgh retained possession. Peterson connected on his second attempt.
Game over. The Curse lives on.
I don't want to hear from all you Cubs and Red Sox fans, claiming you're the most tortured souls in this hellish world of sports. You had the 1985 Bears and the 2001 Patriots. What do we have in Cleveland?
The 1964 Browns. The 1948 Indians. And the Cavaliers, who've never even made it to the NBA Finals.
Go ahead -- it's okay to laugh at us. That's what God intended when He created Cleveland.
As I've said I'm not a very religious man and I may never be, but I do believe that someone or something has purposely made it impossible for any major Cleveland sports franchise to win a championship anytime soon. Sure, it may happen one day, but I'm not holding my breath.
Go ahead and call me and my fellow fans whiners and complainers. Say what you will about the ups and downs of being a sports fan, about taking the good with the bad. We understand those relationships.
Unfortunately, we Cleveland fans only experience the downs, and we take the bad with the worse. There are no peaks with the Cleveland Sports Curse. Only valleys. There are no highs. Just extreme lows.
And that's the way He likes it.
In the Bullz-Eye
The Arizona Diamondbacks. No Luis Gonzalez, no Craig Counsell, no Danny Bautista. The Diamondbacks were seriously shorthanded as they headed into their first-round playoff match-up with the St. Louis Cardinals, but manager Bob Brenly also knew that he had the two best pitchers in baseball, Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling, taking the mound. But what the heck happened? Johnson got kicked around by the Cards in game one, giving up 10 hits, two walks and six runs (five earned) in six innings of work, and in the end the D-Backs lost 12-2. Now, heading into game two, there are whispers of Curt Schilling, who's been beaten up pretty good in his last few starts, tipping his pitches. If Arizona somehow comes out of the first two games of this series with two losses, they're done. And they know it.
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