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« American pie | Main | A shared love for a beautiful game »


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Loretta Dillon

I can personally relate to the life and times of a Cleveland sports fan... since the late, great Rocky Colavito's poster hung on my brother's bedroom wall. Mainly I'm a baseball fan, and there was no greater heartbreak than losing the 1997 World Series in Game 7. I still can't talk about it without wanting to cry. My brother was so upset after that game, he walked out of his house that night and headed up Lake Rd. (along Lake Erie) for about ten miles round trip to walk off the frustration.

Between 1994 (except for the strike, which made us all want to boycott MLB forever) and 1997, Cleveland was a great baseball town. The whole city rallied around the Tribe. You couldn't swing a cat without hitting a bumper sticker or sweatshirt bearing Chief Wahoo. Good times!

I liked the Browns in the 80s when Brian Sipe was the quarterback. It was low-stress. I was never as devoted to the Browns, so "The Drive" and "The Fumble" didn't get me as riled up as other fans. Besides, when you lose to John Ellway, at least you're losing to a hero. When you lose to a mercenary team like the Marlins, you want to jump off one of the many bridges spanning the Cuyahoga River.

Everyone hated (and still hates) Art Modell, of course. Losing the Browns to Baltimore was devastating for YEARS.

LeBron James was a nice kid with a Cinderella Story. I never paid much attention to basketball, but you couldn't avoid the backlash. By then, I had more important things to worry about.

All in all, being a Cleveland fan is akin to masochism, but we know no other way.


Lance -

As a young Jewish Celtics fan in the 60's, living outside of Boston, I simply assumed all of the Celtics were Jewish. How could they not be? When my father casually informed this wasn't the case, I was crushed. The world suddenly looked strange and indifferent.

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