As I sit down to write this post, the Red Sox are 3 outs away from winning their third World Series in the last ten years. I’m assuming that they aren’t going to blow this because they don’t play in Cleveland. I have to admit, I am a Red Sox fan – they are my second favorite team behind my beloved Cleveland Indians. Yes, second favorite teams are ridiculous and shouldn’t exist and I’m kind of embarrassed that I root for them. But, let’s just put it this way - with the bases loaded in the 7th inning and the Cardinals threatening to score, I just took my dog outside to poop. I came inside and the inning was over, having no clue what had happened. To put that in perspective, I don’t leave the room for a play during a Browns game, even if they are getting blown out in the 4th quarter. Yes, I like the Red Sox. No, my night isn’t completely ruined if they lose. That’s the difference.
As a Cleveland sports fan, I find every championship clinching game in the MLB, NFL, and NBA must watch television. I cannot remember the last one that I missed. I take it all in. From the players’ celebration on the field and in the locker room, to the trophy celebration, to the live shots of the local sports pub, I watch it all. I find the juxtaposition between these celebrations and my entire life as a sports fan fascinating and also somewhat therapeutic. I guess I could be ever the optimist and say that I’ve been on the wrong end of watching these celebrations three times in my life and for that, I should be thankful. But 1995, 1997, and 2007 were monumental disappointments. To be that close and to lose is worse than never being there at all (just ask any Buffalo Bills fan).
As a side note, I find this to be the perfect spot to mention that the 1997 World Series Game 7 collapse was entirely my fault. In the middle of the 9th inning during commercials, my friend Dan and I thought it would be a grand idea to bang his mother’s pots and pans together in his front yard while screaming, “We won the World Series”. Looking back, I was only in 7th grade at the time and didn’t know any better. My Cleveland sports heartache was very minimal at the time, I was living through the glory years of mid 90’s baseball. I wish I could go back and punch 13 year-old Ryan in the face for being a jerk…and for buying that Deep Blue Something album. My favorite part of the story, and most ironic, is that Dan’s mother didn’t cook…like ever. When she was younger, she burned a meal so poorly that she just gave up. So those pots and pans shouldn’t of been in the house, therefore creating an alternate universe where I wouldn’t of banged them, allowing Jose Mesa to pitch a perfect 9th inning. Sorry guys.
Watching these three clinching games a year is a constant reminder at how dismal my sports fandom has been my entire life. The ineptitude of the Cleveland Browns alone should make me swear off watching sports for good. I mean, if you went to the same restaurant 16 times a year and got really shitty service 11 of those times, you would stop going to that restaurant, right? Most normal people would. Not the Cleveland sports fan though. We keep coming back for more, hoping that this is the time that it pays off. So the reason why I watch all of these celebrations is that I know it will be my time someday. I don’t know where I will be, or how old I will be. All I know is that I’ll be crying like a little baby, knowing that all of this rooting will some day pay off. I hope.
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