I’ve decided I need an NFL team to cheer for.
It took me long enough. I’ve been a fan of football forever, played it as a kid, was actually not bad at it, yet still, among my peer group I was the only guy who didn’t follow a team. At least in the NFL.
Back then all my friends would cheer for the Steelers and the Cowboys, probably because at the time those two franchises were the class of the league, alternating championships between them. But I couldn’t very well cheer for either of those two, because that’s just not the way she goes for me, bandwagon-jumping not something I’ve ever been good at. When pressed for social reasons or to just fit in, I would say that I cheered for the Oakland Raiders, mostly because of their uniforms and their bad-boy kind of mentality. Names like Jack Tatum, Ted Hendricks, Pete Banaszack, and Jim Plunkett were my answer to Terry Bradshaw, Mean Joe Greene, Jack Ham, and Jack Lambert of Pittsburgh and Roger Staubach, Tony Hill, Tony Dorsett, and Drew Pearson of Dallas. But still, I had to look the Oakland names up, except for Plunkett, to remind myself who I “cheered” for, whereas the Steelers and Cowboys players I could remember without assistance.
But honestly, other than maybe the playoffs, I’d pay no attention to the NFL, which is really weird, because I was a sports freak like just about everyone else. I was just more of a hockey and baseball fan. Hell, I even watched the CFL regularly. No, I did not watch televised bowling, although I will own-up to the odd roller-derby contest, especially if my fave Diane Syverson was running amok on the track, leaving bodies and bad hair in her wake.
In the early 1980’s, you pretty much had to watch the NFL on television during the playoffs if you wanted to see your pals or get any kind of serious drinking done. If not, it was port sherry on a park bench for you, and honestly, I aspired to something a little more up-scale than that, so the NFL it was. I was smart enough to fake it, and I could drink with the best of them, so I was able to hide the fact that I was really just an imposter.
But that was then, and this is now.
Other than maybe the Super Bowl, I don’t watch the NFL at all, unless I’m with somebody, which is almost never the case. So that said, I can have no problem at all having the Super Bowl come and go without even checking in on it. As well, I’ve never really been anyone who gets too jacked-up about the Half-Time Show, so you could pretty much just call me a loser and I’d have nothing to offer up as a valid defence. If somebody were to have a wardrobe malfunction, I could always check that out online. Never mind the game highlights. Who needs to see that?
But now, for some reason I can’t really put my finger on, I feel I need to watch football again. Which is a strange thing to say because I love the game, always have, but for reasons unknown just don’t bother with it.
So if I’m going to watch I feel I’m going to have to commit, which means I have to go out and find myself a team to get behind. And it can’t be the Chiefs, or the Bills, or the Steelers, or any of the other good teams because their wagons are already full, and I’m not going to jump aboard just because I want to associate with a winner.
I would prefer the struggle, the team that for whatever reason is shuffling along, a team nobody knows anything about, because there is nothing to know about. I need a losing team, so that when they reach the top, I can say to myself that I was there from the beginning, shared the ups and downs, mostly downs, and grew along with them as they climbed their way to eventual respectability, although my teams almost rarely do.
The uniforms are important. Those Oakland teams had great home uniforms, with black over silver, and they were so simple yet so appealing to me. No pizzazz, just blood and grass stains. But their road uniforms were brutal, I think white over the silver pants. And with the silver helmets the team wore, thank God the numbers were black or you wouldn’t be able to see them on television without contrasting with the grass on the field.
It’s a tough job finding the right mix of incompetence, futility, ugly uniforms, pathetic mascots, and unfortunate team names that makes the perfect NFL team for me. But after seeing a team in the CFL name itself the Red Blacks, I knew it wouldn’t be impossible.
So no more Raiders, either in Oakland or Las Vegas. No Rams or Bengals or Panthers or Bears. No Steelers, Cowboys, Bills, or Vikings. And no Chiefs or Patriots.
No New York, no Los Angeles, no Chicago, and no Philly.
My new team is the Cleveland Browns.
I’ve never seen anyone rocking Browns merchandise. Hell, I don’t even know if there is Browns merchandise. The uniforms are gorgeous, if a combination of brown and orange does that sort of thing for you, which I don’t think it does for me. It’s sorta like that girl back in grade four, the one who was so ugly that she was kinda pretty. A terrible thing to say, yes, but that’s probably how people saw me back then too, except for maybe the pretty part. I’m happy to say that, over the years, I’ve blossomed into a very handsome man, but in an Abraham Lincoln sort of way, and I’ll bet that girl turned into the swan from that grade four story we used to love.
The Browns own a dismal 2-8 record this season, and I didn’t look up who the two teams were that lost to them, mostly out of respect for their fans, who must be really down in the dumps.
The team mascot, if that’s what it is, is some kind of really spooky elf holding a football that’s been stylized as a C, which would be really cool if it wasn’t being held by a creepy elf.
Cleveland’s next game is Thursday night against the division-leading Steelers, so I have to spend the next couple of days researching my new team to get a sense of what the hell I’m getting myself into. When I tune in on Thursday, I’d kinda like to know who to look for as a point of potential optimism, somewhere to hang the hat of hope.
It’s not going well.
In a single hour, I’ve learned that my starting quarterback is out with an injury. Which wouldn’t be so bad if my starting running back wasn’t also out, he for the entire season. And while we’re at it, why not throw the leading wide receiver onto a stretcher as well? On the other side of the ball, my top cornerback, top linebacker, and top defensive tackle are all gonzo as well. And if I’m reading the tea leaves right, I think we’re about ready to fire the coach. The bloody kicker missed two gimme field-goal attempts on Sunday.
All this, and just my first day as a Browns fan. Like, where can you find that anywhere else? I’m less than 12 hours in, and it’s already shaping up to be a long season.
Looks like I picked a bad day to quit drinking.
NEWSMAGRENFREW 