Cleveland, this one’s for you!

Everyone deserves to have a Cleveland sports fan in their life.  I’m blessed to know a few.  The Croshere Brothers, long familiar with this website, have been close friends for nearly thirty years.  I’m honored to say I’m the unofficially adopted fourth brother. 

Hailing from Youngstown, Ohio, the brothers three are extremely knowledgeable sports fans, encyclopedic if you will, and seasoned gamblers as well.  The family taught me much of what I know about the art of the wager.

But aside from two of the three boasting Ohio State degrees on their walls, the others have had perennially bad luck rooting for sports teams.  William, a Pirates fan, still attends ball games and clings to the days of Willie, Cobra, Kent Tekulve and vintage pillbox caps.

Richie, a Cavs fan, well, what can be said.  We won’t get into the Browns because that’s low-hanging fruit, but if you subtract LeBron from the Cavaliers, or even include his eleven years, one title and one Decision, theirs is a downright miserable affair.  Their silk screened, t-shirts reading “Cleveland, this one’s for you!” have long faded by now, entering an all-new era of empty promises that end in a disappointment all too familiar.

Tuesday night’s historic collapse to the Knickerbockers in Game One of the Eastern Conference Finals (Cleveland led by 22 points with eight minutes left) was a letdown that not only sent Cavs fans into a frenzy but boldly reminded them of their place in the NBA pecking order, as proven by these seething texts from the brothers.

Enjoy!

Imagine holding a ticket that has Donovan Mitchell, the Cavaliers’ best player and most prolific scorer, to score 30 points.  You watch him drop his 27^th, 28^th and 29^th point with eight minutes to go, only to see him play the rest of regulation, and overtime, without scoring a single point.  Not even a free throw attempt.  Your wagers, nearly cashed, are suddenly a river of darkness.

You feel their misery, anger and disappointment with every painstaking word.  Cavs fans thought losing Game Six to Detroit was bad.  That performance is long forgotten as the Cavs gave away a game by going full Cleveland.  It’s bad enough they’re forced to live the rest of their lives watching Craig Ehlo fall to the ground after Michael’s Game Five jumper back in ‘89.  Now there’s this.

I have friends who are Grizzlies fans, Charlotte fans and Pelicans fans.  They might tell Cavs fans to cool their jets, the whole “better to have loved and lost” argument.  Those three franchises, alongside my beloved Orlando Magic, have experienced little glory: no titles, only hopelessness.

But damn if that Game One loss didn’t sting.  See Richie’s follow-up text as he pledges to not watch Game Two, not because he’s disinterested but because deep down inside, he can no longer stand the agony.

BCole and I walked into a new sports bar last football season.  The setting was oddly quiet for an NFL Sunday afternoon, almost morgue-like.  Every television had a game on but still, silence.  That’s when it struck me why the bar was so quiet, an unmistakable sense of gloom overtaking the entire restaurant.  It was a Browns bar.  It was right around midseason when Cleveland was still kicking the tires on Dillon Gabriel and right before they’d convinced themselves Shedeur Sanders might be somewhat competent.  Welcome to the life of a Cleveland fan.  Theirs is a longstanding, generational misery experienced only by few.

Everyone needs a Cleveland fan in their life if only to put their own lives in perspective, you know, make you feel better about your own self.  Like, wow, my problems aren’t that bad after all.  Diphtheria?  At least I’m not a Cavs fan.  Chronic halitosis?  At least I didn’t get my hopes up just to have them violently bashed in by the reality of my own being. 

I’d like to say things will get better, but they won’t, and they know that.  Cavs fans had almost convinced themselves that adding James Harden would get them over the hump.  Talk about the old bait and switch.  Think about how silly that sounds now.  Let’s take two players known for falling short in the clutch and add them to a team that has a history of doing so.  Might as well serve your basketball viewing displeasure with a tasty side of hemlock.

So, if you see a Cavs fan, give them a hug but don’t do anything disingenuous like telling them it’s going to be alright.  They know better.  It’s their birthright.

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