It’s My Camelot

-af2df12ad21143c0I love you Cleveland.

One week ago… right around 9:45 I was less than pleased. Chris Perez had just blown a critical save for the Indians…..again. With so much riding on every win and loss at that point of the season, my beloved Indians could not afford to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. It doesn’t help when Perez is serving up the home runs (2 in the 9th inning last night) has been less than appreciative of the fan base and his own teammates. But there we were.  Staring in at the face of defeat. Another disappointment.

Too many times I’ve seen this movie. Too many times I’ve witnessed the heartbreak. The “Cleveland Sports Heartbreak” is usually played before any meaningful game on sports networks.

With apologies to Journey….for a few minutes I stopped believin’.

Then this happened….


By now you’ve probably heard about it or read it on facebook. We Cleveland fans got pretty excited. It was one of those memorable moments that doesn’t make that heartbreak loop they always show. It was one of those “where were you when” moments.

It was then I started to believe again.  To begin to believe in the possibility.  The possibility that this year may be “our year”. 

It is something that I cannot fully explain… being a Cleveland fan is not something that I chose to be.  It chose me.  It is a common bond… a common purpose…  it is a sense of belonging regardless of the wins or the misery of losing.  It is being part of a family.  Being a Cleveland fan is the core of who I am as a sports fan. 

In reality, it isn’t about how many Championship rings we have or don’t have.  That really is temporary. Regardless of their record… regardless of who they trade or draft… regardless of how they lose… they will always be my team.

I know that people will continue to make their rude comments and have their fun at the expense of Cleveland. That will never change. But those that make their comments just don’t get it.  Yes… I know and I am prepared to never win a championship during my lifetime.  But as a Cleveland fan I have something that most sport fans will never have… a sense of belonging… a sense of family… all sharing in the possibility of what could be.

It’s why I love Cleveland Sports. It is why I love this city.

I know… it’s a dump, but it’s our dump. It’s our Camelot.

As Sean Connery said in the movie “First Knight” –

This is the heart of Camelot, not these stones, not these timbers, these palaces and towers. Burn them all and Camelot lives on, because it lives in us. Camelot is a belief that we hold in our hearts.

I say…

This is the heart of being a Cleveland sports fan, not these fields, not these stadiums, these bleachers and statues. Burn them all and Cleveland lives on, because it lives in us. Being a Cleveland sports fan is a belief that we hold in our hearts.

Cleveland and our sports teams are indeed a belief that we hold in our hearts. 

I know this magic ride the Indians and Browns are taking me on will come to an end.  I know there are other teams that have bigger payrolls and better players.  But I hold a belief in my heart and I am compelled and drawn into the possibility of what “could be”.

I hope I never ever lose that. 

I love you Cleveland.  You’re my Camelot.

If Only I Had Enough Talent

When I was a kid, the thing I wished for most was to be talented. No. Not just talented. I wanted to be special. I wanted to stand out from the crowd. I wanted to change the world with something I could do. I wanted to be remembered in my hometown.  I wanted to be someone who “made it” in whatever I would choose to do and make my mark on the world that would be remembered for years after I was gone.

And I believed I could…

If only I had enough talent.

That longing lead me down paths that almost all of us have journeyed. Drawn to sports, art, and a short-lived stint in the choir in search of my place to belong.

FootballLike most boys growing up, I dreamt of being a professional athlete.  Playing a sport I loved and getting paid for it was just the ticket for the dreams of a young skinny kid from Oak Harbor, Ohio.

If I only had enough talent.

When you are 5’4″ as a sophomore and weighed a solid 95 lbs dressed in your footbbaseballall uniform with full pads and helmet… it was painfully obvious that football was not going to be in my future.  The fact that I grew 9 inches during the summer between my 10th and 11th grade years did not make the prospect of being a professional athlete any clearer.  Yes, I was 6′ 2″, but I also only weighed 130 lbs.  A strong wind could and would knock me over.

While I was not the worst player on any of the sports teams I played on.  The evidence was clear that I was not going to take Hank Aaron’s place in the Major Leagues, nor was I going to play for the Cleveland Brown’s at any time in my life.

I had always thought of myself to be artistic.  Why I thought that I have not a clue.  I have always loved to draw and be creative.  I tried to be artistic and there was a time I thought I was pretty good at it. Maybe I thought that because when I was in the fifth grade I won a first place    riLigerbbon at the Ottawa County Fair for a pencil drawing. I guess it gave me enough confidence that I convinced myself that I was talented.  That was until I compared my ability to those around me when I took art classes at Oak Harbor High SchoolI was suddenly made aware that my artistic ability was somewhere along the lines of Napoleon Dynamite’s when he drew a picture of a Liger.  Not so good.

If only I had enough talent.

Then there was the period in my life when I dreamed of what it would be like to be the lead singer of a band.  I mean I could sing all the notes of my favorite songmicrophone1s and bands when the music was blasting through the cheap speakers of my 1976 Ford Pinto.  It’s funny how we convince ourselves that we are as talented as our favorite singer we hear on our radio.  I mean who of us have never sang their heart out using a hair brush as a microphone?  The sad truth is that I found out how lacking of talent I truly was when I tried out to sing a solo for our choir concert. It was not pretty.

If I only had enough talent.

I have written numerous times about my search to find what my talent was in life and I have to admit, when I reflect back at my life, I am hard pressed to state exactly what my talent ever was.  I have had to come to terms that I will not be remembered.  Not even in the small town I was raised in.  I have not changed the world and for the most part the only true mark that I will ever make will be the slab of stone that my family puts up to mark my burial plot.

That being said… I think I have figured out why my mark on this earth is not what I thought it would be when I was Talent-Overrated-titledreaming of it as a child.  I think that talent is over-rated.  Yes…I said it.  Talent is over-rated.  Talent doesn’t matter that much in the real world. It’s a prerequisite to being average. It may open some doors, but it won’t keep them open for long. I’ve discovered in the real world, there’s something that’s far more important. Want to know what trumps talent every time?

Hard Work and Discipline.

I know, I know. They are ugly words! Even typing them makes me feel a pit in my stomach much like I feel when I have to pay my taxes each April. 

If we’re honest, we’ll all admit we should “be more disciplined”.  And it turns out that hard work is, well…hard.

Easier things are easier and usually more fun. So we put off the hard stuff for another day. And we busy ourselves with things we can argue are important, in an effort to avoid what we should actually be doing.

Relying soleHArd Workly on talent to get you through life can often lead to failure.  Why?  Because those that rely on their talent alone often fail to work hard enough to accomplish what they feel should have come easily.  They tend to avoid the discipline needed to overcome those areas in their life that are lacking.

It’s not our talent that sets us apart and opens the door to our future.  It’s our willingness and resolve to face the hard work, again and again – to get busy, not just with doing stuff, but with doing the stuff that moves us forward in our most important dreams and goals.

Like you, I lead a busy life; I can find an excuse when I need one. I can justify my bad choices and procrastination if I want to. But the deeper I get into life, the more I see and feel the price I paid avoiding the important things before me.  I am convinced that ata secret this point the reason no one will remember a skinny kid from Oak Harbor, Ohio is the fact that I never worked hard enough and disciplined myself to achieve all that I should have achieved.

Far too many times in my life, I have used excuses that would keep me from doing what I probably should have done.  I would say that I didn’t know what to do.  The truth is that I would choose to avoid the hard work and discipline it would take for me to overcome the obstacles that were placed in my way.

Yes, there are times in our life when we legitimately don’t know what to do. But too often, too many of us set up camp there when we were meant to just pass through. In time, we accept our excuses as truth and trade our energy for apathy. Eventually, we give up and settle in – far short of our potential, far less happy and fulfilled than we could be. And when we do, we tell ourselves we just didn’t have the talent, or the skill, or the knowledge to move forward. When the truth is… we simply did not want to work hard and discipline our lives enough to reach the goals we should have had in life.

So as I reflect on the fifty plus years of this life, I am drawn to challenge myself fopossibilityr what can be accomplished in this phase of my life. There is still time and there is still opportunity. More and more, I’m coming to realize that hard work and discipline isn’t an enemy out to shame me. It’s a friend with a key.

If you want to be special, If you want to stand out from the crowd and change the world by something that you do.

You can. All you need is enough… discipline and hard work in your life.

No, more than likely, I won’t ever be remembered in my hometown and the world will make little note of my passing.  But I believe that there is still more for me to do.  There are things I still want to accomplish in life.  Things I believe I can make the difference in.  These goals can be attained by instilling an attitude of hard work and discipline in my life.

The same can be said for you and the things left for you to accomplish.

And yet, there is a small part of me that still thinks that maybe this will be the year that I will get drafted by the Cleveland Brown’s…

If only I had enough talent.

As a Cleveland Sport’s Fan, I Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident

In keeping with the spirit of this blog site…I guess I should address why I tend to be a die-hard Cleveland sports fan.  I can’t really explain it without starting to question how I could be so foolish to be a Cleveland sports fan.  But I can’t help myself.  I could no longer deny my love for the Brown’s, the Indians and on rare occasion the Cavaliers than I could deny the love for my own children.

I wasn’t born in Cleveland and I definitely wasn’t born this way.

As a matter of fact, my earliest memories of following a sports team was watching the Baltimore Baltimore-OriolesOrioles.  I was in love with Orioles and Brooks Robinson.  The Hall of Fame third basemen for Baltimore was my favorite player in the Major Leagues. It was easy to love the Orioles during the late 60’s and early 70’s. Because they  were winning five Division Championships (1969–1971, 1973–1974), They played in the World Series in 1969, 1970 and 1971 and won it in 1970.

It was a natural transition to become a Baltimore Colt’s fan during that time as well.  The Colt’s played in the Super Bowl in 1968 and 1970 under the leadership of Johnny Unitas  in which they won the same year that the Orioles won tBertJonesColtshe World Series in baseball.  The center of the sports universe was located in Baltimore, Maryland.  The Colt’s continued their winning ways with the play of quarterback Bert Jones and they won division titles in 1975, 1976, and 1977.

This was during the time in my life that I was the most impressionable. If I was going to be a lifelong Orioles and Colt’s fan, I was primed for it to happen because all of the signals were there.  They were the only teams you consistently could watch on TV and it should have stuck.  I had all the team shirts and all of the posters of the players hanging in my bedroom.  If you would have asked my 12-year-old self I would have sworn allegiance until my dying breath.

It didn’t stick.

I cannot pinpoint the exact time or where I was when it happened.  But make no mistake it happened.  I couldn’t really identify with the success that was going on in Baltimore.  It was too easy. I could never shake the feeling that I was a fair weather fan and I never felt like they were “my team”.  I always felt I was a bandwagon fan that only loved the team because they won and they were on TV.  I am sure that there are many people who fall in love with their sports team because they were the team’s that were winning during their impressionable years.  How does someone from Ohio become a Raider or a Steeler fan?  It’s just too easy to love only the teams that win. It is the only logical explanation.

For me, I started to see that life is not like that.  Life is not that easy…  you don’t always win and you don’t always get to play for the championship year in and year out.  Life is hard and it’s a struggle to ever really “win” at things in life.  I saw that I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth and life was going to give me bumps and bruises.

cleveland_brownsI signed on as a Cleveland sports fan. I found a team that I could honestly identify with. I found a place where I could put on their team jersey and feel like I wasn’t being fake or a bandwagon fan. I was down for the struggle and I was home… where I belonged.

Maybe it is the fact that they are the perennial under-dog or maybe because no matter how promising the plan or how high the draft pick, someone will screw it up. It is the perfect reflection of what I have come know of what life is all about.  It is about the struggle… the hope… the chance that this could be the year that it will happen for us. If not… there is always next year.  It isn’t a given satisfaction and the victories are so much sweeter when they don’t come easy.

It is too easy for others to make fun.

Currently, our new N.F.L. owner, a truck stop billionaire named Jimmy Haslam, is being investigated by federal agencies for a fuel rebate debacle.  The Cavaliers lost 58 games: they would have lost more, but the season ended. The Indians perform in a cloister.

The Indians took the World Series in 1948; in ’64 the Browns were crowned kings of professional Cleveland_Indiansfootball. Since then, nothing. It has been a particularly potent kind of futility. Not a cuddly incompetence like the Chicago Cubs’, each collapse covered in ivy, or the celebrated struggles of the Boston Red Sox.  No “Sweet Caroline” here.  Our ballpark sing-a-long could be the song “Eve of Destruction.”

Periodically, wizards and new owners have arrived to break the curse. They were an oddly bloodless bunch, for conjurers, but spoke well and seemed to understand salary caps. They lectured us on the constraints of a small market, failed, and left. Somehow, misfortune always found a roster spot.

 But these are not the worst of times, only the latest. We are all too familiar with “the Fumble”, “the Drive” and “the Shot” and the curse of Rocky Colavito. There are library shelves that groan with the agony of Cleveland fans.  A generation of futility.

I have caught my share of Indians games at the old Municipal Stadium and I was at Jacob’s Field (forever the name for me) watching the Tribe in the 1995 World Series.  I watched the Kardiac Kids of the ’80’s and I watched the Cav’s in the heyday of the Richfield Coliseum.

We are sports people. We are family. You will never know until become a member of this family we call Cleveland.

As a Cleveland sports fan, I hold these truths to be self-evident:

I will be a Cleveland fan until my dying breath.

I have tried to pass it on but only my son Nathan has a membership card to the Cleveland Sports family. It’s becoming harder to pass down that homegrown pain. Satellite dishes, streaming Internet — the young live vicariously in a world that technology creates. They can watch any game and watch a TV channel dedicated to their respective team 24 / 7.  They are spared of any indignity of disloyalty or shame or loss. They wear Indianapolis hats and Cowboys jerseys and that splayed-leg figure dunking on their hoodies isn’t Mark Price.

We Cleveland fans take victory, like work, wherever we find it.

This year, I know I will not be busy during the playoffs. Any playoffs.

I, for one, sleep well in the knowledge that my car will probably never be overturned in a championship celebration.

And yet…

The first pitch of spring slaps leather, the Indians hang around first place in June, and sports again becomes something beyond a balance sheet. A kickoff for the Brown’s sails high into the autumn air and I start to think anything’s possible.  Hope swells in my heart and I believe that this year will be different.

And for a moment, I hardly notice the years of  futility in my life piling up around my feet.