After speaking to an Atlanta friend of mine that cannot understand why I haven't begun to love the local Atlanta Falcons or Georgia Bulldogs, I can only tell him he’ll never understand what it means to be a fan in Cleveland or Ohio. It is part of the fabric of our make-up. It’s who we are and it defines the people of the region. Moving away from my hometown has made my heart grow founder for my teams. As I reflected on why this could be and why I haven’t adopted my new city’s sports teams, it hit me, and I realized that I am one of the luckiest Cleveland Browns and Ohio State Buckeye fans around. In fact, anyone from Berea can make that claim.
So why do I have this intense love affair with the Buckeyes? Well first of all, I’m from Ohio. It’s what we do, unless you are from Toledo. The Bucks are part of Saturday afternoons, and we bled scarlet and gray from the time we learned to throw a football. It’s hard to understand or communicate clearly unless you’re from Ohio, but ask any Ohioan what football smells like in the crispness of an late Fall morning. (Oh how I miss fall mornings in NEO) Second of all, Jim Tressel is a Berea boy and I’m a Berea boy, born and raised. He graduated from Berea High in ‘71. His father, Lee Tressel, was the head coach at Baldwin Wallace in Berea. Jim played QB for the Yellow Jackets and went on to graduate from BW. His brother Dick is a Berea boy and now a coach on Jim’s staff. His brother Dave taught many of us in the Berea City Schools. Many of us went to school with a Tressel. So when the “Sweater Vest” takes the field we feel like we know him even though we never met. But the connection is there and it’s palpable.
Not only am I a huge Buckeye fan, I was raised a diehard Browns fan, and I had the unique opportunity of being able to walk right next door to our high school after football practice and meet my gridiron heroes each and every season. Kosar, Metcalf, Turner, Matthews, Ozzie, Slaughter, Langhorne, Brennan, Baab, Bahr, Eddie Johnson... the list goes on and on. Not only that, but in the late 80's early 90's, most of the pros weren't prima donnas. Hell Clay Matthews still drove a beat up yellow AMC Gremlin. (It could have been some other beater hatchback - but it was a wreck!) Matt Bahr once took my cousin Tommy's skateboard and asked if he could ride it. And he did, up and down the BW Finnie Stadium parking lot. Damn I wish we had a camera, because that was a classic “No way!” moment.
Who else from Berea doesn't remember playing baseball as a kid at Groza field? Or how about any members of the ‘91 and ‘92 Braves football teams that had the extreme honor and privilege of witnessing Lou Groza coaching our place kickers and teaching the “old-fashioned” straight ahead toe kick? Heck, Mr. Groza even donated a square tipped toe shoe to our kickers. Can you imagine a pro player these days being so magnanimous? The man was the biggest human being, literally and figuratively; I had met to that point. Shaking his hand was not only a huge honor, but also made this larger than life figure seem even more imposing. His hands would have encompassed mine even if I were wearing a baseball mitt.
I would frequently find Browns players and coaches running through the Metro Parks, and most often it was the Wizard of Oz. I remember a few occasions where I would just try to keep pace with them and found that it was a good way to get into shape for an upcoming football season. Or how about stopping by Bucci’s in Berea and seeing any random player enjoying lunch or dinner, and they would not even hesitate to sign an autograph or have their picture taken.
In 1991 and again in 1992, the Browns opened their doors to our Braves football team and let us practice for the OHSA Playoffs both years in their brand new facility, which serves as their headquarters and doubles as training camp central on a little street named after Lou Groza. We felt like pros ourselves, and looking back they were some of the most fun and intense practices I can remember. I even recall that before they moved into the new facility they would allow us to use their old facility’s locker room for pre-game against Midpark. We would walk out of the locker room, through the weight room, out the door and across the parking lot to Finnie Stadium in the crisp autumn air that smelled like football and feel like we were unstoppable because we felt like pros. All of these experiences cemented my love for the Orange and Brown.
So you ask me why I do not love or even have an inkling of feeling for any other teams? I guess it’s just hard for you to understand, and that’s not my problem.
Go Browns and Go Buckeyes!
Woof Woof Woof!
O! H!
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