Jon O'Leary looked at me funny.
I had just thrown a shoe at a television. The Browns were losing 21-0 to the Bengals in an early season game that had virtually no bearing on the outcome of the season. I would wake up and report to my fifth-grade class 16 hours later. Jon had his own troubles with math as a seventh-grader at Southampton Middle School. He always had Diet Mt. Dew at his house though and we'd spend hours trying to throw away empty cans from outrageous distances into his trash can. We'd always miss and always not clean them up.
Dominating elementary school math competitions myself, I've always been a tad off when it comes to watching sporting events. Friends make up excuses not to watch with me. I go places and sit alone. I probably look utterly ridiculous. I look fucking stupid.
I take the shit seriously and it's often sad and depressing. I repeat the same lines over and over again and not in a Tim McGraw f/ Nelly type of way either.
"I'm done."
"I'm just not going to watch anymore."
"Why do I do this to myself? This isn't fun!"
"My teams never win."
"I really thought this year was different. I'll never believe again."
"[I'm] done with sports forever."
"Look at me? This is not how a [insert age here]-year old should act."
"This is just sad."
"I can't believe it's over."
"This always happens."
"We all knew this would happen."
"I hate that I was born in northeast Ohio."
"God hates Cleveland."
Tonight when Boston closes out the LeBron James-era in Cleveland, I'll utter some of that stuff almost verbatim. I'll have that moment when I know it's over. It'll come. It'll hurt and then you begin to move on. Over the years, it's gotten easier. I remember when the Indians lost the 1997 World Series, I went to bed at 6:30 p.m. (sometimes with the help of over-the-counter drugs) for a week straight because I couldn't bear to be awake. It'll sting tonight. It'll sting into the morning but by lunchtime tomorrow, I'll be over it. Tomorrow night I'll be with friends drinking, laughing and telling funny stories. I'll be with smug Boston fans who tell me it'll eventually one day happen, all the while hoping it never does. I've come to those terms. It's never going to happen. Not tonight. Not ever.
And I still watch. I still will watch the Indians play the Orioles tomorrow night. I'll have a totally unfulfilling and excruciatingly boring Sunday afternoon watching those same two awful teams play again.
This is no "woe is me." While I'm willing to admit not all aspects of my life are thrilling or even marginally un-boring-as-fuck, I love the lifestyle in which I lead. It's not so much that I lead it, it's that I follow it around when I feel excited enough to take a shower.
Jimmy Fallon, one of the least funny "funny" men to ever grace a television screen, said something along the lines of how it's exhilarating "putting all your faith into something you have absolutely no control over."
I'm that way. I consistently reach. I consistently move at a speed different than most. I take things slow. I am patient. I am as easy-going as they come. I'm pleasant to be around 99 percent of the time. People like being around me. I don't cause problems. (Well, usually.) I always am willing to play defense even if my basketball box scores from eighth grade tell you otherwise.
Once I reach the point of knowing my resigned fate, I become remarkably relaxed and almost happy. And while I'll get pissed and throw shoes at televisions and be generally unpleasant to be around when watching playoff games, my mood in elimination games or do-or-die affairs is markedly different.
1999 - Boston closes out Cleveland in Game 5 of the ALDS. I watched quietly in a dorm room and treated myself to a giant sundae from UDF following the epic meltdown. The sundae had no time to melt down as I ate it in about .8 seconds.
2001 - Seattle closes out Cleveland in Game 5 of the ALDS. I watched upstairs in my bedroom (on mute) in an apartment on East 12th Avenue.
2007- Boston comes back from a 3-1 deficit and eliminates Cleveland in Game 7 of the ALCS. I went to a movie and didn't watch a single play of the game.
You get the picture. Sometimes you just know.
I've watched a bunch of Cavs games with my roommate The Godfather. He hates watching games with me but he can remember Game 7 of the 2008 Eastern Conference semifinals when Boston took out Cleveland. We went on to have one of the most fun afternoons of either of our lives.
Last year when Orlando eliminated Cleveland in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Finals, we left the bar at halftime and I half-laughed/half-sighed in telling Kirk, "Look, you can join me, but I'm grabbing a 12-pack of Miller Light and I'm going to sit in my living room and drink them all without watching any TV."
I think I'm just fighting a battle (WOW that pretentious) during a playoff series, hoping, wishing, nearly praying something goes differently than all I've ever known. I just want to stick it to those fans who always root against us. I want to be the champs for once. I want to be on top. I want to see a Cleveland team win a championship.
It's never going to happen. Not tonight. Not ever.
Yet I feel fine. I know the outcome. And when you know the outcome, it's difficult to be upset at its actualization.
Tonight around 10:40 p.m. or perhaps earlier, I'll get really quiet for a second, bite my lower lip, look down at the ground with my eyebrows raised, nod my head a few teams and then let out a heavy sigh.
It won't be the last time I complete the motion. It'll be easier next time.
I don't mind easy.
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