American Football
The sport that towers above all others in the US.
Throughout the weekend, football stadiums nationwide—from high schools to universities and professional venues—became hallowed grounds and places of worship. Football’s dominance on television ratings, merchandise, and packed stadiums in college and professional sports is a multi-billion dollar industry.
With the 2024 season now underway, it’s set to spark endless discussions and debate among millions. Fans will dive into Fantasy Leagues and get angry when the best athletes on their roster face injuries. Passionate supporters will jeer at rival players and erupt in cheers when they witness bone-crushing tackles or devastating injuries that sideline opponents for weeks. Yet, these same fans will vent fury toward players on their beloved team for simple mistakes.
My relationship with American Football is... complicated.
Hear me out.
I stopped watching and supporting football in March 2022. Since then, I’ve regained my Sundays and freed up countless hours I once dedicated to following my team, both throughout the season and during the off-season. I have done a lot of soul-searching and will never watch football again.
To be blunt, I have always hated football culture. I never went to my high school football games because of the rah-rah culture associated with it. And let’s be honest, those kids didn’t like me anyway.
So what would a long-haired rock and roll, art kid who smoked a lot of pot, read books about Native American spirituality and Beat Poetry, and hung out at art museums & record stores like about football?
At the time, I genuinely enjoyed the strategic chess match between the two teams and the city pride it instilled.
My team was once the Cleveland Browns.
I was a die-hard fan. Win or lose—I thought I bled orange and brown. Growing up in Cleveland, the Browns were part of your DNA. This passion stems from a deep place within, where feelings of self-doubt, resentment, and the scars of bullying simmer together. Living in a cold, gritty industrial behemoth, rusting along the shores of Lake Erie, where the river was so polluted it would ignite in flames, shaped my experience and is part of my identity. The city has long been a punchline for late-night comedians. Yet, there’s a fierce pride in being the underdog, a yearning to rise like a Phoenix and silence the naysayers. It’s about proving that pride is at stake. You long to show the nation that your city matters and its people are resilient and deserve more. And what better way to showcase that than through sports?
Or so the narrative goes.
I was also a teen in the mid-late ‘80s, and the Browns were very good. But even then, they had the remarkable ability to disappoint.
I vividly remember watching the Browns in the 1980 playoff game against the Oakland Raiders when I was eleven. It was a freezing day in Cleveland, and the Browns had clawed their way back to a nail-biting 12-14 score in the final minute. They were in prime position to score, needing only a field goal to clinch the victory. However, head coach Sam Rutigliano decided to go for one last play instead of taking the easy three points. The play, called “Red Right 88,” was designed for quarterback Brian Sipe to connect with their star tight end, Ozzie Newsome, in the end zone. If Newsome wasn’t open, Sipe was instructed to throw the ball away, allowing for a timeout and a shot at the field goal. But in a classic Browns twist, everything went wrong. Sipe threw the ball to Newsome without realizing a defender was lurking nearby, leading to an interception. Just like that, the game was over, and the Browns lost. At eleven years old, I was heartbroken; it was the first time I can remember crying over a sporting event. It wouldn't be the last time either.
(“Why don’t you quit?”)
The Browns' ability for disappointment didn’t end that day. Nor did my spilled tears and bruised city pride.
But there were also fun times. I was at the legendary Double Overtime playoff game vs. the NY Jets in January 1987. I also had a job selling “pop” in the stadium and saw many games for free. When I stopped working at the stadium, my friend Dave and I found an easy way to sneak into it. Dave had a job at a shop that required him to wear an ID badge that we cleverly modified. We cut out a Cleveland Browns logo from some merchandise and taped it above his photo on the badge. With that in hand, we would quickly flash it at the stadium entrance, and more often than not, we were allowed in without a second glance. These were the days pre-September 11th when security was much more relaxed. There were hardly any ushers directing fans to their seats, so we roamed freely around the stadium, finding empty spots to sit or simply standing on the stairs at the end of a row.
During the 1980s, the Browns came tantalizingly close to reaching the Super Bowl, yet they always fell short in heartbreaking ways. If “Red Right 88” was bad, they upped the ante with “The Drive” and “The Fumble”—two games that are infamous and easily found with a quick Google search. Once again, pride was crushed, providing endless material for sports fans and comedians to poke fun at the city, and more tears were shed over… a game.
(“Why don’t you quit?”)
And then there was “The Move.”
In 1995, Art Modell, the Browns owner, decided to move the franchise to Baltimore. His primary motivation was to pressure the city of Cleveland and its taxpayers into funding a new stadium. Initially, the city resisted, but eventually, they gave in. Unfortunately, the agreement to move the team had already been finalized. And in the blink of an eye, the Browns were gone. A storied franchise that won eight championships between 1946 and 1964 instantly vanished in the night. Imagine sports fans, if the NY Yankees or Liverpool FC packed up and left your town. It was a devastating blow to the city and the people of Cleveland.
I still remember my father calling me in London to break the news about the Browns departure. His voice was filled with emotion, and I could tell he was on the verge of tears. That day, he vowed never to watch the NFL again (of course, he continued to watch, but his anger and sadness were real).
The city vigorously opposed the relocation. The team’s identity, including its name, colors, and championship trophies, would stay in Cleveland. Baltimore would need to create a new name and colors, essentially starting from scratch. However, they were not entirely a new team, as many players from the Browns remained and moved with the team. And to make matters worse—once star player, Ozzie Newsome, became Baltimore’s General Manager. It was the equivalent of the Judas kiss.
In 1999, the city was awarded a new franchise, enabling it to retain the same name, logo, and colors. However, from 1999 to 2019, the Browns were historically bad. Between 2016 and 2018, they managed to win only 3 games. In that same period, they lost 36 games and tied one.
In 2017, they faced the embarrassment of losing EVERY. SINGLE. GAME. They were bottom feeders extraordinaire and laughingstocks across the nation! It was so bad that the high school where I teach probably could have beaten them.
(“Why don’t you quit?”)
But I still loved them and supported them.
The Browns Backers are recognized as one of the largest organized fan clubs in professional sports. When we returned to the States in 2007, I immediately looked for a local Browns Backer Chapter in Portland, and after fourteen years of living abroad, my passion for the team was rekindled. For several seasons, I proudly served as the President of the Portland Browns Backers. Each year, Cleveland fans and Northern Ohio transplants in the Portland area would gather at a local pub to cheer on the team during every game. I took the initiative to design t-shirts and scarves, organized merchandise raffles, and managed our social media and web presence, dedicating countless hours to creating a welcoming community for Browns fans far from home.
In 2019, as President of a Browns Backers Chapter, I received a special invitation from the team to attend training camp, enjoy dinner with former players, and meet current stars. I had the opportunity to spend time with Myles Garrett and Baker Mayfield, during which I presented each of them with a Portland Browns Backers scarf and t-shirt that I had designed. Between 2020 and 2022, the team finally assembled a talented roster that seemed poised for a championship run. After two decades of dismal seasons and heartbreaking losses, the Browns made a triumphant return to the playoffs in 2021. The outlook was bright, and the team was finally receiving respect and viewed favorably.
And then, in March 2022, the team disappointed me for the last time, and I walked away.
Forever.
In their desperation to win a championship, the team made the awful decision to sign a player embroiled in multiple sexual allegations as their franchise star. In doing so, they also guaranteed him a disgusting amount of money that was, at the time, the highest salary in the NFL. This was not just a blatant insult to the victims but to all women, delivered by the team's male general manager, head coach, owner, and the entire NFL.
A line had been drawn in the sand, and they crossed it. I had to walk away from it all.
I 100% believe the women’s allegations, and I realized that some issues in life far outweigh any sport. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, compromise my principles and values for the sake of a game. As a father and husband, how could I keep supporting this team? As the President of the Fan Club, how could I face women and endorse the team and that player? I resigned from the fan club with immediate effect. I transferred all my access to the social media accounts and the website to another member. I also sold off various autographed merchandise and completely erased any trace of the Cleveland Browns from my life.
Even if that player is eventually removed from the roster, my support for them or the NFL will never return. I've come to understand that while my team made a despicable choice by ignoring women's voices and endorsing toxic culture surrounding sexual assault and rape culture, this issue extends beyond the Cleveland Browns. If the Browns hadn't signed him, another team surely would have.
This is an NFL problem.
I also fully acknowledge that misogyny, abuse, and rape culture extend beyond just American Football. This is an issue that permeates the entire sports world. The immense financial power in professional and collegiate athletics frequently eclipses ethical, moral, and legal considerations.
As the American Football season kicked off this past weekend, I am already dreading the endless discussions about a game that, in the grand scheme, really doesn’t matter a whole hell of a lot. Instead, I find myself questioning why both the high school and college communities rally behind a sport where its students are physically hurt from bone, soft tissue, or worse, traumatic brain injury. Where toxic male culture is celebrated, ignored, or rewarded a second chance with lucrative scholarships and multi-million dollar contracts. The NCAA and the NFL have consistently taken a pathetic stance on social issues, prioritizing profit over principles. Thus, proving that the almighty dollar outweighs any commitment to moral or ethical standards.
Last year, the NFL received a gold-plated gift in the form of Taylor Swift, raising yet another point of concern. While the world's most famous woman has the power to leverage her influence to confront the NFL's issues surrounding rape and abuse culture, she seems to be providing the league and the media with precisely what they desire. An increase in female viewers leads to better ratings and boosts revenue. While some performative statements may be made, real change is unlikely as long as fans continue supporting the league through television ratings, ticket purchases, and merchandise sales.
Silence is complicit.
So, on reflection... My relationship with football isn’t that complicated. That relationship is DEAD. I am long divorced, and I have moved on from that toxic relationship. I no longer care if the Browns win or lose.
Well, that isn't exactly true.
In all honesty, I will take great glee if the Browns dance with the devil backfires, blows up financially, and the franchise receives zero rewards from it. Meanwhile, the weeks, days, and hours I've reclaimed now grant me more time to create art, write, and listen to records.
Come On Down!
And that now brings me to music. After all, I have to find a link somewhere, and music is where I go when I need to connect the dots and understand the chaos of life around me.
Poor Eddie Harris.
Throughout the '60s and '70s, Harris released a handful of tremendous albums, yet he is often a forgotten man in Jazz circles. Despite being one of the great tenor sax players, Jazz purists dismissed his later work due to his electrified sax in the late '60s and '70s. He would also take a turn for the unexpected and became the Jazz version of Peter Frampton by creatively singing through his sax. It’s a weird and unforgettable sound, but you have to love him for trying!
In 1970, Eddie Harris released the funktastic album Come On Down!, which culminates in the wildly energetic ‘Why Don’t You Quit?’ The song kicks off with Harris alongside guitarists Cornell Dupree and Jimmy O’Rourke exchanging electrifying riffs. It eventually erupts into a chaotic and insanely wild ride where Eddie ferociously extracts unimaginable sounds from his saxophone. He howls and shrieks as his bandmates—bassist Donald “Duck” Dunn, pianist Dave Crawford, organist Billy Carter, and drummer Tubby Ziegler—maintain time and a bangin' rhythm. Meanwhile, Dupree and O’Rourke lay down a jammy groove that flows underneath Harris’ frenzied sonic onslaught.
While I suspect the song’s title hints more at quitting substances, it also perfectly encapsulates the urge to end a toxic relationship, mirroring my own desire to stop supporting American Football.
I’ll choose Eddie Harris any day over watching another second of that sport.
Never been to a football game, no regrets there, had a brief affair with it in the ‘80s in SF when Montana and Rice reigned supreme, but so unable to tolerate the bone-crushing gladiator stupidity of it all. I am a delicate flower, after all. But that’s not what I wanted to comment on. I only know Eddie Harris from his collaboration with Les McCann playing at ‘69 Montreaux, Swiss Movement album. PThe song “Compared to What” took my 13 yr old suburban white girl view of the world and stripped it down to a reality I still carry. It’s a giant, giant song that is going back into my rotation, thanks for the reminder.
This was an interesting read. As I've never followed football, I loved hearing about your love/hate relationship with the sport. I can fully understand the sense of betrayal and heartbreak when the Browns left your city, and also how heartsick you must have been when the new team hired a man who assaulted women. I fully applaud your decision to quit the game . It's been interesting to see how The Far Right hate having Swift involved in their favorite sport. It would be nice to think her involvement could help change the culture and make it more pro-woman or at least more willing to condemn and punish members who assault them.