'Yeah, Yeah, Yeah': A father, a son and the eternal hope of Browns fans

A few weeks back, my son and I ventured up to Browns Stadium to watch most northeastern Ohioans' favorite professional football team take on the Green Bay Packers. The catch, at least for my son, is that he is a Packers fan. He has been since the age of 6, when he first put on a Packers jersey while suiting up in the YMCA’s flag football league.

With a 6-foot-4 frame, he no longer needs the protection of his dad, like all kiddos do in their formative years, but I still felt the need to warn him about the dangers of heading into that stadium, wearing the colors of the enemy. I have been to enough games to know Browns fans, as most games progress, move from their ever-optimistic mantra — “maybe this is the game” — to, well, as Yukon Cornelius says in the Christmas classic “Rudolph,” this place is not fit “for man nor beast.”

Nevertheless, on went the Packers’ socks and “Title Town” T-shirt. Thankfully, he left his cheesehead at home — and the hope for a Packers’ victory.

Surprisingly enough, the abuse was not as severe as one might expect. It likely helped that we were surrounded by Packers fans including a youngster who could not have been more than 7 or 8, sitting on the edge of his seat, hoping the Packers would not take it on the chin.

Side note: for those who do not follow football, there was little reason to believe the Packers had less than a 99.6% chance to win the game, and Browns fans knew it.

Walking down East Ninth Street on our way into the stadium, an overzealous Packers fan was asking folks, rather loudly, “Tell the truth … you all believe in the Browns today?” Most were being honest and responding in the negative.

One gentleman, wearing a Baker Mayfield jersey, had his answer written on his back — the “MAY” in Mayfield was still stitched above the jersey number, but replacing the crossed-out “FIELD” was “MAY Be Not.”

Beside him walked a fan wearing a T-shirt saying, “We Almost Always Almost Win.”

There is something to be said for the fans who wear their acceptance on their sleeves.

There is no need to bore you with the game details. The Packers dominated 57 of the 60 minutes, keeping most antagonistic Browns fans at bay. Then, in the unlikeliest of scenarios, mostly at the fault of the Packers, the Browns rattled off 10 points in the final three minutes, ending with a game-winning field goal by Browns kicker Andre Szmyt (a kick Vegas odd makers said he had less than a 30% chance to make).

Cue the tears the little guy behind us shed as Browns fans erupted, which they/we had every right to do, and the harassment my son was to receive on the way out of the stadium, mostly taken with good humor.

As poorly as I felt for my son on the long walk back to our car, which was parked in a $30 parking spot in what felt like Parma, my mind actually traveled an hour down I-71 to Ashland, Ohio, where my father, likely sitting in his recliner summoning all the energy he is able to, shouts “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!” as Szmyt’s kick cleared the uprights.

I have heard the cheer of those three words a lot in my lifetime. The in-game circumstance does not really matter — a gained first down, a touchdown, a sack or a game-winning field goal. “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!” resonates in my auditory cortex every time the Browns do anything worth celebrating. And what could be more worthy of that yell than an unlikely game-winning field goal against a much better team?

My dad was 5 when the Browns came into existence, 7 when they began playing games. They were a dominant team in the years that matter most, when youngsters come to idolize gridiron greats, in his case, names like Otto Graham, Lou Groza and Ernie Davis. Part of me knows his continued love and passion for the current debacle on the shores of Lake Erie is rooted in his childhood. Heroics and heartache come with the territory when you root for Cleveland — or on this day, when you root for the Packers, like my son was.

After the victory over the Packers, fans were immediately reminded of who the Browns are by a 34-10 drubbing at the paws of the Lions, a competitive loss to the Vikings and what feels like the 2,346th straight loss to the Steelers (I think there might have been a playoff victory over them somewhere in there). We sit at 1-5 — a team that has scored a measly 82 points, the next to fewest in the league, through six games, and my frustration, mostly for my father, simmers.

I know, at the age of 86, the maladies that come with aging will eventually come to pass for my dad, and his days of watching the Browns on Sunday afternoons will go quiet.

I am not sure this ownership group is worthy of his, or our, affection.

Taking an 11-point “franchise performance scale” into consideration, insidethelines.blog cites the Browns as one of the worst-run sports franchises of the 21st century, rising barely above the Pittsburgh Pirates. Hey, we are not the worst? As my dad would say, “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!”

But therein lies his unsaid lesson to us: Regardless of ownership, coaching or performance, I know his loyalty will lead him to be right back in his recliner at 1 p.m. on Sunday, waiting to summon his three-word cheer once again.

And I have realized I too summon the yell myself when I am watching the Guardians or Buckeyes, or do so silently while watching my own children participate in life’s activities, athletic and otherwise, over the years. It is his voice I hear, and the fan he is will remain with me in my sports-watching life long after his are over.

Brett Hiner is in his 29th year teaching English/language arts at Wooster High School, where he also serves as yearbook adviser and Drama Club adviser/director. When writing, he enjoys connecting cultural experiences, pop and otherwise to everyday life. He can be emailed at workinprogressWWN@gmail.com.