Thanks Dad...Now I'm a Cleveland Browns Fan for Life!

You hear it all the time.

“I’ve been a San Francisco 49ers fan ever since I moved to the Bay Area!”

“I bleed Philadelphia Eagles kelly green because I loved watching Randall Cunningham scramble!”

“I’m a Pittsburgh Steelers fan because they’ve got six Super Bowl rings!”

Everyone’s got a reason for why they love their team. Mostly it’s due to proximity, the need to identify with a winner, or some sick, possibly unhealthy preoccupation for a specific player.

Personally, I only have one person to thank for introducing me to the Cleveland Browns—and therefore sentencing me to a life of football misery—my father.

It’s pretty much impossible not to be a football fan when you grow up in Northeast Ohio. Football is like a religion in these parts. There’s the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton. High school and college games are major events that shut down entire towns. Some hospitals put footballs in the cribs of newborn baby boys for crying out loud.

And every fall, Cleveland Browns games are treated with such reverence that you can almost collectively hear husbands telling their wives every Sunday at 1:00 PM, “Quiet honey, I’m watching the game!”

Back in 1985 though, it was usually my dad telling me to be quiet because he was watching the Browns game. Why? That’s because as a rambunctious 10-year old, I didn’t like football, I liked Transformers.

So every Sunday when my dad turned on the television to watch his beloved Browns, I would mercilessly pester him to take me to Gold Circle so I could see if they had Grimlock the Dinobot or whatever the latest Transformer was at the time.

Finally, after getting sick and tired of me trying to divert his attention from the Browns for most of the 1985 season, my dad asked me something that would forever change my life.

“Why don’t you watch the Browns game with me today?” he asked one December Sunday afternoon.

“I don’t like football,” I replied. “It’s stupid.”

“Well maybe you’d like it if I explained it to you,” my dad offered.

“Hmmm….” I considered. “Can we go to Gold Circle afterwards?”

“Sure,” he said. “Now sit down and watch this game, it’s the Browns against the New York Giants.”

With a deal struck, I sat down in front of the television set and proceeded to be taught the nuances of the game by my father, who despite having been born in Thailand, probably knew more about the Browns and the game of football than the average Clevelander.

He told me all about the history of the Browns’ season up to that point and about a rookie quarterback named Bernie Kosar who was taking his lumps as a first year player.

He explained that the two Browns running backs, Earnest Byner and Kevin Mack, were the heart of their offensive attack, and Ozzie Newsome had a consecutive reception streak that was nearing 100 games.

He showed me the different offensive formations and how to watch the offensive lineman to determine where a play was going. When the Browns were on defense, he pointed at the television set to show me the defensive fronts the Browns were playing to try to contain Giants quarterback Phil Simms and their star running back Joe Morris.

The Browns were losing the game, but more my dad talked, the more interested I became. And then, something incredible happened. In the midst of the Browns' 101 lesson that my father was giving me, the Browns, down by two touchdowns, made a comeback.

I watched wide-eyed as the Browns benched an ineffective Kosar and turned to injured quarterback Gary Danielson for a spark. I watched Danielson come off the bench and guide the team to two touchdowns in the fourth quarter to take the lead late in the game.

Then, I watched Giants quarterback Phil Simms methodically guide the Giants’ two-minute offense into position for a short game-winning field goal. And then, as time expired, I watched my father jump up and down as the Giants missed the short field goal, giving the Browns the win, 35-33.

It couldn’t have been more than three hours that my first Browns game with my father lasted, but it left an indelible impression on me—so much that I watched the remainder of the season’s games with him too.

My father, however, began to notice how quickly I was becoming a rabid Browns fan. He had been following them for years and had endured the painful defeat of Red Right 88 and all the ups and downs of the Kardiac Kids during the Brian Sipe era.

“You can be a fan, but don’t put your heart and soul in the Browns,” he warned me the afternoon of the Browns AFC Divisional Playoff game against the heavily favored Miami Dolphins. “They can really hurt you.”

Nevertheless, I sat in front of the television set with my dad and cheered for the Browns to beat the Dolphins. I remember the Browns defense shutting down Dan Marino and the Browns taking a commanding 21-3 lead into the third quarter behind the fierce running of Earnest Byner.

My Dad’s warning rang hollow as it seemed that the Browns were going to pull off the biggest upset of the year in defeating the mighty Dolphins and advancing to the AFC Championship game.

Of course, as fate would have it, Marino and the Dolphins pulled out a comeback win with three late touchdowns and the Browns lost to the Dolphins 24-21. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the Browns' season was over.

I remember my dad shaking his head in disbelief after that playoff game. He didn’t really say much—just got up and left the room mumbling something about waiting till next year.

The last thing that I remember about that day was going into my room and staring at my Transformer collection. Picking up Optimus Prime, I felt a tear roll down my ten-year old cheek.

I remember thinking how ridiculous it was for me to cry over a football game. But it happened. And as I've learned in twenty-four subsequent football seasons since, it wouldn’t be the last time the Browns would make me cry.

As for my dad, looking back on everything, his warning to not “put my heart and soul in the Browns” was a word of caution from a father who didn’t want to see his son suffer the same fate as his own. He was a Browns fan for life and there was nothing he could do about it.

And now, because of him, I’m a Browns fan for life too.

Thanks, Dad.