Browns-Saints, Oct. 31, 1999: The Best Day of My Life

By MICHAEL HEINBACH

Since the Cleveland Browns returned to the NFL ten years ago, storybook endings for the Brown and Orange have been few and far between.

More often than not and aside from the 2002 season when the Browns reached the playoffs and 2007’s surprising 10-6 team that just missed out on the postseason, it has been Cleveland’s opponents that have been the ones to rally to win in the fourth quarter as "Browns Backers", like myself, turn to each other with pained expressions and say, “Why us?”.

This is a story however, of one of the Browns’ most glorious victories in franchise history. It was special for many reasons, but the two most important for your average Browns fan were the way it ended and the fact it was the team’s first victory in its first season back in Cleveland after leaving for Baltimore following the 1995 season.

For me this game was more than special, because I was there. This is a first-hand account of the events that unfolded in New Orleans on Halloween 1999, a day I still claim as the best of my life.

It was a time I think fondly of as my salad days. I was working as a bartender in a small casino in Missoula, Mont., making more money than I ever had, and more than I ever have since as I soon broke into the newspaper business and thus forfefitted a life of prosperity.

Along with three friends, I was renting a beautiful home forty five minutes outside of town which sat on 360 acres of wooded property boarded by Forrest Service land. I was in my middle twenties and had no idea just how good I had it.

In the fall of 1999, my girlfriend’s mother fell ill and Kavita moved back to South Carolina to help care for her. I was flushed with cash for the first time in my life, so my girlfriend and I decided we would meet in New Orleans for the Halloween run of concerts by the band Widespread Panic. At the time, money wasn’t and obstacle.

The Sunday before I was set to depart on the plane ride to the Crescent City, which had yet to be ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, I watched the New York Giants face the hapless New Orleans Saints on the satellite television, where we received the New York CBS affiliate. It was then I realized the one-win Saints were going to host the winless Cleveland Browns the next week, and I would be in New Orleans.

So days later, along with my travel gear and my Gene Simmons Halloween costume I would don for the Panic show, I packed my Chris Spielman Browns jersey - he retired from football in the preseason and never played a regular-season down for the Browns - excited at the prospect of seeing the new Browns take their best shot thus far at a victory.

These were the expansion Browns, who placed the fate of the entire franchise on the first overall selection in the NFL draft, a quarterback from the University of Kentucky named Tim Couch.

Cleveland had passed up on quarterbacks Daunte Culpepper and Donovan McNabb in the same draft and picked the strong-armed Couch, who was thrust into the starting job late in the first game of the season and promptly threw an interception on his first NFL pass attempt. Welcome to the big time Timmy.

Though they weren’t an expansion team, the Saints of 1999 almost made the Browns appear like a functional franchise. New Orleans head coach Mike Ditka had traded away the Saints’ entire draft class in order to move up and take University of Texas running back Ricky Williams. 

So after arriving Saturday afternoon and seeing that evening’s Panic show with my special lady we hit the sack, ready to wake up early the next day and head to the Superdome, hoping to find tickets to an epic battle between a pair of NFL bottom feeders.

About an hour and a half prior to kickoff we pulled into a parking lot in the shadows of the Superdome and were immediately solicited by a scalper, who offered us face value for tickets 18 rows from the field on the 20-yard line. With ducats in hand and forty five minutes to spare, my girl and I entered the cavernous Superdome though a connecting shopping mall, got a beer and waited to watch some of the worst football the NFL had to offer.

Inside the domed monstrosity, the scene itself was surreal. I was surprised to see a strong contingent of Browns fans dominating the seats behind the end zone to my left as many travel companies had offered Clevelanders charter travel packages to see the sights and sounds of New Orleans on Halloween weekend along with the chance to see their favorite football team. The rest of the stadium however, was filled with hard-partying Saints fans, many wearing dreadlock wigs, mocking Williams.

The game itself was undeniably ugly. The Browns fought back from deficits of 7-0 and 10-7 to take a 14-13 lead. As fate would have it, and though Cleveland had survived a 179-yard rushing effort from Williams, who also fumbled three times, the Saints drove to into the red zone and were poised to take the lead in the final minute.

Ditka chose to set up a field goal with a draw play that ended with running back Lamar Smith putting the Saints in perfect position for a game-winning kick.

For some reason, New Orleans quarterback Billy Joe Tolliver called timeout and stopped the clock with 26 seconds left. So after kicker Doug Brien’s 46-yard field goal sailed through the uprights to give the Saints a 16-14 lead and Cleveland receiver Kevin Johnson returned the ensuing kickoff to the Browns’ 25-yard line, Couch and the offense took over with 16 seconds remaining.

Couch, who to that point was just 9 of 16 for 188 yards, began the series by misfiring on a pass to Darrin Chiaverini before hitting Leslie Shepherd for a 19-yard completion, which left the Browns calling timeout with 0:02 on the scoreboard and the ball at their own 44-yard line.

Couch and Browns head coach Chris Palmer chose a play the called 258 Flood Tip, which called for the QB to roll to his right to buy time before sending a bomb toward the end zone, where Chiaverini, Shepherd and Johnson would converge, hoping to pull in the Hail Mary.

What unfolded before me seemed to happen in slow motion. When the ball was snapped, the play was blown up immediately as Couch was flushed out of the pocket by a seemingly unblocked Brady Smith. But Couch managed to escape and heave up a prayer of a pass, 56 yards away from the goal line toward a trio of his receivers in the right front corner of the end zone.

I can still hear the guys from the ESPN’s NFL Primetime describing the play as the pass sailed thought the air. I, of course, had it taped on video cassette and watched the replays every day for about a year.

“What do you do,” barked Chris Berman in the days before his act had gone stale.

“Knock it down,” replied Cleveland native and former hated Denver Bronco Tom Jackson.

But instead of batting Couch’s pass to the carpet, Saints defensive backs Tyronne Drakeford and Sammy Knight collided as they reached for the ball a yard deep in the end zone and sent it caroming toward Johnson, who cradled it in his arms, planted both feet just inside the pylon and fell out of bounds.

I have never felt a feeling of pure ecstacy before or since. As Johnson fell to the ground and was mobbed by teammates, Couch shed his helmet and ran to the end zone, right fist raised and looking to his sideline in utter disbelief after the Browns had done the impossible – won a football game in the most dramatic fashion imaginable.

With tears streaming down my face, I stood atop my seat among Saints season-ticket holders, a foot on each arm rest, and shouted in triumph toward the Superdome roof as if God himself was there smiling down upon me. Unfortunately, a boozed-up, dreadlock-wigged Saints fan chose me to take out his frustrations on and lunged at my throat with two hands, but was quickly thwarted by several New Orleans natives who luckily came to my aid. Had the scene been reversed and the game played in Cleveland, I’m not sure a Saints fan celebrating the way I was would have made it out of Cleveland Browns Stadium.

Undaunted by my near-death experience, we stayed to watch Couch’s post-game interview for CBS, then saw him jog, waving a No. 1 sign, toward the tunnel to my left that was surrounded by a cheering throng of orange-clad crazies. This was a time before commoners owned cell phones, so I dashed to the nearest pay phone to call my father, a native Clevelander who provided me with my passion of Cleveland sports teams. With no change in my pocket and much to my father’s chagrin, I called collect.

Once outside, we took two laps around Superdome as did many of the Browns faithful there that day. There we were in New Orleans, but outside the Superdome it was a mass of Browns fans, chanting “Cleveland rocks”, exchanging high fives with their brothers and sisters.

My girl and I raced back to our hotel, put on our costumes and Kiss face paint and headed out to the evening’s concert. Yes, the show was a great one and our outfits so good that several people clamored to get their picture taken with me, dressed as Simmons, and my girl, who did a spot-on Paul Stanley. But everything after the football game was just gravy.

The Browns managed to win just one more game all season, though that too was sweet as it came against the Pittsburgh Steelers, who had previously welcomed the Browns back to the NFL with a 43-0 pasting at home before a national television audience in the season opener. But none of that mattered to myself and Browns fans alike anyway. Our beloved franchise, which was heartlessly stripped from our hearts, was back.

For myself, a guy who has never had a wedding day or been blessed with the birth of his child, Oct. 31st, 1999 is forever set in my heart as the best day I’ve ever had. Almost 10 years later I relive that day in my mind and my heart at least once each day. It serves as a reminder and should to all Cleveland Browns fans to never give up hope.