Dear Cleveland Browns: It's Not Me, It's You (My Dear John Letter)

Hello, my once-dear Cleveland Browns.

This is one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make.

We’ve been together for 30 years now, and it’s been a wild ride. A lot of ups and a lot of downs. Okay, a lot of downs and the occasional up.

It started out in 1980. and I was deeply in love right away. 11-5. Last minute wins and losses. Even being eliminated by the eventual Super Bowl champion Oakland Raiders was thrilling, if heartbreaking.

And how did you follow up that 11-5 season? 5-11 in 1981. Maybe I should have known right there.

That lasted a few more years until 1986 when you became a powerful AFC team, going 12-4 and making it to the AFC Championship game, just in time for John Elway to start his legend of coming back.

1987? See 1986.

In 1988, I came home from the Army in Europe, and I was so excited to see you after the years and miles apart. Maybe this year Marty would get us all over the hump.

Kosar breaks his hand and our hearts in game one. Yeah.

The '90s rolled around and you and I may not have been blistering, but after 15 years we still had passion. And then you broke my heart for what I thought would be the last time.

You moved away to Baltimore.

I was bitter, but there was never anybody else. I heard fans jumping to other lovers but not me. I went celibate. I walked away from the whole thing.

When you came back in 1999, I was there. A little less enthusiastic but glad to see you home.

But the last 10 years since have been horrible, with the exception of a couple of bright spots. Our usual Sundays together were abandoned. I just couldn’t bear to see you. What we weren’t was too obvious, and it hurt too much to see.

In 2007, I thought we had something, that we would turn this relationship around. Only you followed up a 10-6 season by going 4-12. 2009? 5-11.

So here we are in 2010, and it’s still the same: 0-3. I can’t take it any more.

It’s not that you’re breaking my heart. The truth is my heart is not in it anymore. Today, against the Ravens, when you were up 17-14 in the fourth quarter, I dozed on the couch. Even with the surprising lead, all I could do was make jokes about it.

I never thought you’d win.

You didn’t.

And when the game was over I wasn’t angry, wasn’t disappointed. I simply was happy to be able to turn off the game, turn off the noise.

We just don’t have it anymore, you and I. I don’t want to be bitter. I hope one day we can work things out. 

But you need to show some improvement in your behavior. You need to win some football games. Maybe have a winning record at some point in the season. Show some promise.

Every year seems like a retread of the year before. I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I’m enabling this behavior by staying with you.

Look, you know I love you and always will. There’ll never be another. Never.

But I also know that as things are, I can’t move forward. I feel like I’m investing more in this relationship than you are. I feel like I’m more serious about it. I looked forward to seeing you this fall.

I wasn’t expecting big things. But some progress.

But your destructive behavior, your addiction to being terribly bad, I can’t do it.

It’s time we take a step back. I need some space. I need to see that you want this as badly as I do. Because while I hear you say the right things, I just don’t see it. You continue with the same behavior.

You say you love me. You say you want us to be happy together. But it’s always the same.

Maybe the space will do you some good. I hope. You need to find a mirror and ask yourself why you can’t turn yourself around. Most teams do. Most teams have more than two winning seasons in 11 years. Most show promise.

So I know you can do it. You just, well, I don’t know what the answer is. You need to figure it out.

Get some help. Find a way to pick yourself up.

I’ll never be far away. But you have to do better than this. You have to be more than this. You have to give something back. Life is too short, and I am too old to keep living like this with you. 

Please.

Always and forever,

Rich