I’m from Cleveland. I’m proud to say the Cavs ‘almost won’
When I tell people I’m from Cleveland, the first thing they usually say is “I’m sorry.’’ Cleveland is an easy target (We make fun of ourselves, too). Our winters seem to last six months (not to mention more than half of our days are cloudy), our river burst into flames because it was so polluted, and ESPN named us “the most tortured sports city in America.’’
That was in 2004. Eleven years later, the title still applies, especially after the Cavs lost on their home court to the Golden State Warriors last night in game six of the NBA Finals.
It’s been 51 years since any professional Cleveland team won a championship. That’s 143 seasons without a title.
I moved to Boston about five months ago. The first sporting event I attended was a Red Sox game.
When my family and friends asked me how it went, I told them the Red Sox “almost lost.’’
“Almost lost?’’ a friend from Boston said. “That’s what we like to call winning.’’
You did what you could, LeBron.
I realize that rooting for Cleveland teams means I define everything in terms of loss. But this year, the Cavs changed that.
Sure, the Cavs came close to ending the championship drought when they made the finals in 2007. But the Spurs swept them. There wasn’t the same level of electric hope powering the city that there’s been in this series.
Cleveland hasn’t historically been a city where people stroll around during the evening. But during the finals, my family members who still live in the city said Clevelanders lined the streets in their “Whoa Delly’’ shirts and “23’’ jerseys. I almost didn’t recognize the streets I saw on ESPN, because I’ve never seen them filled with so many people at one time. Cleveland has never looked better.
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Heartbreak is inevitable no matter what team you cheer for — that’s the life of a sports fan. But in Cleveland, we remain blindly optimistic, even after more than half a century of futility. We’re cursed, but what’s more unbelievable than our losing record is how we get our hopes up year after year. This season in particular, our hearts were “all in.’’ We had more hope than doubt.
Boston is no stranger to curses. But that all ended nine championships ago. Boston no longer knows “cursed’’ like Cleveland does. It’s a nightmare we live every day, and we don’t have shiny trophies, fingers full of blingy Super Bowl rings, and the title of “most successful modern sports town’’ to remind us the worst days are behind us.
Moving to Boston, which so thoroughly changed its sports fortune, only reinforced how Cleveland is the classic underdog. But I know LeBron is not.
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These Celtics Made 5 Straight Finals Before LeBron
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I started my freshman year of college a month after “The Decision.’’ I had moved 700 miles away to an out-of-state school where I didn’t know anyone. Once I told people I was from Cleveland, almost every one of them asked, “What do you think about LeBron?’’
“If he doesn’t want to be in Cleveland, then we don’t want him there,’’ I would tell them.
And it was true. “The Decision’’ mortified us. I didn’t burn a jersey, but I know plenty of people who did. LeBron knew that Cleveland wasn’t a city where he could win, and when one of our own left because he didn’t believe in us, it emphasized our status as losers. Our pride was hurt, our hearts were broken, but we insisted we would manage without him.
We didn’t.
Cleveland’s hometown hero.
Then LeBron grew up. He told the world he was “coming home.’’ (Sure, it was after he won two championships, but he still came back). Every Clevelander has mixed feelings about the city, but the most overwhelming is pride. We forgave him. We welcomed him home.
People still ask me what I think about LeBron. I never hated him. In all honesty, I didn’t care enough about the Cavs to care that LeBron left, but I knew what having him back would mean for Cleveland. I could understand why he left. And why he came back.
I spent much of my childhood talking about how I couldn’t wait to leave Cleveland. When I turned 18, I did. But the city’s rust-belt-tinged air stained my lungs. I breathe it every day.
I have been molded by Cleveland’s losses and carry its defeats in my heart. We learn more from failure than from success, but, damn, it would’ve been really nice to win.
’’All in’’ before game six.
Yet, as I watched the hope seep out of my fellow Clevelanders’ hearts after the loss, I also saw something familiar: a look in their eyes that said, “this is what it means to be from Cleveland.’’
I’m proud to say the Cavs “almost won.’’
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