I'm a Cleveland Browns fan. Actually, I was born a Cleveland Browns fan.
Now, before you roll your eyes and mumble something like, "The NFL is nothing but an over-promoting, cash-grabbing industry filled with primadonnas being paid way too much money to play a game," let me say, I agree. And if you're also wondering what this has to do with a sailing trip, hear me out.
I grew up in the steel and auto industry town of Warren, Ohio. Warren is fifteen miles northwest of Youngstown and forty miles southeast of Cleveland. My father worked as a pressman for the local newspaper, The Warren Tribune, for 43 years.
My earliest memories of the Cleveland Browns are of my dad, sitting in our modest living room on a Sunday afternoon and yelling to our black and white television screen, "C'mon, KELLY!" It was 1964. Leroy Kelly was a running back for the Browns. The only Kelly I knew was a girl who went to our church. Although I had only just turned seven, this memory remained vivid because of how interesting I thought it was that the Browns had a girl on their team.
Occasionally, the Warren Tribune sports writers would slide a couple complimentary tickets to my dad, which resulted in one of my fondest childhood memories, father-son Browns games. To be honest, I also remember slowly sliding lower in my seat as the grown adults around me yelled and swore and got into fights. I was glad to be with my dad.
Fast forward 35 years, which is when I took my son, Jared, to his first Browns game. This grew into a tradition of going to one game each year with my dad, brother and Jared. That tradition further evolved into our annual tailgate event in the Cleveland "Muni" lot for 30-40 friends and family. My partner, Janet, who would prefer the football season to be 3-4 weeks long, would fire up the propane turkey fryer to prepare and present her once-per-year legendary tailgate chicken. In 2019, I learned, at this annual event, that my grandchild would be a girl. My daughter, Kirsten, had decided this would be the perfect event for the reveal.
Two years ago, Jared was living and working in the San Francisco Bay area. I came to visit him during football season so that we could watch at least one Browns game together at his favorite Bay Area "Browns Backers" bar he had managed to find.
Being a sports fan is often not about the athletes or even the team. It's the touchstone of a common and personal human connection built upon positive memories.
This sailing adventure will offer countless opportunities, experiences and challenges, and I now realize that one of the greatest challenges will be the realization of missed time with family and friends.
During the same time that this year's football season begins and eventually ends with a Super Bowl, Ned and I will have had the amazing opportunity to experience sailing and exploring the coastlines of California, Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama and Belize. Tomorrow we plan to sail back through the Golden Gate and south to Half Moon Bay.
We've spent the past week recovering and checking off a maintenance and repair list of chores. Today was my first full day away from Traveler, as I had one last goal before leaving San Francisco.
From the Marina, Ned and I took bus 74 to the Richmond B.A.R.T. station. Ned, who asked me a couple days ago, "So what exactly is a Brown?" jumped off at the Downtown Berkley stop for an urban adventure, while I continued on the train to the MacArthur Station. Realizing that I would not make the beginning of the game by train, I hailed an Uber. My driver, Alakemenlee, who was Liberian and to whom I had to explain that the football game I was going to see was not soccer, drove as if we were in the Indy 500 to get me to the same Bay Area bar, by kickoff, that Jared and I had watched a Browns game together two years earlier.
From kickoff to the final seconds, I cheered and jeered with other misplaced Browns fans, whom I'd never met, as we watched overpaid adults play a game of no worldly significance.
Unfortunately, the Browns lost a close one, but there is always next week.
Most importantly, for 185 minutes, I was home.
