An hour of wolves and shattered shields

FYI: That's 32 titles now for the Celtics, Patriots, Bruins and Red Sox

Every year, there are four nights that leave me sullen, gloomy and borderline depressed. Without fail, they occur in early February, early June, mid-June, and late October. They’re the nights of the Super Bowl and the decisive games of the Stanley Cup Finals, NBA Finals and World Series. As a sports fan, I love watching the culmination of an entire season. As a Cleveland fan, I loathe watching the winning team’s celebration.

And you know what? It’s 100 percent jealousy. Plain and simple, it twists my gut to see other teams and fan bases hoist a trophy, especially when our wonderful Cleveland teams constantly find new ways to dump Lake Erie sludge into our hearts.

When the Celtics won the NBA title Tuesday night, I was happy for Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen, who’ve long been two of my favorite players, but I also trudged around listlessly the rest of the evening. When the Red Wings won the Stanley Cup, I saw the joy on the players’ faces, and I wondered what that’s like. When the Giants won the Super Bowl, I sunk even lower into myself, because I love the Browns more than any team in all of sports. When the Red Sox won the World Series, all I could do was shake my head.

If that’s not enough, sports seem to have a way of saying “F-you” to Cleveland once or twice a year through other teams’ championships. The Giants and Red Wings are scot-free, but that Celtics team? Taken to the limit in the second round by the Cavs, who challenged them more than anyone else in the playoffs. That Red Sox team? Pushed to the brink by the Indians, who coughed up a hairball the size of Huntington Avenue in the ALCS.

This isn’t about which city has it worst, either, because frankly, that’s not the point. (For a recent microcosm, however, consider this: Jason Michaels is batting .300 with 18 hits, three home runs and 20 RBIs in 30 games with the Pirates. Know why the Indians traded him to Pittsburgh a few weeks ago? Because he couldn’t hit. Seriously, suppress that pride you’re drumming up right now, you do not want to have this argument with me.) There have been bright stretches for Cleveland sports, but in terms of the ultimate goal, it’s been dryer than Ned Flanders’ bachelor party.

I wish I could say I take Cubs-esque pride in that, but the truth is I don’t. I just don’t. When Bill Simmons titled his Red Sox opus “Now I Can Die in Peace”, that’s the closest I’ve ever come to identifying with a fan whose favorite team won a championship. As a soccer player in high school, my team won league and district titles my senior season, and I’m proud to say I was an all-league and all-district midfielder who helped lead the way. That gave me an appreciation for moments when likeable, hard-working athletes win titles, but as much as I gush about it now, there has to be a different kind of satisfaction that comes from watching your favorite team do it, right?

I guess I just don’t know. How could I? As a fan, the most awesome thing I’ve ever won is an Eastern Conference championship. I was almost crying in my apartment last summer as the Cavs took down heavily favored Detroit, and I seriously felt weightless the next couple days. The Browns were yanked from me when I was 10 years old, the Indians won everything except the World Series in the ‘90s, and the Cavs were as important as Y2K firewalls from 1998-2003. How could I not be elated?

It’s those kinds of glimmers that keep me coming back. I watch as many Browns, Cavs and Indians games as I can, I feel great on the nights they win, and I feel bad on the nights they lose. I pump money into the franchises through purchases of merchandise and tickets every year. I wear my teams on my sleeve, and while I’m also a big fan of Penn State and United States soccer, it’s just not the same. I may have grown up elsewhere, but I was born in Cleveland. I put a lot of time and effort into supporting these teams.

I also put time and effort into keeping myself healthy enough to see the day when Cleveland wins another championship. As much as I dislike it, I go running almost every day, and last week I finished my run on a brutally hot afternoon, and I asked myself, “Why do you keep doing this?” All of a sudden, my mind flashed to the end of The Matrix: Revolutions, when Agent Smith kicks Neo’s ass in the superfight and asks him the same question. Exhausted, beaten and kneeling in the pouring rain, Neo looks up and says, “Because I choose to.”

My rooting interests share that sentiment.