On Cleveland and Curses

I grew up and have grown old believing that I am cursed.

Some people believe in sports curses and I am one of them. I was born in Akron, Ohio, on December 26, 1975. I lived the first 18 years of my life within a one-hour drive from Cleveland, Ohio.

Sports cast a spell on me and I recall the exact moment when it happened. It was January 11, 1987. The AFC Championship game between the odds-on favorite Cleveland Browns (playing at home) and the Denver Broncos. The winner would go to the Super Bowl. Cleveland led by seven points and looked to win with 5:32 remaining in the game. Denver got the ball on its own 2-year line. Cleveland’s defense–one of the best in the NFL that season–was reason enough to believe the game was over.

But then, The Drive. John Elway–whose name to this day strikes a minor chord–led Denver 98 years to a game-tying touchdown. The Broncos scored a game-winning field goal in sudden death overtime.

No heartbreak leaves such a scar as the first heartbreak. I suffered heartbreak three times in the first fives years of Cleveland sports fandom: The Drive. The Fumble. The Shot. I was too young to make sense of it. It malformed me as a sports fan, like someone who flinches at a hug.

In early adulthood, I still held onto my hope that The Cleveland Curse was not real. Then the ‘95 Indians (best record in baseball and lost in the World Series). Then the Browns moved to Baltimore. Then the '97 World Series (Indians were one out away from winning it all, but lost in extra innings).

You see, it’s not that Cleveland teams lost a lot. No. It’s that they won. A lot. They had what it took to win it all: NBA Finals. Super Bowl. World Series.

That had what it took, but they always–ALWAYS–came up short in the most decisive moments. Like leading the pack in a marathon and breaking a leg ten feet from the finish line. Or getting to the altar and passing out before you can say “I do.” I figure Cleveland sports teams sent more “Champions” hats and T-shirts to poor kids in Africa than all other teams combined over the last 30 years. How many NBA Finals, Supers Bowls, and World Series did I watch that felt like attending the wedding of the girl who dumped me?

We don’t even need to bring up The Decision here. You get it.

Oh, God! The misery! I’ve had personal and professional disappointment in life. None of them felt like a millstone around my neck like the disappointment upon disappointment of being a Cleveland sports fan. And there were millions of other people just like me. Over the years, we formed a collective belief: Cleveland is cursed. I believe it was Bill Simmons who first said: “God hates Cleveland.”

Yes, God must hate Cleveland. Logically, then, God must hate…us. We. Me.

That’s what hurt the most. It wasn’t just the losses on the court or field. We were losing, too. We were cursed, too. Perhaps more so than the athletes themselves. An athlete could get away from The Curse by finding a new city and a new team. Fans like me couldn’t get away from it, no matter where in the world we relocated. We carried Cleveland–and The Curse–with us in our hearts.

I only recently began to understand that the Cleveland Curse became my own personal curse. I don’t know how it happened, but early in life I came to believe that I would never win. Like Cleveland, I would always be good enough to get to the cusp, but never good enough to go all the way. Like Lucy yanking away the football from Charlie Brown, the things I desired most in life were just not for me. I was cursed.

I felt this way about my career. I felt this way about girls. I felt this way about hobbies. I felt this way about my physique.

I felt this way about God.

As Cleveland was always fated to lose in the most disheartening way, I, too, was fated to always come up short. To never be enough.

As a consequence, I never tried for the things that meant the most to me.

Did I have feelings for a woman? I would never let her know. Or I would wait until it was too late.

Did I want to pursue a particular career opportunity? I would procrastinate until the opportunity was gone.

Did I want get better at something? Like basketball or drumming or preaching or writing? I’d always do just enough to be mediocre because I was sure that if I tried to get really good, I’d fail.

It finally clicked a few weeks ago: I don’t believe I can be happy or strong or successful. I don’t believe I have what it takes. In fact, I believe the opposite. I believe I am cursed. My own Cleveland Curse. It’s why I don’t try or I procrastinate or put forth a half-hearted effort. I’m avoiding the disappointment I have come to believe is my fate.

Here’s how it goes in my mind:

Do I believe I can build a multi-million dollar business with a social mission? No, I’m cursed. I can’t do it. I’ll fail.

Do I believe I can get good enough at the drums to play gigs with a band? No. I can’t do that. I’ll never be good enough.

Do I believe I can run a marathon or learn to swim for a triathlon? No. I could never do that. I’d quit.

Do I believe I can finish my graduate degree–the one that’s been on hold for over ten years now? No. I failed before. I’ll fail again.

Do I believe I can pay off our debts, pay for my son’s college education, and save for retirement? No. Stuff like that doesn’t happen to me.

Do I believe I can be the man of my wife’s dreams? To be an amazing listener and lover and provider? No. I’m middle age and overweight and she doesn’t seem to like me much. I knew this would happen. I’m not attractive to women. I’m cursed.

Do I believe that I’ll be in heaven? Some days, I have serious doubts. A creep like me doesn’t belong there.

And so it goes.

I’m good enough to have a family, a job, and a little success. But, like Cleveland, I’m never going to be good enough to be all that I wish I could be. To make the life I wish I could make.

Well, in case you haven’t heard: The Cleveland Curse is over and there’s a victory parade today to prove it.

Here’s the thing I recognized, though: The Cleveland Curse was broken because there was no Cleveland Curse. It was all in our minds.

Just as our newfound state of grace is also in our minds.

The Gospel is this: God doesn’t hate Cleveland. God loves Cleveland–even through all those years of heartbreak. God’s blessings on Cleveland have been as sure as the rain and sunshine.

And God loves me–even through all those years of despair, not believing, and procrastination. God’s blessings have been as sure as the rain and sunshine.

Is there a curse? Yes. If you believe in it. If you give it power over you.

But the true reality, the ultimate reality is not a curse, but the blessing of God. And if you believe that, you can believe anything. About yourself. About others. About the world of possibilities. You can even keep believing when disappointment strikes again and again and again.

I finally learned–and it just so happened to come to me the year Cleveland Curse was broken–that whether I live under a blessing or curse is up to me.

What do I choose to believe?

Who do I choose to believe?

From now on, I choose to believe the One Who Blesses.

The Curse is over. I’m free. We’re all free.

Will you choose to believe it?