Browns Game Brings Warm Thoughts on Cold Day

The Chicago Bears play the Cleveland Browns on Sunday in Cleveland. Which reminds me of my brother Rob. Not that he played football — professional or otherwise — with the exception of the backyard or schoolyard variety. Not that he ever lived in Cleveland. Or anything like that. But lots of things remind me of my brother, who died Dec. 9 (one of these days, this space will return to what passes for normal around here, although that assurance does not come with a money-back guarantee).

Congratulations to Ken Barrington and friend (and former Chicago Blackhawks Ice Crew member) Yanina Beccaria on their engagement.

In deference to the faithful readers (as well as to the less faithful) around here, we will continue to feature photos of fetching females and videos that catch our eye. But there just may be much more melancholy than generally is associated with this site. Hey, it’s my site and I have the luxury of making those calls.

Anyway, the Bears are looking forward to the Browns game and the anticipated return of quarterback Jay Cutler. He is supposed to be back starting with his replacement Josh McNown, who played impressively, relegated to the sidelines. It will be interesting to see how things play out if Cutler struggles early and often. Or even later and often.

While the Bears are looking forward regarding Cutler and the Browns, I am looking back to the Browns. And one winter day when Rob, my father and I attended a St. Louis Cardinals-Cleveland Browns game at the old Busch Stadium (formerly Sportsman’s Park) on Grand and Dodier. Jim Brown was the star for the Browns. How anyone was able to bring him down verged on miraculous. A scrawny safety named Larry Wilson somehow was able to tackle the task — and Brown — quite well.

Do I remember the score of the game? No. I can’t even recall which team won. What I do remember is that the concrete of the ballpark held the cold real well. It was as chilling an experience — in terms of temperature — that I can recall sitting through. Which we did, because football tickets were close to a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Rob and Elliott Harris long ago.

It was the first pro football game that Rob and I had seen in person. We had watched on television on Sundays before St. Louis had an NFL team. The Chicago Cardinals and Chicago Bears were the teams we watched. After the Cardinals left Chicago for St. Louis, we became Cardinals fans.

Not that we went to games. No, the Cardinals games we attended were of the baseball variety. And I recall the first time we did that many years ago. The opponent was the Cincinnati Reds. Do I remember the score of the game? No. I can’t even recall which team won (although something says it was the Reds, not that it mattered to Rob and me). Walking through the neighborhood to the ballpark did not prepare us for the cascade of light that greeted us as we climbed the stairs from the concourse to the inner sanctum that housed the playing field, the seats and all the grandeur that shrines like that contained and continue to contain.

For football, however, there were no bright lights. Only the grayness that comes with winter. There might have been some sunshine, but if there was, it faded away and certainly was no match for the chill that enveloped us, even as the three Harrises bundled together.

Yes, it was the coldest game I can remember sitting through. And, as I look back, it was the warmest of times, too.

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