I used to be a season ticket holder in the the "dawg pound" of Cleveland Brown's stadium. I miss attending those home game's with my brother-in-law since I moved to Charleston, Sc 4 yrs ago, where there are no NFL teams. It was a pretty wild place at times, especially in the old lake front stadium that finally got knocked down and thrown into Lake Erie, like its team.
Game day arrived and off we would go in his green saturn. All the peanut and parafinalia selling vendors lined the approach to the stadium, not to leave out the scalpers and the saxaphone player looking for a buck. Everybody was decked out in their best Brown's jerseys and hats shouting taunts at fans who would arrive wearing the opponents logos. In the course of the game they would shower them with peanuts, but I am getting alittle ahead of the story. You could feel the hearts beating and smell the football laiden atmosphere as you filed into the various gates wrapping the stadium. As we walked through the corridors and up the ramps we were barraged by the usual loud barking and "Here we go Browny's" chant. When Dave and I first arrived at our seat locations the dawg at the end of the row, who thought he was row captain, always acted like he didn't know who we were. We would inch our way past several annoyed by our presense dawgs until we reached our reserved benched seats. At times we were packed in like sardines from all the overweight, beer drinking, pizza eating, bone waving, face painted, mask wearing, barking dawgs. It was usually all the same people, except on the occassions they gave their tickets away to a friend. The people around us were many times more entertaining than the game itself, especially during the first lean on talent years of the new stadium and franchise. Two rows in front of us sat two blonde haired girls, one of whom had a tattoo across the lower part of her back, the other, who was the object of attention, every game wore what looked like pajamas. In front of us sat two women, one of which sported a couple of huge "beer jugs" that solicited the usual banter between the guys to the left of us. In the course of the game she packed away the pizza and beer to the point of being under the influence. Two rows to our right sat a gentleman, and I use that term loosely, from whom rose the chant when an opponents player would get injured, "One by one, one by one." When the games were slow and the teams less entertaining the fans would turn their attention on one another and everyone who walked up or down the stadium steps were fair game at attempts to humiliate them, especially those who were considered odd balls and there certainly was no shortage among the ticket holders who frequented the "dawg pound". Even the players themselves would become the target of less complimentary comments containing words like "skirt" or "sissy" or other words I will choose not to repeat. I have taken some liberties in the aforementioned descriptions, after all it is the Dawg Pound.
In conclusion, all were there because they love football and love the Browns. This was the excitement and expectations of gameday. My brother-in-law still holds the tickets and as I said, I miss the time we spent together attending those home games in the infamous "dawg pound" that cemented the bond of our friendship. I will be thinking of that when Sept. 13th is finally here, the day of the home opener against the Minnesota Vikings. Go Browns.
The Detroit Lions won their first game after 19 straight losses. An article called them the joke of football. Not any more. The same article listed the Cleveland Browns as the next joke of football with St Louis, Kansas Ciy, and Tampa Bay as possible potentials.
