I'm a hopeless homer at heart. I root for the
bumbling Browns. I celebrate the Champion Cavs. And even as I indict the
Indians for their loathsome logo, I nonetheless cheered them on this past
season, as they fought fiercely against the odds, overcoming virtually every
obstacle, becoming a team that combined organizational front office smarts,
brilliant leadership in the clubhouse and on the field, and undeniable spunk
and resilience on the diamond, to become much greater than the sum of its
parts. Collectively the organization gave the community a season to remember
and treasure, a glorious playoff run culminating in a World Series that was
truly a Fall Classic for the ages, full of epic moments, the last hurrah for
some, the grand debut for others; it had masterful managerial moves,
spectacular plays, human errors, and abundant reminders that the game is never
over until the last man is out.
The Indians didn't blow a 3-1 Series lead
anymore than Golden State blew a similar momentary advantage in the NBA finals.
Comebacks are more than theoretical possibilities, especially where world-class
performers are committed to making them happen.
Unlike some of my more somber friends, I don't
see sports as simply a diversion, an entertainment set apart from real life.
They are an indelible part of our culture. I'll leave it to scholars to
evaluate the social and cultural aspects of professional and major college
sports in contemporary America. However, I did once ask former Cleveland mayor
Michael R. White, in a sizable but semi-formal ingathering of black folk, if he
wanted his political legacy to be the lavishing of nearly one billion dollars
on professional sports palaces. The look he gave me in reply was more memorable
than his verbal response, and I did not find myself invited to any such
assemblies as he may have continued to host.
Professional sports is of course, a massive
industry, albeit one that is heavily subsidized by the public, generally via
some sort of Faustian bargain. In Cuyahoga County, the early 1990s Gateway
project — the clearing of public lands for the building of new professional
homes for major league baseball and professional basketball teams run by
wealthy owners — was financed by a regressive sales tax on tobacco and alcohol,
a so-called “sin tax” that continues today.
There was a time when, in recognition of the
economic realities, I referred to Cleveland teams as the Modells, the Jacobs,
and the Gunds. The Jacobs were wealthy developers. The Gunds were old money, part
of the fabric of Cleveland society and philanthropy. Art Modell was a New York
huckster who used borrowed money to buy his way into that society on the cheap,
lucking into a championship on the back of a premier organization whose culture
of excellence he neither respected or knew how to preserve. When his luck ran
out here after decades of mismanagement, he summarily pulled up stakes and took
his marbles to Baltimore, precipitating an emotional civic crisis at the loss
of “our” beloved Browns.
In some communities, ownership of pro teams is
held to be a sacred trust of sorts. In Cleveland, it’s often been more of a
one-way deal. But for the huge public subsidies that underwrote the Cleveland sports
temples originally christened as Jacobs Field [aka “the Jake”] and Gund Arena
but which are now known as Progressive Field and Quicken Loans Arena [“the Q”],
it is likely there would be no major league baseball in northeast Ohio and the
Cavs, if around, would still be playing in a cornfield.
My question for the mayor was posed in the
aftermath of the Browns’ bolt for Baltimore, and the mayor's attitude evoked
comparison to President Johnson's declaration that he would not be the one to
"lose" Vietnam. I was really asking three questions: whether
Cleveland should pursue a new team, whether a new Stadium, used optimistically
no more than 15 days a year, should be built on invaluable downtown lakefront
property, and was an expensive, seldom-used playground a wise expenditure of
public funds.
I recall that now as we celebrate what has been
by any measure a magnificent year for Cleveland sports teams. On court and on
field successes remind us of the entertainment and psychic value we get from
hometown sports teams. Recurring school levies and low standardized scores for
both systems and students remind us of the price we pay for those good vibes
and entertainments, and the disproportionate way in which that price is
extracted and paid.
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| Kyrie Irving Cleveland Cavaliers |
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| Francisco Lindor Cleveland Indians |
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| Chris Andersen, Cleveland Cavaliers |
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| J. R. Smith Cleveland Cavaliers |
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| Terrelle Pryor Cleveland Browns |
It can perhaps be said, looking down the road
that Kyrie Irving, Francisco Lindor, and Terrell Pryor epitomize the promise
and the personality of success in Cleveland's sports future. Each of these
young men is supremely gifted, charismatic, hardworking and possessed of
sublime athletic confidence. Physically, each of them resembles, along with
such hard-working colleagues as the super-tatted and shirtless J. R. Smith, the
multi-hued Chris "Birdman" Anderson, and the extremely social Joe Haden, larger than life
versions of what many of our urban public school students will look like in
early adulthood.
In the case of the professional ballplayers,
what we know is that they were supported and encouraged along their journeys to
professional success. In many instances, they received favored treatment, were
perhaps even indulged or pampered, when they made a misstep; rules may even
have been bent to ensure continued progress.
Can we begin to envision how many champions we
would have in our community if we invested in our young scholars the way we
invest in our athletes?
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