Random Thoughts from a Wasted Mind

Random thoughts after the Steelers debacle, and in the midst of chaos

The Nightmare of Christmas Eve

Seeing so many Steeler fans at Cleveland Brown Stadium on Christmas Eve was expected but still very disturbing. I am currently suffering from recurring nightmares brought on by last Saturday's events.

In my bad dream I am surrounded by thousands of Terrible Towels. These little yellow demons are flying all over the place. They wrap themselves around my head in an attempt to suck out my last breath. Armed with only a jagged broken bottle of Browns hope, I helplessly try to defend myself against these annoying Myron Cope creations.

I call out for Romeo Crennel to help me.

He says "I feel your pain, just hang in there."

I yell back at him, "You helped get me in this downward spiral at least you could say you're sorry."

Then I cry for the players to free me from this Black and Gold frenzy.

They mumble in unison, "We'll get them next week."

Hell, I might be dead by next week.

I asked Phil Savage to free me from my torment.

"I can't right know. I have to keep my eye on John Collins. He has been trying to stab me in the back for almost a year," he said as he looked over his shoulder.

Desperately, I beg Randy Lerner to exorcize the demons.

He informs me, "Soon. We'll have more bands and mascots to ease your troubles. We are even thinking about cheerleaders and banning alcohol."

That's when I ask a Terrible Towel, which has taken on the caricature of Bill Cowher, to put me out of my misery.

Just as the yellow devil with the huge chin sweeps in for the kill Nathan Mallett streaks in from nowhere diverting the little bastard just long enough for me to escape.

I awaken at this point of the nightmare every evening, my Browns pajamas soaking with sweat right down to the footies.

My therapist is trying to convince me that my condition stems from me pouring too much emotion into a relationship with a partner that is incapable of loving me back.

Knowing that I'm incurable I made this request of the doc, "Please give me more pills because I'm going back for more New Year's Day."

Memories of the Rodeo

Long, long ago when I was a teenager I went to a rodeo in Mesquite, Texas. One of the events of the evening was having young kids from the audience chase a greased pig around the arena. This pig was so elusive that it seemed that it took forever before one young lad was able to capture it.

The way that Browns linebacker Ben Taylor played on the opening Steeler possession brought up this childhood memory. Heath Miller caught a twenty-one-yard pass that took Pittsburgh to the Cleveland eight yard line. Taylor could not catch up to the streaking tight end. In fact it looked like he was running in the slippery Mesquite clay with worn out tennis shoes. Then three plays later it was as if Jerome Bettis was covered with pig grease the way Taylor slid down his legs to the stadium turf as the big back rumbled in for the score.

I was wrong about Taylor when I recently wrote that the Browns should resign him. He is far more suited to be a rodeo clown.

Browns' Mistake at the Gate

Not that it would have mattered. But the Browns should have handed out orange towels Saturday to help combat the Steelers fans and their despicable yellow towels. That way if the game had been anything close to a competitive contest, the Terrible Towel would have gone unnoticed.

Fans of a Different Color

It gnaws at my very being when I see so many opposing fans at Cleveland Browns Stadium.

I usually don't have a fan of the opposing team sit next to me during a game. But it did happen at the Chicago game this year.

When I told him, "I can't believe I have Bears fan sitting next to me."

He replied, "Someone has to fill these seats."

As I looked around I was embarrassed to admit that he was right. You could see a lot of orange in Cleveland Browns Stadium on what was a beautiful day for football. That orange was only being worn by fans if they were invisible.

Against the Steelers those seats were filled by fans wearing yellow and black.

  • Blame it on the Move
  • Blame it on an organization that hasn't fielded a quality team since the return in 1999.
  • Blame it on the money it takes to attend a game above beyond the ticket price, since every game is a sellout.
  • Blame it on corporate seating.
  • Blame it on ticket holders selling their tickets to fans of the opposing teams that have playoff possibilities for a profit. No Browns fan would pay other than the price printed on the ticket to watch this team.

A 41-0 ass whipping by the hated Steelers and the way the Browns handled the ESPN report that Phil Savage will be fired only made this situation worse. The Browns best be careful or every game will soon seem like an away game.


Mrs. G bought me a Browns doormat as a gift. At first I didn't want it because it didn't feel right wiping my dirty feet on the sacred brown and orange. I thought maybe I should exchange it for a Steelers or Ravens doormat. I would have no trouble grinding the debris from the bottom of my soles into those colors. But I decided to keep the present. Maybe I'll throw it away when the Browns are no longer one of the doormats of the NFL.

Only the Strong Survive

Phil Savage better find players with a mean streak or the Browns will never compete in the AFC North. It is a "King of the Hill Division," only the toughest teams are left standing at the end of the year. The Browns need players that will knock the snot out of the other guy. They need to leave their opponents bleeding on the ground. They must find players that will go blow for blow with these teams. Then at the end of the day be willing to stomp their beaten carcasses even further in the ground as a reminder of what will come the next time they meet. Until that day comes the Browns will always get knocked out of this "Bull in the Ring Division."

Don't Leave a Bad Taste

If the Browns have anything in their cups, they will show up on New Year's Day with chips on their shoulders as big as Ray Lewis's mouth. They need to really hand it to Billick's thugs. If not, I will have to wash my mouth out with Jack to remove the bad taste of the season.

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