Happy new(?) year

I don’t know about you, but I’m sure happy 2021 is now in the rearview mirror.

I mean, now that we have that COVID-19 thing under control, at least we don’t have to worry about our health anymore.

What’s that? You say that overall, we’re worse off than we were a year ago?

I’ll have to check on that, but with all the excitement surrounding the Browns’ playoff run and all, I haven’t had time to worry about a trip to the emergency room. I mean, come on, man, we’re talking about the playoffs … the Super Bowl, for Pete’s sake!

What’s that? You say the Browns are worse than they were a year ago and won't make the playoffs? How can that be? You say local writers had them winning anywhere from 12-14 games this year?

12-14 wins this year? That sounds pretty optimistic, especially in a town where for the last 2+ decades football has been the sports equivalent of COVID – there doesn’t seem to be a long-term fix for it. Based on a record like that, who would make such moronic predictions?

What’s that? You say it was I who made those moronic predictions?

Nonsense, I say! I also say, “Prove it!”

What’s that you say you’re holding? You say it’s an Observer issue from last summer and you’re pointing at my column as well as my very words which predict those lofty win totals?  

It’s obvious my column was hacked. Everyone knows I am right (almost) all of the time. Besides, who made you Perry Mason? Frankly, I think someone’s sipped a bit too much New Year’s champagne.

Anyway, let’s change the subject while you try to sober up. Let’s talk some baseball and my beloved Indians.

What’s that? You say they’re not the Indians anymore? You say they’re now the Guardians?

Okay, okay, so maybe I was just messing with you a little. I know perfectly well they aren’t the Indians anymore. Every time I hear Paul Dolan singing his hit single, “I got the small market blues,” I go back to my personal “happy place,” which was the Indians – yes, I said Indians – playing at Jacob's Field in front of nightly sellouts of roughly 38,000 frenzied fans. It’s ironic, too, because the team was owned by the Dolans when the interest in the team was maxed out. Incredibly, there was no talk of the team being small market at that time. Somehow, they have magically forgotten all of that and walk around with their pockets inside out.

What’s that? You say I sound bitter?

Bitter? Me? Let’s just say that, now that Christmas is over, I picture the Dolans borrowing the Santa Salvation Army bit and having folks dressed up as Guardians ringing bells and soliciting donations all over the city to, you know, “keep baseball in Cleveland.”

What’s that? You say Santa is laughing at the idea?

All I can say to that is that Santa better get his legal team on this pronto because, as we all recall, the local roller derby team never thought the Dolans would heist their name either.

Who’s laughing now?