Why is Cleveland different? In a series of remarkable interviews with former players, coaches, reporters, politicians, historians and other interested parties – including one that took place in Art Modell's unsold, empty house in Baltimore -- "Believeland" ponders that question.
As I watched "Believeland," the ESPN movie that digs deep into the psyche of the beleaguered but forever hopeful Cleveland sports fan, I kept hearing the voice of Al Michaels at the 1980 Olympics.
Who can forget his jubilant but incredulous shout, as the U.S. hockey team won over the Soviet team?
"Do you believe in miracles? Yes!"
What about Cleveland? Do we believe in miracles?
"Believeland," which will have its world premiere Thursday night as the 40th Anniversary Signature Event for the Cleveland International Film Festival, answers for you.
Yes. Of course we do. Yes. Sigh.
But why do we believe, when the miracle never materializes? Why, when our city has three major sports franchises, yet has not had a championship in any of them for more than 50 years? Why, why why?
Using vintage game film, director Andy Billman lays out the woeful history of the Browns, the Indians and the Cavs, presenting the familiar evidence that has broken countless hearts and, in any other city, would result in a massive, civic loss of faith.
Why is Cleveland different? In a series of remarkable interviews with former players, coaches, reporters, politicians, historians and other interested parties -- including one that took place in Art Modell's unsold, empty house in Baltimore -- "Believeland" ponders that question.
At least three grown men cry during those interviews.
Billman, who was born in Elyria but spent his childhood in Roanoke, Virginia and Columbus, says he did not cry while he was making the film. But he is a Cleveland sports fan -- having inherited it, as so many do, from his father.
"There are lots of great sports towns," he said in an interview from his home near ESPN headquarters in Connecticut. "But sports bonds this city a lot tighter than others because in a way, that's all there is. In Detroit, the identity is cars. New York, it's stocks, bonds and bankers. In L.A., it's Hollywood. What does Cleveland have?"
Scott Raab, a writer for Esquire and author of the sports-fan cri de coeur, "The Whore of Akron," which he wrote after The Decision (all is forgiven now that LeBron is home), agrees.
"Everyone looks to the teams to somehow represent the city in a way that doesn't reinforce that image of, 'Oh, it's a loserville, it's a joke, it's the Mistake on the Lake'," he says in the film.
PREVIEW
Believeland
What: World premiere of ESPN's 30 for 30 film, showing as the Cleveland International Film Festival's 40th Anniversary Signature Event.
Who: A post-film discussion, moderated by WKYC's Jim Donovan, will include: director Andy Billman, former Browns player Earnest Byner, former Cavs player Craig Ehlo, writer Scott Raab and broadcaster Tony Rizzo.
When: 7 p.m. Thursday, March 31
Where: Connor Palace at Playhouse Square, 1615 Euclid Ave.
Tickets: $16. Purchase at clevelandfilm.org/tickets, by calling 1-877-304-3456, or in person at the Tower City box office.
NOTE: CIFF has an encore screening at 6:30 p.m. Tuesday, April 5, at Tower City Cinemas. And ESPN has scheduled "Believeland" for broadcast Saturday, May 14 at 9:30 pm ET.
ESPN writer Wright Thompson traces the loss of identity to the early 1950s -- not long after the Indians won the World Series in 1948.
"In 1949, Cleveland was declared the first all-American city," he says. "In 1954, the population of Cleveland peaked. And there was this five-year, post-war manufacturing boom that Cleveland was absolutely at the forefront of. Cleveland had more Fortune 500 companies than San Francisco and Los Angeles combined."
Paul Brown's Browns were consistent winners, and in 1964, of course, the Browns won the championship. Cleveland as an economic force was already declining, but Clevelanders still thought of it as a powerhouse sitting on top of the world.
Beginning in the mid-50s, though, Cleveland's losses began. By the 1970s, it had lost much of its manufacturing base, a large chunk of population, and its identity as a go-go, championship city.
The teams mirrored that decline.
"In 1978 the city defaulted, and you look at that window and that almost perfectly encapsulates the rise and ultimate fall of Cleveland sports," Thompson says. "Because the sports teams, and by extension the fans, were the victims of the exact same forces that were operating on almost every single facet of Cleveland civic life."
"Believeland" takes a long and sad look at all of the touchstones of Cleveland losses. Red Right 88. The Drive. The Fumble. The Shot. The Move. The Decision. And -- can we call it The Mesa?
As Wright observes, and Cleveland fans know all too well: "The only constant is that Cleveland sports teams will get just close enough to break your heart."
Speaking of breaking your heart: Wait for Billman's interview with Earnest Byner, who still carries the huge burden of The Fumble in the 1987 season. Byner, in tears, relives the game and the terrible aftermath, saying several times, "I messed it up. I messed it up for everyone."
Then he looks at the camera and, unprompted, says: "I love the game. I loved playing for you all. And I'm sorry for letting you down."
Speaking of letting us down: Art Modell. If Byner moves you to tears, Modell's son David might just move you to apoplectic rage as he justifies his father's betrayal of Cleveland when he moved the team to Baltimore. (This is the interview in Modell's old house.)
The Decision, on the other hand, is quickly remedied -- in the film, at least -- by The Homecoming.
Neither LeBron James nor Jose Mesa agreed to interviews, but the people who are in the movie are stellar, among them reporters Raab, Thompson, Tony Grossi and Tony Rizzo; former players Jim Brown, Kevin Mack, Jim Thome, Craig Ehlo, Kenny Lofton and, of course, Byner, and former Browns coach Marty Schottenheimer (who chokes up) and former Indians manager Mike Hargrove (who doesn't).
But Hargrove speaks for all of us when he tells Billman: "I had a guy ask me just two months ago, 'How long did it take you to get over that (1997 World Series loss)?' I said, 'Just as soon as it happens, I'll let you know.'"
One day, Billman will hear something like that from his three young sons, who already are Cleveland fans. Yes -- even though Billman knows what it means to be a Cleveland fan, he has brought his innocent sons into the Cleveland Club of shared, unending misery.
How does he sleep at night?
Billman laughed. "My family bonds around sports. I love it; it's a big part of my life, and I want them to be in it with me, for good or for bad."
His six-year-old is already a huge Browns fan, and already knows one half of that equation.
"The other day he asked me, 'Dad, are the Browns still bad?'," Billman said.
"You know what I answered? I said, 'Maybe not next year!' "
