Until the present promises a better future, nostalgia is where we have the most fun. If you could have any sports day back, which one would it be?
Gary Collins hauls in a TD pass on his trademark post pattern in front of Houston's Zeke Moore in a 1971 game at Municipal Stadium. Collins caught three touchdown passes in the Browns' victory over the Baltimore Colts in the 1964 NFL title game, Cleveland's last championship in a major pro sport.Under a special dispensation for a town that's had a tough summer, you get one day of your life back today.
It's sports-related only -- no marriages, anniversaries, births of the kids or grandkids.
So what day do you choose?
It's public, too. The day you get back has to be in a scrapbook everyone can page through.
So pick a day.
Would you take Ohio State's Cie Grant, cheating up from the edge, ready to roar in from the Ohio State 1-yard line in the second overtime, then spin Miami quarterback Ken Dorsey like a wobbly top, and end maybe the greatest game ever?
That would be a lot of Clevelanders' keeper because this is such an Ohio State town, and because it was the first championship in so long.
Or how about Ohio State, down nine at the Big House with seven minutes to play, then Troy Smith started slipping tackles and buying time until Anthony Gonzalez went up for the ball as the third receiver behind Santonio Holmes and Ted Ginn Jr., and came down a Buckeyes legend?
That might be your memory. Listen to the silent night falling over Ann Arbor, which had expected victory all afternoon.
You might prefer Cleveland's most recent championship in 1964. The memories of it might be in black and white now. So was the TV transmission then -- if you could get it, with a doctored antenna, watching through the static and snow. There's Gary Collins, breaking free again!
How about any night in the mid-'90s, when baseball owned the city? The Jacobs Field P.A. is playing a bell tolling, cowbells are jangling in the packed stands, but only until Albert Belle holds out his arm, putting the still in the night as he steps into the batter's box. It was New Year's Eve every night, with honking car horns celebrating victory in the summer darkness.
How about Bernie Kosar going deep down the north sideline to Webster Slaughter in overtime to beat the Steelers when only a TD would do? Regular place-kicker Matt Bahr had hurt his knee in the game. Of the blocking technique on a prospective field goal attempt by Harry Holt, the emergency kicker, Ozzie Newsome, told teammates, "Get low, boys!" That day lifted us up, all right.
Or would it be that arctic night on the lakefront last year when the Browns beat up the Steelers, in a reversal of a long, tired script? Can we bottle that chill and introduce these late August days to autumn with a whiff of it?
What about the night LeBron James scored 48 points against the Pistons, including the last 25? He's dribbling, dribbling at the top of the key, about to get to the rim for the winning layup. The refs swallow their whistles and let Jason Maxiell treat James' left arm like a wishbone. Can we stop that tape right there, when it seemed like the good times with him would go on forever?
Wait. Wait. Eric Metcalf is breaking into the open on two punt returns against Pittsburgh, and he becomes Ted Ginn, skittering through Michigan, who becomes Josh Cribbs burning Kansas City twice. Those are three days you need.
Kenny Lofton scores from second base on a passed ball in the eighth inning of Game 6 of the 1995 ALCS in Seattle. Lofton's run gave the Tribe a 3-0 lead and the Indians went on to a 4-0 triumph to win the series and return to the World Series for the first time in 41 years. Covering home for Seattle is pitcher Randy Johnson. The umpire is Drew Coble.Kenny Lofton is flying around third in Seattle. Kevin Mack is bulling into the end zone in the Astrodome. Daniel Gibson can't miss in the fourth quarter. Will Allen is intercepting Michigan near the goal line. All good days, every one of them.
There is a lot more to love than just championships, though. Take the day Jack Nicklaus shot a 68 at age 58 in the final round of the 1998 Masters. He walked up the hill to the 18th green, applauded every step of the way, waving like a spike-shod pope, luminous in the golden slashes of late afternoon light. It was really his valedictory.
Jack doesn't play competitively anymore, but he does in my head. And so do all the others, on all their fields, through all the days memory keeps fresh.
We wait for someone to fill today as fully as these men filled yesterday. Until then, pick a day.