Eventually, there is a point where we are all just numb. We don’t bother getting upset about the disappointments at First Energy Stadium, the post-All-Star-break collapses, or the ridicule from ESPN. That’s easy; keep the bar low, really make an effort to learn from history, and either have thick skin or avoid the 4-letter network. However, every now and then, we allow hope to enter the equation and forget all of the other stuff. That’s when hope crushes our dream because we had a little faith. Why do we do it to ourselves? Shouldn’t we expect it, to be alert to the looming devastation at all times?
It was a long time ago, but I remember being on this boat. We were too old to be considered kids, but certainly lacked the experience and maturity to be sharing nautical adventures with this crowd. It was my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s friend’s boat, but it didn’t take too much beer and other stuff to make us all into old pals; at some point we were told where to find the most morally compromised women, on the west side, after the bars close.
In a completely coincidental chain of events, I find myself employed at this random 24-hour eatery, which we will call the “Big Boy at 130th and Brookpark”, just to give it a name. This place featured people from all walks of life, especially on the late night shift; you had felons, gays, thieves, male entertainers, and Grateful Dead roadies, and that was just the staff. When you brought the customers into the conversation, you were talking about the ladies that took their clothes off inside some of those infamous Brookpark Road establishments, and many who wore little outside of those buildings, on the street. Trust me when I say that I’m using the term “ladies” very loosely.
It was relatively short-lived, a couple of months, probably less, but the experience did a lot more in the way of teaching me life lessons than it did for my tax-bracket status, given that it was a $2.13 an hour (plus tips) type of occupation. However, it prepared me to be prepared for anything; that’s a fairly simple task after smiling and staring at a “lady’s” Adam’s apple as if I were looking her/it in the eye while asking if she wanted her special sauce on the side. Now, I’ve seen plenty since, but the different people have never seemed all that different to me after that job.
Unless you’re a douchebag malcontent who dislikes things like oxygen, cookies, or the moon, you’ll agree that the NCAA basketball tournament is a good thing.
Baseball in the United States was a powder keg that was about to detonate. One ignition source was the post-World War II return of hundreds of thousands of military and support personnel. Another was the postwar economy. The war had delivered the country from Great Depression to an historic boom. Baseball exploded, surpassing boxing as the top American sport.
They start out as longshots, dark horses, sleepers, and underdogs. But since the NCAA Division I Men's Basketball Tournament introduced its seeding system in 1979, the biggest overachievers in the Big Dance have all come to be better known as "Cinderellas." Now-- with the parity of the 2013 season turning upsets into inevitabilites -- it's time to put the tournament's most surprising performances in their proper historical context. These are college basketball's 40 Greatest Cinderella Runs of the modern era.
Gaylord Perry pitched less than four of his 22 big league seasons for the Indians, but while he was here, he was the best player in town, and that’s more than enough to make him the best ever #36 in Cleveland sports history. As we’ll detail later, the competition for top honors at #36 was long on mediocrity and short on stardom, but Perry’s record in Cleveland would stand up well regardless of the number on his back. 