I thought I’d been to a Browns game at some point while growing up, but no one else in my family did, so it must have been some sort of dream–or more accurately, a nightmare, since I hated sports when I was a kid.
We basically did everything wrong: from not wearing sunscreen (the forecast said cloudy and cool, and it turned out to be a beautiful day), to having a pathetic tailgate (the people who were supposed to have a great set-up decided at the last minute not to go), to losing wallets (but then finding them at Guest Services), to waiting 2 hours after the game for the bus back to NYC (luckily they kept them running past the stated “half hour after the game” time), to having some drunk guy fall out of his row behind you onto your back while celebrating a touchdown (still not sure how this happened; all I know is one second I was sitting in my seat and the next, there was a heavy weight slamming down on me), to seeing a Cleveland sports team disappoint you in person (self-explanatory).
And yet I still had fun. Which is yet another reason why I like real sports better than fantasy. When your team is doing horribly, you can still enjoy yourself. When both of your fantasy teams can’t even come close to 3 digits, you just feel stupid for spending your money on being a loser.