What gives me chills?

A journey through hope, heartbreak, and humanity’s unshakable spirit.

I don’t consider myself a sports fan. Hell, I went to one of the leading universities for sports, Ohio State, and never went to a football game, or any game for that matter. But I was raised on Cleveland sports—the Heart of Hope.

Taken by me at one of the best restaurants in Cleveland: Cordelia

Growing up with my dad, we were always watching or listening to “the game.” Not The Game (i.e. Ohio State-Michigan rivalry), just the game, any game. Between Cleveland’s three major league sports teams, there was almost always “a game.” If we weren’t watching it, we were listening to it on the radio.

Baseball, particularly the Cleveland Guardians, is a special breed of games to listen to. There’s nothing else like it. Our radio announcer for baseball, Tom Hamilton AKA “Hammy,” is one of the best commentators of all time.

Hammy calling game-tying and game-winning home runs for the Cleveland Guardians gives me chills.

Watching game 7 of the Cleveland Cavaliers winning the NBA Finals to end a 52-year citywide championship drought—the last 3 minutes and 39 seconds—the block, the shot, and the stop, give me chills.

Cleveland sports give me chills. Even though most of the time, they disappoint. But just like a boomerang, we always come back to cheer. Why?

For the collective effervescence.

The tingling feeling of community. The bubbling burst of camaraderie. The sensation of belonging and navigating the ship towards the same North Star.

That feeling is unmistakable and irreplaceable. The yearning desire. It’s what makes us human. A tool of connection. The great unifier. (While also keeping us separated).

The Allegory of Struggle

The enduring disappointment and heartbreak of Cleveland sports are precisely what make it so special and unforgettable. It’s this shared struggle that fosters a sense of pride, even in the face of loss.

While watching the Guardians lose a championship series—like needing to win just one of their next three games but blowing a 3-1 lead to lose the World Series for example . . . you experience a magical journey of trying (and failing) the struggle gives context. It gives hope. It maintains that yearning desire. That thirst. That hunger.

When they lose, you feel a deep sense of disappointing brokenness. A somber sadness. While still existing a collective joy, an understanding. You expect them to lose, yet deep down you think this might be the time and really hope, fingers crossed, they win.

Just a few months before the Guardians’ demise, the Cavaliers broke the 52-year-long Cleveland Curse. That is special. I’ll always remember that moment in 2016. I’ll always remember that series, that game, where I was, everyone screaming and cheering. All of downtown, over a million, gathering together to celebrate. People who don’t watch or care about sports suddenly coming together, bonding and caring and watching.

Remembering, the years upon years of disappointment leading up to that magnificent moment. The heartbreak and betrayal of The Decision with LeBron leaving Cleveland—on my birthday, no less—hit me while celebrating with friends at our local roller skating rink, with the devastating news projected onto the big screen in the center of the rink.

The NBA Finals, and year, right before the Cavalier’s big win, competing against the same team, the Golden State Warriors, in the finals, and losing, coming short, again.

Setting the stage and providing context—making it that much more special.

To then come back the following year and win it all! It’s the quintessential “hero’s journey.”

Watching the Guardians in the playoffs is so special even when they lose because they haven’t won the World Series for 75 years (since 1948). The longest championship drought of any of the other 30 baseball teams in the league.

Watching their rise and fall time and time again.

“There’s always next year,” we say, holding onto the reigns of hope.

Versus experiencing the culture of an Ohio State football game. When Ohio State loses, there’s no hope, no pride. Just disappointment and a pool of misery. One game lost and all hope flies out the window. No specialness.

As one of the schools with the most wins in football ever, Ohio State is “supposed” to win. The same way the Yankees are expected to win after cementing their legacy with 27 World Series titles. Their ~300 million dollar salary budget stands in stark contrast to the Guardians’ ~100 million dollar budget. 

I recognize this might be trying to over-romanticize loss and losing, but that’s not my goal. My intention is to articulate the shared experience, the differences between two similar worlds, and why they exist.

Why is a nature of losing more impactful than a history of winning?

Why is the Cleveland Browns being one of only two teams in NFL history to finish a 16-game season without a single win more memorable than if they had won just one of them?

This phenomenon is encapsulated perfectly in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie when Commodore Norrington exclaims to Captain Jack Sparrow, “You are without doubt the worst pirate I’ve ever heard of.”

To which Jack responds with, “But you have heard of me.”

Sometimes it’s better to be memorable than mediocre. In many ways, mediocre means being ordinary, apathetic, neglected. Memorable is extraordinary, regardless of why, it’s a story.

There’s no entitlement. Cleveland isn’t entitled to win. So there’s no anger during loss the way there is with Ohio State.

There’s frustration, sadness, and disappointment sure. But not anger.

“That’s kind of the way it is at our bar; it's a little broken and it's not that great but hell man, it's ours.” — Aaron Lee Tasjan, 12 Bar Blues

Expectations make misery. They’re the root of resentment. Melt away expectations, and be delighted by what’s left. Treat everything as an extraordinary miracle.

What gives me chills?

The bite of the underdog. The Sisyphean battle of bond. Masochistic? Maybe.

But isn’t that life?

To create meaning among the misery.

While I might not consider myself a sports fan. Cleveland gives me chills.

What gives you chills?