As a fantasy football freak and an overall pigskin junkie this is my favorite time of year.  Free agency begins, players start changing zip codes and everyone feels like their team has a shot to hoist the Lombardi Trophy.….every fan of every team has hope.

Let me give you a caveat before you read any further.  If you are not familiar with my writings over the last few seasons you probably don’t know that while my fantasy prowess is unparalleled my choices as a sports fan are horrible. My favorite pro teams are the San Francisco Giants, Los Angeles Clippers, and Cleveland Browns.  I have a dark cloud that has followed me since my pre-teen years in the mid 80’s as a Browns fan that suffered through “The Drive” in ’86, “The Fumble” in ’87 and was capped off when my beloved Browns packed up and moved to Baltimore in 1996.  If I had a neck I would have hung myself by now to stop the pain that has been the Browns since 1999 combined with watching the former Browns win a Super Bowl for the anti-christ Art Modell. I have been dragged through the bowels of hell as a sports fan for most of my life.  I hang on to the last few strands of hope, praying that someday my time will come.  Then, as fast as you can say “LaCharles Bentley” it all goes away.  Most of my nights are spent watching SportsCenter in the dark, awaiting more inevitable bad news.

But a new day is here.  The Browns won the coin toss against the Buccaneers to get the # 3 pick in the 2007 draft.  This draft class is definitely not the best in recent memory but there are still players that can make a difference.  JaMarcus Russell is a beast of a man that can chuck the ball over 80 yards.  Joe Thomas is the kind of guy that can anchor your O-line for a decade.  Thinking of Calvin Johnson alongside Braylon Edwards and Kellen Winslow II excites me (literally).  But what I want the most is an explosive running back that can take this offense to the next level.  The kind of guy that can grow with this team and be the catalyst to multiple playoff runs over the next few years.  That man is Adrian Peterson.  He is the man that needs to be coming up to the stage and taking pictures with that beautiful brown and orange jersey.  He is the one to help me forget about all of the terrible draft picks the Browns have made since they came back in 1999.  He is my savior.  The stars are aligned for something to go right for us Browns fans.  Forget Tim Couch, Courtney Brown and William Green.  I can even forgive the fact that we gave up a second round pick to move up from number 7 to number 6 when Kellen Winslow would have been there anyways.  Let’s start over.  Adrian Peterson will make it all go away.

Then it happened.  While I was having lunch yesterday looking at my tickets for the ACC tourney here in Tampa this weekend, enjoying myself in the beautiful weather of Central Florida I was hit with a salvo of horrible news that came at me harder than Peter North in his prime.  My Blackberry vibrated and I saw the following text message from one of my best friends and lifelong Steelers fan.

“THE BROWNS JUST SIGNED JAMAL LEWIS!  SO LONG ADRIAN PETERSON!”

I was in complete shock.  I broke out in a cold sweat.  I even threw up in my mouth a little.  I knew what was coming next.  I sat in horror, staring at my phone as seconds passed by like they were hours.  Then, with sounds like gunfire my phone started bouncing all over the table as it was bombarded with text messages from people all over the country.  My family, friends and people I work with found it amusing to send me similar messages.  With each new vibration signaling an incoming message I felt more and more violated.  I felt like Ned Beatty in Deliverance, Jodie Foster in The Accused and Tim Robbins in Shawshank Redemption rolled into one. My world was crashing down around me.  Could the Browns really be that f’ing stupid again?  Peterson is the obvious choice here, but with Lewis on the team they won’t want to pay that much money to a rookie running back.  My sources tell me they don’t want to spend that high of a pick on another wideout so Calvin Johnson is out.  I searched my mind for the player they could put in AP’s spot at #3 and none of the options seemed right.  Gaines Adams, Jamaal Anderson and Alan Branch are all HUGE reaches at #3.  LaRon Landry and Levi Brown can’t go that high. I knew there was no other option than the most horrible choice imaginable.  The choice that will set the franchise back another 5 years like Tim Couch did.  The only logical choice for the Browns given what they had just done became a reality for me as the 20th text message in 12 minutes rolled in.  This one was from my older brother.  He didn’t even put in a message of his own.  It was simply a link to an article whose headline was this:

“BROWNS IMPRESSED WITH QUINN AT HIS PRO-DAY WORKOUT”

I had seen this article before but did not read it.  I felt like if I didn’t acknowledge it then it couldn’t happen.  Just like I did in 1999 when I ignored the existence of Tim Couch hoping the Browns would take Donovan McNabb or Edgerrin James instead.   Slowly I started to accept it.  I am doomed to a life of mediocrity as a football fan.  The Browns are going to draft Brady Quinn.

The waitress at the restaurant where I was having lunch even came over and asked if I was ok.  I muttered a few obscenities as I paid my bill and left.  I called my boss and told him that I needed to take the rest of the day off.  I suddenly felt lost, like my entire world was gone.  I had to go home and do some serious soul searching.  

Once I got home it didn’t get any better.  My computer is in a room full of sports memorabilia, the majority of it being of the Browns or LSU (I attended from 91-95).  I sat at my desk, deleting email after email about the horrible event that just happened.  Then, in a brief moment of horrifying clarity I came to the one realization that I have needed to come to for the last 10 years.

I DON’T THINK I CAN BE A BROWNS FAN ANYMORE.

I am suffering from the sports equivalent of “Battered Woman Syndrome”.  You know, the woman that keeps going back to some jerk that hits her then says how sorry he is and that it won’t happen again.  Then a few weeks later the woman doesn’t bring home the right brand of ham and the guy lets Mr. Backhand come out and do a little talking again right across her cheek.  This time she is gone.  She doesn’t deserve this.  But again, he apologizes and she forgives him.  It’s a terrible cycle (even though she should have known what kind of ham to bring home).  So they are still together even though neither of them are happy.  That’s where I am at with the Browns.  The keep slapping me in the face with their blatant stupidity and for some reason I stay with them.  

Now I don’t want to bash Brady Quinn.  Well, actually I do.  He is not going to be good in the NFL.  This years’ Sugar Bowl only proved my point.  LSU was all over him, confused him and made him look incredibly ordinary.  Defenses only get better from this point on Mr. Quinn.  To me you are Heath Shuler reincarnated.  You have no right to wear the colors of my beloved Cleveland Browns.  I hope you enjoy the millions of dollars Charlie Weis, a cupcake schedule and the fact that for some reason Notre Dame is still looked at as a football powerhouse has gotten you.  I would really like to thank you for making me realize that I don’t have to put up with it anymore.  The Browns don’t care about me.  I’ve supported them for 23 of my 33 years on this earth and what do I have to show for it other than a buttload of Bernie Kosar stuff?  They don’t care about winning.  They will draft who they can market, not who can help them win.  You have helped me realize this Brady and for that I thank you.

So now I sit here and am ready to make this proclamation to the entire world.  I am going to do something that millions of fans don’t have the balls to do.  I am letting everyone know right now that if the Browns draft Brady Quinn over Adrian Peterson I am done.  I have come to my senses and will take my fanfare and dedication to another team.  This team will appreciate me and make sound decisions when it comes to how it operates.  This team will take me someplace I have never been before.  They will take me to the promised land where I get to see my favorite players holding the Lombardi Trophy while being coated in that stupid confetti they drop after end of the Super Bowl.  Most of all, they will show that they care about me.  For that, I will follow them whole-heartedly.  My new team will become:

The ARIZONA CARDINALS.

Oh boy.

As everyone already knows, The Yeast is currently enjoying the balmy weather of Central Florida as the home of TFS hunkers down for winter.  While most people here in the Sunshine State would rather have a Adolf Hitler here than a LSU alum, many people couldn’t help but notice the wonderful effect that the “Yeastie Curse” brought to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers on Sunday afternoon. 

For those of you not familiar with the Yeastie Curse let me sum it up for you without going into the horrific details.  Imagine the S.I. Jinx and the Madden Curse with a pinch of Steve Bartman added to it.  I could explain it to you by telling you who my favorite pro sports teams are to give you a better understanding also; the Cleveland Browns, San Francisco Giants and Los Angeles Clippers.  Yes folks, I’m one cursed son of a gun.

I have started to develop a relationship with the media department of the Bucs and they have been gracious enough to allow me to watch a game from the press box last week and let me gain access to the visiting locker room of the Eagles this week.  I actually found myself starting to enjoy being around the practices and interacting with players and coaches.  Hell, I think Jon Gruden himself even smiled in my general direction once. They are a scrappy team that despite their record and rash of injuries has fought hard over the last few weeks, and led by a rookie QB have been trying to turn their season around. I began to root for the team from a general football perspective, especially since they have been terrible, which is a prerequisite for me to open my heart of stone to you as a franchise.

I then sat in the stands on Sunday afternoon and realized why I hate 99.6 percent of all sports fans…..and my hatred for them and their stupidity actually won the game for the Buccaneers thanks to the afore mentioned Yeastie Curse. What follows is a dramatization of actual events inside the ‘New Sombrero’ as recalled by me.

11:10 a.m. – The parking lot outside the stadium
A man of my girth can never turn down a free meal, and as I am strolling through the swampy air of Tampa towards the stadium with my laptop and media pass in hand a group of Eagles fans ask me in typical Philly fashion just “who the f*** I am” and if I am cheering for the Bucs or Eagles.  I explain who I am (ok, so I told them I was Brandon Funston) and they invite me to have a burger and a drink so they can tell me about what a genius Andy Reid is, how Donovan McNabb is the greatest QB since Ron Jaworski and how Brian Westbrook is somehow related to our lord and savior, Mr. Jesus Christ himself.  While I am tuning out the inane babbling and focusing on my burger, a group of Bucs fans start a confrontation with the group I am in.  A bunch of name calling goes on for a few moments, then the groups separate and go on with their business. 

While I am all for team spirit, one thing that bugs me is berating other teams’ fans just for showing up to support their team.  The Bucs fans were the aggressors here, not the Eagles to my surprise.  I noticed two of the fans also had on University of Florida gear as well.  Grrr…….the Yeast is not happy with Bucs fans at this point but still wants the local team to do well.  I also personally want the Eagles to lose every single game so I don’t have to see Mr. Chunky Soup and his goofy smile on SportsCenter while a cross-eyed Stuart Scott rambles in ebonics about T.O. and how he never did anything for that team.  Jesus, I’m getting pissed just typing this.

12:20 p.m. - Raymond James Stadium Concessions Area
Already a little annoyed with Bucs fans I decided to get my grub for the game (I never leave my seat after kickoff) and became even more annoyed by listening to some jackass in front of me try to teach his son about the history of the NFL.  The kid looked like a goofier version of the autistic kid from Jerry Maguire, and let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree in that family if you know what I mean.  Here is an actual quote from this moron, when asked by the kid who the best player to ever play for the Buccaneers was followed by a brief conversation between me and him.

Moron:  “Bo Jackson was the best player we’ve ever had son.  He was a great player.”
Yeast laughing because I thought he was kidding: “The sad thing is that I think he really is in the top 10 even though he was never even played for them.”
Moron:  “Yes he did.  We drafted him number one in 1990.  I saw him play here bef…”
Yeast:  “You can’t be serious, the guy never, ever played for the Bucs. I’ll guarantee you.”
Moron: “He most certainly did.  Besides, I wasn’t even talking to you.”

I’m not kidding.  That conversation actually took place.  Then the bastard ordered a hamburger with no bun, a hot dog with 2 buns, and a side of nacho cheese in a soda cup.  He then argued with the ex-con working the register about how they should put more carbonation in the soda.  My god I hate people sometimes.  I feel sorry for that kid and the lifetime of ass beatings he has ahead of him.  This HAS to be the low point in my day…or so I thought….

14:13 left, 2nd Quarter – Section 135, Row U Seat 23
Ronde Barber makes a great read on Mr. Chunky Soup and takes a pick to the house for a TD.  I love how the Bucs are controlling the game with their defense and managing field position well on offense.  Good fundamental football.  I then hear yet another “enlightened” fan yell out “Yew deedn’t see no deeeefense like hours when yew wuz at Penn State, MAC-NABB!!”   I turned around to find a guy who looked like an extra from Deliverance wearing a mustard stained Dale Earnhardt shirt and cutoff jeans.  Not sure if he had shoes, but he was definitely missing at least 4 teeth.  Somebody please put a bullet in my head. 

I sat in stunned belief at the stupidity all around me and watched the Bucs harass “MAC-NABB”, all while listening to more and more idiots around me celebrating as if the home team was ass-raping the Raiders in the Superbowl all over again.  The Bucs kept fighting, showing their guts on a sweltering day.  Halftime came and went.  About halfway through the 3rd quarter Barber ran another one back.  BUCS 17 – EAGLES 0.   The scrappy little team that could was winning and looking good.  I wasn’t really rooting for either team at this point.  I was just glad to see a hard hitting, well played game.  Then came the quote that became the turning point in the game, season and possibly the history of the Buccaneers franchise.  The straw that broke the camel’s back.  I don’t know who exactly proclaimed this, but it was in a similar inbred accent to the Nascar guy….

“Grad-kew-skee is the real deal.  He is by far the best rookie QB in the league and I think we can take the division and challenge in the NFC.”

That was it.  I was done.  I don’t know if I made any audible noises but inside I was screaming things that I shouldn’t repeat anywhere, let alone in a sea of rednecks that had no knowledge of the best sport in the world.  Right then and there I started to root for the Eagles.  I didn’t tell anyone.  I didn’t cheer as Chunky Soup and Blood of Christ led the Eagles back into the game.  17-7……17-14….Crowd gets quiet.  Gruden starts to become a dummy according to the fans.  20-14….Gruden is a genius again. Everyone is celebrating….

2:49 left in the game:  BUCS 20 – EAGLES 14
Everyone is cheering.  I turn to the guy next to me and say the following words.  “There is too much time left…Chunky is gonna win the game for the Eagles.”  I then repeat it louder for the inbreds to hear.  “THERE’S TOO MUCH TIME LEFT…THE DEFENSE IS WORN OUT”.  I then realize that I should never have said those words.  There are only two possible outcomes of the game at this point for me.  A) Chunky Soup leads the Eagles to victory and I can’t contain my jubilation, run my mouth off and get pummeled by insane rednecks. B) McNabb doesn’t lead them to a win, I run my mouth off and get  pummeled by insane rednecks.  What the hell….these people are idiots.  I begin to cheer for the Eagles as if I had eaten Geno’s cheesesteaks all my life.  McNabb hits Westbrook…..52 YARD TOUCHDOWN!!!!!  33 seconds left and I’m squealing like a little girl.  People are swearing at me, throwing things at me.  I think I was called “Fat Bastard” 248 times.  But it was all worth it.  I had my satisfaction.  The Eagles were gonna win.  I might die but I am gonna die happy. 

Then it happens. Grad-kew-skee somehow gets the team to the Eagles 45.  Matt Bryant, the former pawn shop worker that sounds like everyone of these fans here when he talks strolls out onto the field and drops a 62 yard bomb to win the game.  I haven’t been so crushed since Earnest Byner fumbled heading into the end zone in the 1987 AFC Championship Game.  People were shoving me, spitting on me and throwing anything they could find at me.

The Yeastie Curse had struck again.

I made my way to the Eagles locker room, listened to Chunky talk about how crushing this loss was.  I walked around for about an hour after that so I didn’t have to face anyone in the lot on the way out.  In my hate and anger I had changed the outcome of the game and the fate of the Bucs.  Matt Bryant will be remembered as the one that won the game, but deep down all those people in Section 135 will all know who was truly responsible for the amazing, dramatic win.  Monday October 23, 2006 was named Matt Bryant day here in Tampa.  I fully expect to receive my award at the end of the year when Grad-kew-skee raises the Lombardi trophy in Superbowl XLI.