For Browns Fans, The Situation Is Always Grave

Scott Entsminger, like every diehard Browns fan, needed a sense of humor.  How else to deal with the emotional wreckage caused by The Drive?  How else to cope with the soul-crushing aftermath of The Fumble?  How else to rationalize the absurd clown show that has been the Cleveland Browns since the franchise returned to the National Football League to achieve an unrivaled record of futility?

So it makes sense that Mr. Entsminger, a lifelong Browns fan and season ticket holder, would display that gallows humor even when he went on to join the Choir Invisible.  Entsminger’s final request, as shown in his obituary, was that six members of the Cleveland Browns football team serve as his pallbearers and hoist him into the grave after he had ceased to be.  As his obit put it:  “He respectfully requests six Cleveland Browns pall bearers so the Browns can let him down one last time.”

His family asks that everyone attending his funeral wear their Browns gear.  I hope everyone does . . . and I hope that the Browns see the story, and six good-humored players show up at the service to honor a lifelong fan’s last request.  It would make Mr. Entsminger, and my Dad, and Grandpa Neal, and every other Browns fan who has left this Mortal Coil smile.

Mr. Entsminger, I salute you!  And I feel that the torch has been passed.  Russell and I become season ticket holders in a few weeks, and we’ll try to carry the torch a bit farther with the same good humor you have shown — even if it kills us.

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Like Showering In A Phone Booth

I enjoyed our brief trip to San Antonio, but it’s good to be home.  Why?  Among other things, I confess that I have grown accustomed to the everyday amenities in our house.

IMG_4195Take the shower, for instance.  Our bed and breakfast room had a bathtub shower with an overhead nozzle and a square metal apparatus from which the shower curtain was hung.  You turned on the shower, climbed in, and pulled the curtain closed around you.

It had a distinctly continental look to it, and was very quaint and charming — but it felt precisely like showing in a telephone booth.  My head stuck out of the top, making me feel a bit like Gulliver in Lilliput, while at the same time, the clingy shower curtain established an ever-present physical boundary.  It was tough to maneuver soap, shampoo, and washcloth in such tight surroundings, and good luck to you if you dropped the soap while lathering and had to sink down inside the shower cubicle to try to retrieve that slippery item.

So forgive me if I’m looking forward to this morning’s visit to the familiar shower stall here at home, where the shampoo bottle and soap dish are in their expected places and a little elbow room may be found.