First off, sharpshinyclaws requested that everyone tell a story about Cleveland.
I myself have two stories about Cleveland, but one of them merely involves driving through it and being amused (at the big warning signs on the freeway telling you to slow down on the alleged hairpin turn along the lake) and frustrated (by my inability to find a good restaurant downtown because I didn’t know where I was).
Here is a better one. Once upon a time, when I lived in Chicago, I was on a Chicago White Sox e-mail list. Once a year, the people on the list would buy a block of tickets and as many of us as could make it would all go to a game together. Folks would come in from as far away as Alaska, Alabama and the Philippines; it was always a lot of fun. One year, a list member brought his cousin, who was a big Cleveland Indians fan; it just so happens that year, the List Night was at a White Sox/Indians game. The good news was that the Sox put together a big lead early on; the bad news is that there was a significant rain delay. During the delay, this Cleveland fan, who was a real hardcore mulleted hesher type, got progressively more and more drunk and started telling these stories, mostly involving Iron Maiden, about why Cleveland – the city, not the baseball team – was better than Chicago. Then, just before the rain delay broke, he stood on the back of a stadium chair and said this:
“But, but okay, okay. The best thing – the best thing – let me tell you the best thing about Cleveland. The best thing about Cleveland is this:“
And then he fell right off the back of the chair and was knocked unconscious. It was one of the very few moments in my life that actually felt like living through a cheeseball Hollywood movie.
Now you! What’s your story about Cleveland?