Missing the Big Game

It’s hard to believe, but once upon a time, the Cleveland Browns ruled professional football! In 1964 they defeated the Baltimore Colts, 27-0, to win the National Football League championship (Before the Super Bowl era). Unfortunately, I didn’t see that game, for on that day Dad took us to visit a family that lived in a house out in the boondocks. They had electricity, but no TV set.

The next year the Browns were again set to play for the crown; this time they would face the mighty Green Bay Packers. I certainly didn’t want to miss that game, too.

However, on the very day of the game, Dad decided that we would visit my grandparents, who lived on a farm about twenty miles from our house. Quickly I went into excuse mode: “I’d love to go, but we have a big math test tomorrow.”

That trick didn’t work. Dad replied: “You can study when we return this evening.”

After arriving at the farm I quickly spoke to my grandparents before beginning a frantic search for some way to see or at least hear the game. In the seldom-used parlor, I discovered an old TV set someone recently had given them. Unfortunately, I picked up only two channels, but they were grainy, and moreover, neither one was carrying the football game.

A few minutes later I found a transistor radio in the kitchen. Rushing back to the parlor, I turned the dial until I found the game. Unfortunately, the static was so bad that only about every fifth word could be understood: “Crackle! Packers…crackle, swoosh, swish, zap, whoosh, fumble…”

Figuring that reception might be improved with increased elevation, I rushed upstairs, only to hear more crackling noises. Leaning halfway out the bedroom window didn’t improve things, either.

Behind the farmhouse was a steep hill. Once at the top I again turned on the radio; this time I heard two words in a row: “Crackle, swish, the pass, crackle, swish, pop…”

Not yet defeated, I climbed to one of the higher branches of an apple tree that grew on top of the steep hill. The scenery was splendid but the reception didn't noticeably improve.

After descending from the tree I saw one of Grandpa’s bulls racing my way, so quickly I ran down the hill and then literally leaped over the fence mere seconds before that gigantic side of beef would have caught me. Meanwhile, the radio continued to blather mostly unintelligible noises.

The barn's second floor, where the hay was stored, showed some promise. After about five minutes I heard three consecutive words: “Plop, zap, definitely a fumble, crackle, swoosh…”

The reception was not any better at the pigpen, the chicken coop, the outhouse, or the garage. Perhaps the time had come to accept defeat.

For the next two hours, while waiting for the folks to wind up the visit, I skipped rocks across the pond, fed corn to the pigs, petted one of the farm cats, and, back in the house, read several of Grandpa’s “detective” magazines. The stories weren’t so great, but there were several pictures of lovely young ladies.

During the ride home, I sulked over once again missing the opportunity to see my heroes play. Later, however, I discovered that the Browns had lost, so maybe Dad had saved me from three hours of heartache, for back in those days I took sports very seriously.