What was the one that really hurt?
It's Friday, and I'm licking some sports-related wounds, but recovering with retro appetizers, warm-weather drinks, good-vibes music and some great reading material.
Hello. Happy Friday!
As you may well know by now, I am a lifelong fan of Cleveland’s professional sports teams, owing to my having been born and mostly-raised in Northeast Ohio.
(It would be perverse if I wasn’t from there. At least I can blame geographic circumstance.)
As you may also know, the Cleveland Cavaliers were unceremoniously bounced from the NBA Playoffs earlier this week, an anticlimactic ending to what had been a near-dream season so far—64 regular-season wins, three All-Stars, a Defensive Player of the Year Award for Evan Mobley and a likely All-NBA First Team selection for Donovan Mitchell. I didn’t necessarily expect them to win the championship this year, but I certainly didn’t expect them to get booted in the second round in decisive fashion.
(If you are from Indiana, please hold all comments right now.)
It was a stinging loss, but—well, I’m pretty well accustomed to those. The so-called “Cleveland Sports Curse” might’ve been put to bed when the Cavs won it all in 2016, but I suffered my way through plenty in the three-plus decades preceding that glorious June. I’m by no means happy about what went down against the Pacers—again, Indiana, keep it to yourself—but I’ve crawled home from worse than this.
To paraphrase my good friend and fellow Cleveland sports victim Ramzy Nasrallah this week: “I watched The Drive when I was a kid. Cleveland sports have been hurting me since before the Challenger explosion.” Now, I’m a few years younger than Ramzy, so The Drive was more a part of childhood lore for me growing up in Cleveland—John Elway was a villain, but I didn’t know all the details. For me, the one that really stung was Game 7 of the 1997 World Series, when the team now known as the Guardians got within two outs of a World Series title that still eludes them nearly 30 years later.
My life as a sports fan exists in two parts, before and after that moment.
Everything before it was a build-up to a storybook ending that I thought was coming and didn’t, and everything after has been varying degrees of the James Franco gallows meme:
I have a distinct memory of the Cavs losing a playoff game in crushing fashion during LeBron’s first stint in Cleveland—I think it was Game 1 of the Eastern Conference Finals against Orlando in 2009, but I couldn’t find the video—and the camera cutting to the crowd, showing a kid of maybe ten years old looking like he’d had his heart ripped out. As hard as that loss was on me, I recall texting a friend at that moment: “oh god, he didn’t know yet!”
Whether you’ve lived as cursed a life of fandom as a Northeast Ohioan or a truly-coddled one, I think every sports fan has their own version of The Big One—the loss they’re still not over, the one that makes every bad bounce since hurt just a little bit less in comparison.
And hey, misery loves company—so I want to know what yours is.
What was the sports loss that hurt you the most?
C’mon. Let’s hear your worst.
I will do my best to not judge how much your answers pale in comparison to mine.
(Even if you’re from Boston.)
In the meantime, it’s Friday at the ACBN!
Today, I’m busting out a retro appetizer, mixing up a warm-weather cocktail, cranking some good-vibes music, and reading a great book.
It’s Friday. Let’s ride.
On the subject of notable chokes…
I’ve been in a party-food mindset the last few weeks. Focused on finger foods. Cravin’ a canape. Horsin’ for a d’oeuvre. I’m just a bouche lookin’ for amusement, y’know?
(I’ll stop.)
Last week, I shared a retro-inspired appetizer, a cream-cheese tart topped with prosciutto and Jezebel Sauce, and I’m keeping the vaguely-1970s-cocktail-party vibes going with this week’s offering.
At the Kentucky Derby party I referenced in last week’s linked post, there was a wide spread of finger foods ranging from Benedictine spread and pimento cheese to smoked chicken wings and crawfish, but an unfamiliar one caught my eye—little white balls, dusted with something fluffy. I wasn’t sure what they were, so of course I popped one in my mouth and was delighted to find that they were an artichoke dip rolled in Parmesan cheese.
I did a little research when I got home—they were new to me, but certainly not a New Thing—and immediately set to recreating them as best I could, with a few additions.
