Any Orange and Brown Will Do

The Browns loss to the Raiders on Oct. 16, and the ugly win against the Seahawks last Sunday, studies in embarrassment, added to the bitter black cloud that surrounds our team this season (it may be a perpetual cloud, but this season it seems extra thick). You thought three high ankle sprains last season were bad? How about:

• Peyton Hillis drama (Please don't get me started on Madden, which may be coming later if it has to.)
• Marcus Benard's motorcycle accident
• Scott Fujita's concussion (No, no, NO; he's my favorite!)
• More injuries and illnesses: Joe Haden, Artis Hicks, Alex Mack, Tony Pashos, Ray Ventrone
• Even more concussions: Mohamed Massaquoi and Benjamin Watson

I could go on, but I won't. Instead, in order to divert attention away from the Browns and their woes, I will tell you my own embarrassing Cleveland Browns story.

On Friday, Jan 15. 1988, two days before "The Fumble" and my embarrassing temper tantrum, my third grade class had show-and-tell. In addition, my teacher, Mrs. Popp, told us to wear "Browns colors."

At 9 years old, I didn't own any sports gear. I hadn't hit my tomboyish stage of wearing baggy sweatshirts and baseball caps. I also didn't own anything completely orange or brown back then, either. That Friday, I decided to wear a matched set, a yellow shirt and pants with orange polka dots (remember, it was the '80s). It looked similar to the shirt in the first photo, but with sleeves.

Then I added a brown wooden pin shaped like a cat (not a Wampus Cat), my beloved Aunt Joni gave to me. I wish I still had it, but it looked something like the pin in the second photo.

So I had orange polka dots and a brown pin. I had my Browns colors on and I went to school.

That Friday, before The Fumble, my turn came for show-and-tell and I stood before my third grade class, so proud in my stylish outfit with its orange and brown accents.

*Allow me to digress just a bit. My full name is Alanna Joy and my parents decided to call me by my initials, A.J., when I was born, and many people still call me A.J. (and some other people call me Bitter AK). I liked to be called A.J. because it was so easy, it seemed like none of my teachers could pronounce Alanna and I hated correcting them (and I didn't like the name Alanna).

This wasn't much of a problem until third grade. God bless Mrs. Popp, as she was one of my all-time favorites. But she refused to call me A.J. and she didn't pronounce Alanna correctly no matter how many times I told her, so I gave up.

She pronounced "Alanna" like it rhymes with "banana." My classmates, who I'd been through school with since preschool, knew how to pronounce my given name but started saying it like our teacher to tease me.

This will be important later.

*End digression

I don't even remember what I showed or told at show-and-tell because when I finished, Mrs. Popp said, "Alanna" (banana), "where's your Browns gear?"

"You mean my colors?" I said.

I pointed, with confidence, mind you, to my orange polka dots and said, "Here."

Then I pointed to my brown cat pin and said, "And here."

The entire class started laughing. Red now accompanied my outfit, in my cheeks. My eyes may even have filled with tears as I was informed by one of my classmates, who shall remain nameless, "You were supposed to wear Browns clothes, not Browns colors!"

I felt stupid, like my creativity in putting together this outfit with Browns colors didn't even count because I didn't do it right. I'm pretty sure I was the only one that day in non-NFL-licensed apparel.

I also felt incredibly stupid because I had completely misunderstood my teacher. It hadn't even occurred to me to ask my dad, who I would watch all Browns games with until 1995, to borrow a Browns hat or a t-shirt, which I know he would have gladly loaned me. I had really thought Mrs. Popp meant Browns colors. And I hadn't realized I was the only one without official Browns gear on until it was pointed out to me in front of my whole class.

As I was figuring all this out, my classmate added, "You're wearing yellow, you look like a banana. Alanna Banana!"

Then, Earnest Byner fumbled the ball on Sunday.

And from then on, for the rest of the 1988 school year, I was called Alanna Banana.

For a 9-year-old, a rather awful weekend. And the beginning of a love/hate affair with the Cleveland Browns (and Cavs, and Indians).

Now, I realize I don't think like other people and that's OK. That's even cool. Maybe it's because I'm a writer (I write for this zany blog, after all), but I march to the beat of my own drummer (or as Bitter AK would say, "the click-clacky sound of my own stilettos," except I don't wear stilettos because of the threat of bodily harm they pose me), even though it's often uncomfortable, if not downright embarrassing, not to follow the norm.

Now, I would tell my third grade class, "Any orange and brown will do!"

Although I do enjoy my Browns gear nowadays.

But sometimes, I'm too embarrassed to wear it.

I hope that's not the case this Sunday. Don't make me break out my orange polka dots and brown cat pin.

Go Browns!

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