This is a hypothetical account of what would happen when: a person embodying everything that is Cleveland, meets up with a person representing Seattle. How would their tales of woe be told? I think it would go a little something like this:
Cleveland: Seattle? Is that you?
Seattle: Hey buddy! Looking forward to another football season?
Cleveland: How can I? Another year with another interception king? It's like they don't even try to bring in winners here.
Seattle: Hey I feel ya. What do you think I'm going through, another year with Hasselbeck, a terrible defense, and an incompetent front office?
Cleveland: At least Hasselbeck can win you some games. We haven't had any consistency at QB since the Reagan administration.
Seattle: What about the care package I sent ya?
Cleveland: Call that a care package? You dumped Seneca Wallace on us.
Seattle: Yeah, well that was for forcing Charlie Frye on us!
Cleveland: Whatever.
Seattle: Hey, you didn't have a ref screw you out of a Super Bowl win. He just admitted it. Take it to the grave, indeed. How does he think we feel?
Cleveland: At least you've been to a Super Bowl. The Drive! The Fumble! The Mistake by the Lake! I don't want to hear it.
Seattle: You have no idea how miserable it is to be here. 55 degrees, every day, overcast all the time. We get revivalist galas whenever the sun comes out because everyone thinks it's a sign they've sinned.
Cleveland: Miserable? You weren't voted the most miserable city to live in in America. Housing market...
Seattle: Cold beaches...
Cleveland: ...a lake on fire...
Seattle: ...grunge music...
Cleveland: ...and it's grey here. Everything is grey. Even the Browns uniforms are terrible. They're the color of poop.
Seattle: Oh, you want to talk uniforms? Every team in my city's dressed exactly the same. Head to toe, the same color. What the hell is that color, anyway? Blue? Grey? Green?
Cleveland: Well, at least you weren't embarrassed on national TV in front of eight hundred million billion ESPN viewers. You didn't have the best player in your city in three decades tell Jim Gray he was taking his game to South Park.
Seattle: That's South Beach. And no, we didn't lose LeBron. We lost Durant. And the whole team.
Cleveland: Good, then you won't have to suffer any more long NBA seasons with no hope of a title.
Seattle: No, we do that in every other sport. At least you guys can hold on to a coach for more than two years...
Cleveland: Hold on, we're talking about Mangini here. That's no prize.
Seattle: ...while we just fired our manager and pitching coach. Since, if course, it's their fault we haven't had anyone hit over .320 in seven years and they're the reason Griffey couldn't lay off the donuts and kept nodding off in the dugout.
Cleveland: Hey, everyone nods off when Manny Acta's talking. Ever hear the guy at a press conference? He sounds like he's reading from the how-to section at Hank's Electrical All-Purpose Yard Tool and Twin Gear Shop.
Seattle: Does he have a deep southern drawl? Our interim manager does. Fits in well in the Pacific Northwest.
Cleveland: And we can't keep any good baseball players here. It's like a rite of passage -- as soon as a player starts hitting .300 consistently, we send him off for some AA prospect whose career highlight has been collecting Barry Bonds' rookie card. Prospects, must have more prospects. Apparently the GM that dies with the most wins, or something like that. At least you guys can keep your good players.
Seattle: Well, we can't keep them awake, that's for sure.
Cleveland: Alright, I'll admit, we got Holmgren. Course, we can't talk him into actually coaching...
Seattle: Yeah, thanks for stealing him away, by the way.
Cleveland: No problem. Hey, why'd you guys build a retractable roof, anyway?
Seattle: To give people a better view of the, uh, city... *sigh*. Well, now I'm depressed.
Cleveland: Me too. Let's just agree to disagree and call it a day.
Seattle: Yeah, I say we leave the table while we can. I think I just saw Detroit headed this way...
The previous account was fictitious. Any similarities to any actual persons, living or dead, is purely disastrous, and would subject the actual persons to needing a beer.
