The NFL of my youth – that of the mid-80s – was defined by the halcyon days of Montana, Marino and Elway; three brilliant athletes and personable leaders who made the game look easy. They were what some might call “talented.”

Then, there was my man, Bernie Kosar. Beyond being football’s aesthetic answer to Screech Powers, Bernie was also never confused with being “talented.” Watching Bernie was like seeing Kevin Federline do battle with a sudoku puzzle. Running was problematic. Throwing without it appearing that he was soft-tossing a flaming bag of poo, impossible.

But captured in that reflexively awkward delivery was the epitome of the genetically average Clevelander. Bootstraps defined the city. And Bernie, a local boy, was the perfect sports underdog for that town. He was a workingman, because, well, he must have had to work hard to make something that ugly into something that successful. (As a personal aside, he gave hope to nebbish, Atari-addled boys who spent nights dreaming of touching a woman’s breast.)

The Browns resembled their leader. Fans will tell you they played football the way it was supposed to be played – mostly because they won during an era when the forward pass was regarded in many parts of Ohio as communist propaganda. They ran on most downs, hit hard on defense, had solid special teams, and occasionally, the best (and one would have to think only) Hungarian quarterback in NFL history would convert an improbable third-down pass to Brian Brennan. And they did it all gracelessly.

Then in 1986 that bronco-faced prick John Elway ruined my youth, destroyed the Browns as a franchise – and it could be argued was even more responsible for the city’s demise than Dennis Kucinich. Well…maybe.

After an epic struggle, the Browns led the Broncos in the AFC Championship game with two minutes to play and Denver needing 98-yards for a tying score. It was like pulling for a station wagon to win a drag race with a Porsche; and the rest as they say, is for ESPN Classic.
 
Not only did the Browns lose that day, but they’ve been a loser ever since. Sure, they were good enough to play the role of Elway’s trollop in two more AFC Championship games. But hard work never closed the gap on talent. And the franchise never recovered. Since the trio of losses to the Broncos, the Browns have been through The Eric Metcalf Is Our Starting Running Back? Era, The Dead Ball Era (Baltimore, how I hate thee), The Roman Brown Beating Down A Ref Era and, in recent vintage, the Romeo Carnell Has A FUPA Era.

Man-boobs aside, there is one common thread: There is no common thread. Owners have changed. Players have come and gone. Coaches have found new ways to cultivate ineptitude. And losing has remained the same.

Curiously, the Browns don’t even get proper credit for finding new ways to suck, like their brethren in futility, the Arizona Cardinals and Cincinnati Bengals, have over the same period. In a league designed for parity (er, mediocrity), the Browns have defied the odds. Even the Bengals have had no choice but to be good after a decade of high draft picks. And the Cardinals now own a glimmer of hope between its fearsome wide receiver tandem and the Lady-Slaying Buzz Saw that is Matt Leinart.

Nostalgically, in an attempt to get back to the mid-80s and recapture the Bernie magic, the Browns turned to a dumb kid with a crusty mustache from a suburb of Cleveland. But sadly, Charlie Frye is who everyone thought he was coming out of college. He’s Charlie Frye. This is not a good thing.

So now the Browns are headed toward another search for the next quarterback. The next coach. The next round of deconstruction and reconstruction with promises of grandeur coming from the front office and returned pleas of something resembling competence from the fans. There’s even talk of luring Jim Tressel from Ohio State. Screw that. The Browns have already ruined Sundays in the fall for Ohioans. They better leave Saturdays alone.

So, I say “no more.” Let’s face it, mediocrity is now the Browns’ biggest rival, Pittsburgh be damned. And I’m sick of trying to build a team from the ground up. Hard work may be a virtue, but when has it ever helped the Browns? To win now there’s only one solution. Good thing it’s easy.

Winning in any sport is directly related to winning a genetic lottery, much like the Cavs did by coincidentally fielding an NBDL roster the year before LeBron was draft eligible. Now, I have no clue who the Browns should tab to be their savior. And it’s readily apparent that they have no idea either. So there’s only one option left: Trade for Drew Bledsoe.

“What’s this?” you might ask. He’s God-awful. Well, don’t worry about Bledsoe being horrible. That’s the point. The magic is in benching him.

This off-season the bidding for his services will be understandably high. In a few short years, Bledsoe has transformed Tom Brady into The Hall of Fame Quarterback And Mad Chick Slayer That Is Tom Brady and has a legion of Texans – and Jessica Simpson – referring to themselves as Romosexuals.

For Cleveland fans, this is our only option left.  It takes a high level of Machiavellian skill to break a perpetual cycle of stupid draft picks, coaching hires, and free-agent signings. The Browns clearly don’t have that. Hard work isn’t going to get it done. It wasn’t the answer for the Browns the 80s and it ain’t happening now.

So instead, let’s go the other route: Bledsoe is our only hope.