A farewell to the NFL, from a now former Cleveland Browns season ticket holder.
Life has been a lot better since I tuned out the National Football League.
No more complaining about the league failing to tackle social issues with integrity or worrying about which players got fined for some ridiculous off-field stunt. I don’t even have to worry about how Tom Brady likes to cradle balls.
The truth is, the NFL doesn’t really care what any fans or players want to say unless it’ll affect the exponentially growing pile of money the organization plunders from fans, the media and sponsors.
Does commissioner Roger Goodell really ponder the brain damage Cleveland Browns cornerback Johnson Bademosi may have received when he was blind-sided on a legal hit, falling to the ground lifeless?
How about when Browns wide receiver Andrew Hawkins wore a “Justice for Tamir Rice and John Crawford III” shirt when he was introduced on Dec. 14? What about when the St. Louis Rams receiving corps took the field with their hands up, protesting the events in Ferguson?
We all know how poorly handed the situations were for Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson, so there’s no point to even bring them up again.
Instead, I want to focus more on the NFL’s unjust treatment to the fans that fill their cold plastic chairs the most — season ticketholders.
I am a Cleveland Browns season ticketholder, which is more depressing than it actually sounds, and has become more of a biweekly chore than a personal joy.
Sure, I know the Browns are terrible. I’ve always known. And if I didn’t, those eight-hour car trips from Cincinnati or Athens to Cleveland and back have painfully reiterated that point profusely.
For the last four seasons, I’ve spent $384 per year on two seats six rows from the top of FirstEnergy Stadium. Nothing flashy, or “eye-catching,” but I get two seats for $19 per ticket, per game. Not bad, especially for a team as torturing as the Browns.
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But now that’s changed.
Following a season of minimal success, or in Cleveland terms, winning more games than expected, the organization decided to raise ticket prices for the first time since 2008. (It should be noted that the Browns still lost the last five games of the season.)
In 2015, my tickets will be $50 a game, or $1,000 this season, thanks to the organization moving around some of the seating areas. That’s a 263.2 percent increase in price — after three more wins.
I can’t afford that.
When I found out about the raise, I told my parents I’m not renewing my seats and I texted a father of three that sat one row below me these years. I told him I couldn’t afford the hike. With three seats, he said he wouldn’t be paying $1,500 for the same mediocre product either.
The point of me writing this isn’t supposed to be some romanticized column about going to the professional football games of my childhood team.
Rather, I realize the NFL will never change its beliefs or values because we allow them to continue. I’ve reached my threshold. I’m doing all I can do; I’m voicing my opinion and I’m tapping out.
This is the end of my relationship with the Cleveland Browns — a team I grew up idolizing and dreaming about. This is the beginning of my life without the NFL — or how Tom Brady likes to squeeze those damn balls.
Charlie Hatch is a sophomore studying journalism and a sportswriter for The Post. Let him know your thoughts about teams raising ticket prices @charliehatch_ or gh181212@ohio.edu.
