The NFL frowns upon this kind of behavior for some reason.
My friend Jeff and I once attended
a Browns exhibition game at Cleveland Municipal Stadium, that charming old
wreck of a field famous for its rabid fans. We sat in the bleachers behind the
east end zone, a section affectionately known as the Dawg Pound, from where the
rowdiest members of Cleveland's fanbase would hurl dog bones, snowballs and
harsh language at opposing players.
My impressionable teenage self took
in the unruly activities of my older neighbors with juvie-hall glee.
Half-crocked fellows wearing Bernie Kosar jerseys passed around illicitly
smuggled cans of beer. One guy openly smoked a joint, a sight heretofore seen
only in ABC Afternoon Specials about the evils of marijuana as a gateway drug.
Men spat, men swore, men gave out high-fives to guys walking by only to pull
them into the crowd for unwanted noogies.
It was awesome, or so I thought