Dear Mr. Haslam,
I’m writing this as a Browns fan whose family has been showing up since before the forward pass was cool. My grandpa sat in freezing bleachers to watch Jim Brown win championships. I sit in the same city, in the same colors, but now it’s Dillon Gabriel throwing check-downs that get dropped to Jerry Jeudy. My grandpa saw greatness. I see chaos in HD.
You bought the Browns in 2012, and since then, it’s been 13 years of misery dressed up as “rebuilding”: 54 wins, 110 losses, six head coaches, six general managers, and 26 different starting quarterbacks. At this point, the “next man up” mantra feels less like motivation and more like a threat.
You drafted Johnny Manziel for headlines. Now you’ve drafted Shedeur Sanders for the same reason. These decisions are not team-building, they’re clickbait. Cleveland doesn’t need the next viral quarterback we need a competent one.
And the worst part? You had him: Baker Mayfield. He gave this city a playoff win, swagger and belief, something we hadn’t felt since dial-up internet. He bled for this team. You ran him out the door like he was the problem. Now he’s an MVP candidate in Tampa while we’re trotting out Dillon Gabriel and praying he can throw for more than 200 yards without seeing ghosts.
I still remember begging my dad for a Robert Griffin III jersey after he was signed. He said no. The next season I asked for a DeShone Kizer jersey after his one decent preseason drive. He said no. Best parenting decisions he ever made. Browns fans have learned to romanticize mediocrity. Jameis Winston, Travis Benjamin, Donovan Peoples-Jones, Rashard Higgins. One-year wonders whose flames flickered just long enough to ignite the city’s belief, then flamed out and broke our hearts.
But what’s worse than losing is how you lose. You let Odell Beckham Jr. and his dad dismantle the one functional team we’ve had in two decades. Instead of shutting the drama down, you let it fester until the locker room imploded. You traded for Jamie Collins when Bill Belichick would have paid him to leave New England. You gave Kareem Hunt and Deshaun Watson second chances that no one else in the league would even consider. Unsurprisingly, Watson only threw 19 touchdowns as a Brown never surpassing his 24 civil lawsuits alleging sexual misconduct. You just signed rookie Isaiah Bond, who was arrested on a sexual-assault charge just two weeks before the draft, when every other team looked the other way.
And now, three of your current key contributors: Quinshon Judkins, Devin Bush and Mike Hall, have been arrested in the past year for domestic violence-related charges. Your response? “It’s extremely frustrating.” That’s your go-to line, like the “We’ll learn from this” of PR statements. Then you move on and sign the next guy with a court date. I’m already expecting to watch Henry Ruggs suit up for the Browns after he serves his sentence for driving under the influence resulting in vehicular manslaughter.
Meanwhile, the only Browns jersey I ever felt proud wearing was that of Nick Chubb. A physical runner with breakaway speed who embodied the city of Cleveland, one of the rare true leaders to stumble into the Browns’ locker room. Yet after his freakish injury, the ownership’s loyalty vanished, and allowed him to sign for the Texans instead of re-signing him. Why should the city stand by your ownership when you kicked our fan favorite to the curb?
Kevin Stefanski’s a two-time NFL Coach of the Year, which tells you everything about how low the bar is here. You coach the Browns to a winning record, and they might as well build you a statue. Every season that doesn’t end in complete humiliation feels like divine intervention.
Mr. Haslam, you’ve made the Browns a brand, not a team. You’ve turned football Sundays into emotional hostage situations. Every headline you chase, every “big move” you force, every redemption arc you try to sell, they all leave us stuck in the same swamp of disappointment.
You’ve made billions, but the Browns’ soul is bankrupt. My grandpa saw glory. I see another rebuild. He saw trophies. I see trade rumors.
So here’s the honest truth: Sell the team.
Sell it to someone who wants to build something real, someone who cares about stability more than splash, who respects character more than controversy, who actually cares about winning football games.
Do it for the fans who still show up every Sunday, who keep buying jerseys that age like milk. Do it for a city that’s been loyal to a fault. And do it for the memory of Jim Brown and Otto Graham, who deserve better than this circus.
Surprise us, Mr. Haslam. Not with another headline. Not with another “culture reset.” Surprise us with something meaningful.
Sell the Browns, and give Cleveland its dignity back.
