Some of you may have been fans of the show Seinfeld back in the day, when the show was pure genius, and Kramer hadn't gone completely Ryan Tucker on us. I want you to recall an episode in which George Costanza finds himself on a run of good luck, as Elaine goes the other way and becomes stupid. His rise is her downfall. Well, this weekend, I was attending a bachelor party in Austin Texas, and as I was fumbling to eat a cheeseburger at 4 in the morning in a very David Hasselhoff like state, it came to me. As I sit here, unemployed, waking up at 11 am every day, unshaven, it seems as if my good fortune has gone dry. As I go downhill something amazing has happened along the shores of lake Erie. Cleveland sports are enjoying a great streak of good luck. The Cavs have won six straight playoff games. The Indians hold the lead in the Central and are playing as well as any team in baseball. And the draft fortunes of the Browns have finally led to a very optimistic Berea. It dawned on me as I mumbled to my Cleveland friends incoherently that Cleveland is like Costanza and I am like Elaine in that episode. For the past 29 years, as Cleveland sports floundered for a championship, my life has been pretty easy. Now, as I skim through job listings and spend my days playing pick up hockey, doing crosswords, and occasionally bathing, I find myself thinking that Cleveland is thriving at the expense of my success. So, I feel it is my duty to remain in this state of disarray for the great fans of Cleveland. I fear that if I find success in a new career, Brady Quinn may get shot at The Colony, Grady Sizemore will take a fastball in the face and ruin that beautiful smile, and Lebron will get run over by a lawn mower shooting a commercial. Good Luck to Cleveland. I sacrifice myself for you.