We appreciate and applaud the greatness of LeBron James and one of the steepest championship hills ever summited.

But on Sunday evening, as we watched television images of people in Cleveland losing their minds, our awe quickly turned to envy.

In the full narcissistic essence of the times, San Diegans must ask, “Why does this always happen to us?”

Or never happen to us.


Cleveland’s great championship famine is over. Whoop-de-do. That city didn’t have it as bad as us even before the Cavaliers came back from a three games-to-one deficit to beat Golden State in the NBA Finals.

It’s cool. No one considers San Diego’s misery. All is well in paradise.

Folks say, “San Diego, what a great place to live.” Whereas, upon meeting a Clevelander common decency prohibits one from exclaiming, “What a godforsaken place that is! Why in the world do you live there?” So you turn your attention to the pathetic sports teams, which do provide perpetual fodder.

But, fact is, if San Diego were a tree we couldn’t ascertain its age. If it were a phone, we couldn’t answer it.


No rings, you see.

In “season years” – the sports equivalent of dog years – San Diego has gone over a century without a major sports title.

The Cleveland Browns won the 1964 NFL championship. The San Diego Chargers were champions of the AFL in 1963. That was a year later for the Browns – in a superior league that is still in existence.

Think about that. It’s been, uh, wait … um … 53 years.


Whatever. When you have to do arithmetic that involves carrying numbers and also feel compelled to elevate a long-forgotten and second-rate league, it’s been way too long.

Perhaps you didn’t know Titleist has its Performance Institute in Carlsbad. It’s a big deal. Pro golfers, titans of industry and professional league commissioners visit all the time to have their games assessed and be fitted for clubs. San Diego County is a magnificent location for the golf manufacturer. It is a little known tidbit, however, that the company won’t put its headquarters here. The Titleist folks just don’t deem us worthy. Not Titleist material. No, they say, San Diego is simply title-less.

Is that true? Well, not in the strictest sense of accuracy. But neither can it be entirely denied.

The breakdown is this: The Chargers have gone 52 seasons without a title, the Padres 47 and the Clippers and Rockets a combined 10. That’s 109 seasons.


As life markers measured by sports events go, we have the Holy Roller, Dan Fouts’ five interceptions against Houston in the 1979 playoffs, the Clippers leaving town, Dave Winfield leaving town, Marlon McCree’s interception return fumble, Nate Kaeding wide right, Shaun Phillips’ head butt and Antonio Cromartie’s phantom tackle.

That’s not to say San Diego doesn’t have its good sports moments and splendid performers.

We have a proud sports history. But it has virtually nothing to do with championships. It’s all about individuals.

Yes, we’ve had LaDainian Tomlinson’s MVP season and what should have been Marshall Faulk’s Heisman campaign. We had Trevor Hoffman’s 601 saves and Tony Gwynn’s 3,141 hits and Junior Seau’s innumerable hits.


We also sowed a bunch of stars that went elsewhere to reap.

Don’t ever apologize for being proud to hail from the land of Ted Williams and Bill Walton and Phil Mickelson and Gail Devers and Marcus Allen and Greg Louganis.

But don’t ever be confused that makes it acceptable our teams are interminably also-rans.

Don’t ever think it’s OK to excuse the shortcomings of our teams’ owners, our sports media, our fans and our geography.


Nationally, we are not considered to have the longest sports drought only because we have never won a title in one of the four major leagues. Evidently, you must win one before the clock begins ticking. So, by the logic, we aren’t even a sports town.

We are, at best, tied with Buffalo. But the Bills won the AFL title in 1964 and ‘65 before joining the Chargers in the AFL-NFL merger in 1970. Neither team has won an NFL title.

Since 1984, San Diego has had just two major-league teams, just two chances each year to end the inconsequence.

The Chargers and Padres haven’t been enough. Most often, not even close. Like, it doesn’t even cross our mind most years that they could win a championship.


There have been some constants in the futility.

You can’t ignore the Spanos effect. Or the failings of Kroc, Moores or Seidler and Fowler. (The men they hired bear some blame, but after so long yielding so little, we must conclude the buck stops at the top.)

And Sterling. Donald Sterling might be the biggest culprit.

See, the NBA is perhaps the easiest league in which to affect change. At least, it can’t be argued that it is the team sport where one player can have the largest impact.


While this is the Cavaliers’ title, it is James that conceived, nurtured and delivered it. At the least, his play elevated a group that would hardly be a playoff team without him. He was tops among all players in the Finals in points, rebounds, assists, steals and blocks. The baseline to baseline run he made to block a shot with a little more than a minute left is a play that made everyone who saw it a better human being.

It takes more impact players in football and baseball.

It takes a consistent commitment from the people who run the teams to acquire and develop the players (and coaches) who perform. It takes a competence no one who owns a team here has ever demonstrated.

All we can do is hope it will change.


Maybe John Spanos won’t tolerate the empty trophy case much longer. Maybe A.J. Preller can redeem his misguided launch for Seidler and Fowler.

Hey, believe or give up. Being a team owner is like being on the Supreme Court. You serve until you don’t want to or you die, only Supreme Court justices don’t get to pass on their appointment to heirs. The people who write and talk about our teams for a living, the conduits, those with the biggest voices, must take some blame.

You won’t ever see the media’s importance inflated here. But, fact is, there has not been enough feet and backsides made warm here over the years.

Still, we don’t write checks. And while some of us get yelled at or even punished for our criticism, no G.M. or coach asks us beforehand what moves to make.


But wait, Joe Public. Don’t get too indignant. This isn’t for those who have repeatedly lost their minds over the Friars and/or Bolts. You’re the good kind of crazy. But there aren’t enough of you. Not enough there when times are good, not enough sticking through the lean times.

It’s not just because Cleveland is, well, Cleveland that folks across the nation are happy for C-Town being able to celebrate a title. It’s because those fans’ madness for the Browns and Tribe and Cavs is widespread, almost inherent. That’s a large group that suffers.

Of course, they suffer because they don’t have anything else to do.

We can go to the beach. Those of you from elsewhere can root for the teams of your youth. We can bicycle or run or pick weeds or watch the kids play soccer – in December.


It’s not just the weather, either.

We’re a small town. Perhaps the smallest big town in America. Or the biggest small town.

Even Cleveland has seven Fortune 500 companies. San Diego has Qualcomm and Sempra Energy. Those are the companies that have suites and many season tickets and many executives with season tickets. And they buy sponsorships. It makes a difference.

It all adds up.


Lest anyone invoke the unfairness of holding history against current owners, general managers, coaches and players, consider that our two professional teams have an average combined .329 winning percentage since the start of their most recent seasons.

This probably isn’t getting better soon.

All we can do, in the midst of our long sports freeze, is wait for winter and then send Cleveland a postcard.