The initial euphoria of landing the 2016 Republican National Convention is wearing off, just a bit. In its place is a more enduring mix of excitement, anticipation, resolve … and pressure.

We’re on the clock, and so much needs to get done, from hotel construction to renovating Public Square to deciding where in Lorain County to establish the “free speech zones.” But perhaps the most crucial work will be something more nebulous. Our region has been given not only an event that will inject hundreds of millions of dollars into the local economy, we have been given a multi-billion-dollar marketing opportunity. There’s no price tag on the kind of attention we’re going to get: at least a year of buildup as candidates compete on the “road to Cleveland,” four nights on primetime television and two weeks of intense coverage as roughly 15,000 members of the media arrive on the ground in Northeast Ohio. We will get ridiculous amounts of press. But we can’t sit around expecting it to be good press. These thousands of journalists are coming to Cleveland carrying what all journalists carry: poor spelling habits, an obsession with free food and a backpack of preconceived notions. Many, perhaps most, will be coming to Cleveland for the first time. They are no doubt expecting to arrive to see 10 feet of snow, drunken fans using the burning river to light their basketball jerseys and every elected official in handcuffs. It’s all of our jobs to work to steer the narrative about Cleveland away from the rocks and back toward reality. It may seem shocking, but lots of journalists approach an assignment with a pretty good idea of what their story is going to be before they do any reporting. They then bend and fold their questions and their reporting to fit that narrative. So if they arrive in Cleveland expecting a blighted ghost town, they’ll be wearing rust-colored glasses. What can we do to flip the script? First off, no more hating on Cleveland. None. Zero tolerance. After that, I think it’s three simple things: honesty, enthusiasm and humor. Any time you have a chance — a conversation with someone out of town, a social media post, an email — show some honest love for Cleveland. But don’t turn your fondness into a public display of affection by cheerleading. Nobody wants that. Hold hands with our town. It’s going to be a slow, subtle process, changing minds one at a time. Whenever I’m out of town, I like to wear Cleveland T-shirts. At least once a day, a stranger will offer up a comment. I try to make the conversations go like this: “You from Cleveland?” “Yes.” “Winters are terrible up there.” “Yes, five months of hot toddies.” — “You live in Cleveland?” “Absolutely.” “I don’t understand.” “You should visit, you will.” — “You live in Cleveland?” “Yep.” “Terrible sports teams, huh?” “Fifty years without a championship riot.” — “Nice Cleveland shirt.” “Thanks, man.” “‘Mistake on the Lake,’ right?” “You mean, ‘Marquee by the sea.’”