CLEVELAND — When Annette Williams walked into FirstEnergy Stadium on Sunday, it felt like a bit of the world fell back into place. She or a family member had gone to every one of her son Antonio Gibson’s sporting events for as long as anyone could remember — until this NFL season. The novel coronavirus pandemic prevented her and her daughter, Danielle Moore, from continuing the tradition.
In Week 1, they tried to watch from home with an “NFL Sunday Ticket” code Gibson sent them. For some reason, though, it didn’t work, and they had to scoot to a nearby Applebee’s. Even when they figured it out for Week 2, cheering from the couch didn’t feel the same after years of hollering from bleachers all over the country as Gibson developed into a star.
Then, on Wednesday, Gibson called. Cleveland is one of eight NFL teams allowing fans in the stands this early in the season, and the rookie running back got tickets for the Washington Football Team’s game Sunday against the Browns. Mother and sister took Monday off work — Williams from a Medicaid transport company, Moore from a hospital — and booked flights. Suddenly, Williams was watching her son run onto the field for kickoff in the NFL.
“It’s surreal,” Williams said through a mask. “We’ve been talking about this since he played peewee football at like 5 years old.” She paused. “Always thought he had the talent to get here.”
On Sunday, family members of Washington players dotted the sections behind the east end zone, the ones usually reserved for Browns die-hards and called “the Dawg Pound.” Left guard Wes Martin’s father-in-law, defensive end Chase Young’s mother and sister, and others were a few of the 6,000 fans the Browns could host under an exception to Ohio’s coronavirus regulations. Their presence created a significant difference in the game-day atmosphere, said Washington cornerback Kendall Fuller, who added, “It just feels like you are in a stadium.”
Beyond the noise, which ebbed and flowed during Washington’s 34-20 loss, the family section looked like a science-fiction movie. The orange seats in which fans sat were the only ones not zip-tied closed. And while everyone wished the circumstances were different, no one could pass up this opportunity. They understand the fragility of a career in the NFL and the importance of being there, so they made it work. The tickets were hotly contested, and one family member looking at her phone said she was “getting cussed out right now” by a cousin who had just found out tickets were available.
For Kraig Spitler, Martin’s father-in-law, this was a special experience. He grew up a Browns fan, but he traded in his usual gear for a Washington No. 67 jersey, skipped the first day of deer-hunting season and drove up from West Milton, Ohio, a small town north of Dayton. This was important because he could bring his father, Kenny, and “you don’t know how many of these you’re going to have.” Kenny is retired and uses a wheelchair, so Spitler considered the Browns’ exception a blessing.
“Back in the winter, Kenny said he’d like to go see one of [Wes’s] games, and I was like, ‘Well, with this whole covid thing, I don’t think that that’ll ever happen, unfortunately,’ ” Spitler remembered. “And then when [Wes] called, we were both like, ‘Yeah!’ We dropped everything.”
For Young’s family, this was something of a joyous homecoming. Young’s mother, Carla, and his sister, Weslie, flew into Columbus, where Young played at Ohio State, and drove to Cleveland to meet up with extended family. Before the game, Carla waved pompoms, showed off the T-shirt featuring her son’s likeness and reading “Baby Boy!!” blew a kiss to Young, introduced herself to the coach by screaming: “Ron Rivera! Chase’s mom!” and crowed she was going to show the NFL how loud she could cheer. She proved it as Washington jumped out to an early lead.
“Oh, my God,” she yelled. “This is the dream come true right here.”
The mood sobered in the second quarter. After a disastrous sequence for Washington, Young got hurt, and as he walked to the locker room, he passed his family’s section, grimacing to them and pointing at his groin. Carla and Young’s manager, Ian Thomas, went to their phones. For the rest of the game, Carla sat subdued.
Minutes later, a few rows down, Gibson’s mother buried her head in her hands. She was proud of the way her son had started his professional career — saving his first game jersey and touchdown ball for her — but he had just made a mistake. He had stayed inbounds on the last play before halftime, tried to make something happen and fumbled. Williams played softball, volleyball and basketball in high school, and she admitted the competitive nature behind the play might have come from her. But she said she has “always been tough” on her son, telling him nothing was guaranteed and emphasizing he needed to take care of the ball. The message after mistakes hasn’t changed.
“We’ve basically always told him just to suck it up,” she said. “Lot of game left to play.”
In the third quarter, as Washington surged back from a 17-7 halftime deficit, Williams became more animated. She clapped short and hard when her son’s runs went for a few yards, and she leaned forward to watch as Washington kept marching. Williams considers herself a “very excited watcher,” not nervous like other parents, and when Gibson plunged into the end zone to give Washington the lead, she and her daughter screamed and popped out of their seats.
In the fourth quarter, Washington’s turnovers mounted and its chances diminished. The families behind the east end zone looked as glum as every other fan wearing burgundy and gold. While the trip was long and the NFL’s restrictions tough — families and players could only FaceTime — the result did little to dampen the day. The families got what they came for, and though Williams and her son hadn’t made eye contact during the game, that wasn’t the point.
“It was just him knowing that we’re there,” she said.
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