EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the third in a multi-part series of items that did not make it into our Fourth of July series entitled, “250 for 250, Browns Style,” and also some items that did make it in but only partly so and thus deserve further explanation. We’ll call this series, “250 for 250, The Encore.”

By STEVE KING

253) — When I worked for the Browns on their website, Jim Brown was seldom referred to by name inside the building, at least inside the new media room. My boss always laughed and called him, “The Greatest.”

And that he was.

The late, great Pro Football Hall of Famer from the Browns was not just the greatest running back of all-time, but also the best player at any position in the game’s history. He’s the GOAT.

And he was also one of the coolest, and most interesting, people I’ve ever met. Just fascinating. You could ask him how he was doing, and 20 minutes later, he still hadn’t answered the question but you didn’t care because what he was talking about was so intriguing that you were laser-focused on his every word.

Yes, true story. Brown’s image was at one time featured prominently on the lead-in to NFL programming on TV. I asked him what he thought about that, and he never addressed it but instead talked about the importance of education in the country and giving those young people confidence that they could be productive and successful in the mainstream economy. I guess it was a reference to the possibility that his likeness carried a lot of weight only for that reason.

Whatever the case, Brown never was shy about saying what he thought. As my mom would always say about people like that, “They’re never going to have an ulcer.”

One day while working at my desk, i got a phone call from Brown, who was serving as a team advisor.

“Hey, I’m in my office,” he said in reference  to a tiny work space located off the weight room that he worked out of when he visited from his longtime home in Los Angeles.  “Come on down. We need to talk.”

My boss overheard the conversation.

“Well, it’s The Greatest, so you have to go see what he wants,” he said.

“We” weren’t going to talk about anything. We never did. He was upset with something and was going to vent to me about it.  My job, as always, was just to sit there and listen, which I was only too happy to do. The Greatest trusted me, and I appreciated that.

The Greatest didn’t like that head coach Romeo Crennel was playing veteran Trent Dilfer at quarterback over rookie Charlie Frye from Willard High School and the University of Akron. He was taken in the third round of the 2005 NFL Draft.

The Browns were struggling offensively with Dilfer, who, Brown accurately pointed out, was a journeyman with a low ceiling that had long ago been reached. Brown liked Frye and what he might be able to bring if developed properly. But he couldn’t bring it from the sideline. The longer the situation went on, the more disenchanted The Greatest became, along with his inner circle of two close friends — and prominent teammates from the 1964 NFL champions — in guard John Wooten and wide receiver Paul Warfield.

“We all sit there and say the same thing, me and Wooten and Warfield,” Brown said. “We finish each other’s sentences. We’re all in concert with one another. We’re on the same rhythm.”

Then he stopped for a moment, rubbed the top of his head as he often did and added, with a bit of inflection, as if this were a court case and he was the prosecuting attorney delivering the final statement to his closing remarks to the jury, “We sound just like the Supremes!”

Huh? What?

Oh, my goodness!

That was one of the best lines I’ve ever heard.

I wanted to burst out in laughter, but I wasn’t sure if The Greatest meant for it to be funny. If I guessed wrong, and he was dead-serious, then even a chuckle might cause me to get a verbal stiff arm. I saw an up-close photo of Brown delivering a real stiff arm to a would-be tackler. It looked incredibly painful.

It seemed like the period of time was a half-minute, but it was really only a few seconds that we sat there, only a foot apart from one another in that broom closet-sized space.

Brown finally chuckled heartily, giving me the opening to blurt out in laughter to my heart’s content.

Whew!

When I told that story in the media room a little later that day, a female reporter screamed out in laughter immediately, if there is such a thing.

Yes, I was right. It was really funny.

Steve King