This is a story about being stuck.

Most times, it’s a bad thing.

But there are a few cases when it’s a good thing.

And the latter was the case — at least early on, until it got replaced by the former — almost 32 years ago to the day.

It was Oct. 22, 1990 and the Browns were getting set to meet the Cincinnati Bengals at Cleveland Stadium on Monday Night Football.

The grand old lady was 58 years old at the time. That’s about when, just like people, buildings, such as stadiums, start to break down. In fact, the stadium would begin to be demolished six years later, but that’s another story for another time.

Working then as a reporter covering game for the Medina County Gazette and its sister publication, the Elyria Chronicle-Telegram, I got into the elevator for the ride up to the press box. And just before the door closed, I was joined by now Pro Football Hall of Fame head coach Hank Stram, who had retired and was working as the color analyst on CBS Radio’s broadcast with another hall of famer, play-by-play announcer and Cleveland native Jack Buck. The radio booths were on the roof, so Stram would be getting out at the stop after mine.

I relished what I thought would be a short ride with Stram. No, it was more than that, for I was ecstatic. Stram was so cool, and here I was in pretty close quarters with him. It was one of the five neatest moments of my life. After working up the nerve, I smiled and said hello, and he returned such. It was cooler still.

Everything went great until it didn’t. For some unknown reason, the elevator stopped.

After a few moments of trying to figure out what happened — not why,  but what — I came to the quick realization that the only thing better than being on an elevator with Hank Stram was being stuck on one with him.

Not so, though, for the former Kansas City Chiefs and New Orleans Saints coach. He was not happy, moving nervously back and forth in his always immaculate attire, a three-piece suit underneath his white car coat. He was afraid he would be stuck on the elevator long enough to keep him from making kickoff.

Stram’s favorite word was “matriculated,” which means moving smoothly, as in, “The offense matriculated its way down the field.” He made that a football household word first on that famous NFL Films presentation of Super Bowl IV when he was miked-up on the sidelines during the Chiefs’ stunning upset throttling of the Minnesota Vikings following the 1969 season, and then in his work on the radio.

I wanted — in the worst way — to quip to Stram, “Well, it appears as if we have ceased to matriculate our way up the elevator shaft,” but I thought better of it. A great line, to be sure, but very ill-timed. Stram was ready to hit the roof, even if there was no guarantee that he would get to the roof. There was no need to poke the bear.

But as it turned out, the elevator was soon up and running again, and my orbit’s brief intersection with that of the Father of Matriculated was over.

That short time was the highlight of the evening for both of us — me because I got to experience it (I didn’t care if I ever got to seat No. 57 in the second, and top, row of the press box); and Stram because he wasn’t late. It could have been a lot worse.

The 1990 Browns were really struggling. After having been to the playoffs in each of the previous five seasons, including winning four Central Division titles and making it to the AFC Championship Game three times, including in 1989, they were just 2-4 and in danger of falling out of contention before the halfway point of the season. So, then, they were stuck, too — in a bad way. They desperately needed to win, especially against a division foe, but they ended up getting crushed, 34-13, disappointing the full house — and a season-high crowd — of 78,567, along with embarrassing themselves in front of a national TV audience. I’ll never forget the somber look on the face of Browns Public Relations Director Kevin Byrne afterward as he stood silently in the press box. He fully realized that the Browns’ great run — their great era — was over.

He was dead-on right. The Browns were sinking like the Titanic, and the water poured in ever faster as the season wore on. They didn’t win again until mid-December, and then only barely edging past Deion Sanders and the Atlanta Falcons 13-10 at a frigid-cold Stadium. Weeks before, head coach Bud Carson had been summarily fired. When it was all said and done, the Browns had finished 3-13. They had gone from first to worst in both the division and the conference in one fell swoop.

The 2022 Browns are also hanging by a thread as they head into their Monday Night Football game against the Bengals at FirstEnergy Stadium, which is built on the footprint of old place. They have lost four in a row and already stand 2-5, a game worse than they were heading into that game 32 years ago. They as well must have a win, or else they will be out of the race before the midway point in the season.

Joe Buck, Jack’s son, will have the call on ESPN’s telecast. Neither he nor color analyst Troy Aikman, who was just beginning his HOF career as a quarterback with the Dallas Cowboys in 1990, will ever use the word “matriculated,” even if it would apply. It has disappeared into history, like that old elevator and that old stadium.

To win, the Browns, who can’t finish games to save their souls, must stick with it for 60 minutes. If not, they’ll remain stuck in this downward spiral.

At the very least, let’s hope that the elevators work smoothly throughout, that they matriculate, even if the Browns offense doesn’t.

Steve King