IT HAD BEEN years, and it felt like even longer, since that many people stayed to watch the end of a Cleveland Browns game at First Energy Stadium. Trying to rush to an escalator, or elevator, was pointless. Almost everyone was caught in a slow-moving sea of orange and brown, a wave of thousands of jubilant fans, drunk on cheap beer or hope (or both), standing shoulder to shoulder and gradually inching their way down the labyrinth of ramps that wind their way to the stadium's exit. Leaving a building long dubbed the "Factory of Sadness" had never been so difficult.
Even in dark days, Baker-mania gives Cleveland hope
