Y’all want a crack at a Super Bowl trip, right?

Have I got a deal for you.

If you head over to Draft Day Suit, you’ll find details about a contest, sponsored by Vicks — the Dayquil people, not the dog-abusing, whining quarterback — that gives you a shot at showing your commitment to your chosen NFL team for a shot at a trip to this season’s Super Bowl — which, granted, is in Indianapolis, but still…

Need an idea of what you’re required to do? The Draft Day Suiters — specifically Laurie, Kristabella and yours truly — have helpfully provided a couple of suggestions for the tone that Vicks is looking for. Go take a look.

And once you’ve read, go enter the contest. You’ll have a shot at that magical trip to, ahem, Indianapolis, and you’ll be helping out DDS as well.

1) A coupon from Right by Nature.

2) Address labels from a charity I haven’t given money to for years.

3) This:

No. 3 was something of a surprise, because I didn’t order it and Mrs. Crappy said she didn’t either. It’s a really nice jersey — all the stuff that comes with one of the NFL Authentics — and I have no idea where it came from.

I assume this is someone’s reaction to my questions last week about my NFL fandom; maybe whoever sent this wanted to reinforce my decision to stay with my Browns, no matter how ugly things get.

Those would be decent reasons for the why; I still don’t have any idea about the who. I have some guesses in mind (coughfredahem) but they are just that — guesses — at this point.

To my benefactor: Thank you. It means a lot. And I am totally wearing this on Super Bowl Sunday.

DISCLOSURE: I know I’m supposed to disclose gifts I’ve received because of my blog, so I suppose I need to say that here. This jersey, apparently, was a gift. But I don’t know who I’m thanking, which makes this disclosure a little weird. Sorry about that.

I had a Moment of Weakness on Friday, and it led to ask a question that had never hit me in the 16 years I’ve lived in western Pennsylvania. I also asked you guys for advice about how to handle this question about my pro football identity, and most of you came through with honest, thoughtful responses.

Before I get to those, though, I should tell you about my test on Saturday. After I finished up a work assignment in the morning, Mrs. Crappy and I headed to the Strip, to get some lunch and find some Aloha kitsch for our upcoming Groundhog weekend. To further set the scene:

• My lifelong commitment to Cleveland Browns football is apparently wavering.
• I live in Pittsburgh — not just the area, mind you, but I own a house in the freaking City of Pittsburgh — and it would be awfully easy, convenient and fun to jump on the Stillers’ bandwagon.
• I’m in the Strip on the day before the AFC championship game. There is cheap Stillers gear everywhere — everywhere — and if I were to ever make the leap, I could have outfitted myself right then, head to toe, for less than 40 bucks.

And you know what happened?

Nothing.

I helped Mrs. Crappy look for a black and gold scarf. We stopped at many of the tables set up along Penn to check out the new stuff. Although I had plenty of opportunities, I wasn’t tempted to buy a single fucking thing.

- – - -

The comments I got on Friday’s post — here and on Facebook — were somewhat predictable, but also helpful. Most of the Stiller fans said they were ready to welcome me to the fold. The people who have a more thorough idea of my football past said I should know better than to even consider changing my mind.

But the one comment that resonated the most came from Kim, a lifelong Red Sox fan who A) knows a little bit about suffering for your team and B) knows how good the payoff is when it comes. Her point? Jumping on that black-and-gold bandwagon would be fun; it would also inevitably become hollow, because that’s not where my heart is.

- – - -

I also found this. That’s the front and back of my old Pittsburgh Browns Backers T-shirt. Between regular Sunday shifts for several years and our travel to Columbus for those other football games, I haven’t been able to watch a game with the club for years; the two seasons I was able to hang out with those folks were among the most fun I’ve had as a pro football fan (and yes, those were after the team returned to the league). The team was probably even worse back then, but being with like-minded people helped a bunch; it also made those rare wins even better.

That is who I am. I may still be pissed about the current state of the team, but it is still my team. And it always will be.

On Friday I asked you guys if I was loyal or stupid.

The answer? Yes.

And if you don’t like it, you can kiss my brown-and-orange ass.

Unless, apparently, we’re talking about football.

I was strolling through the Mall at Robinson this afternoon and I was struck with a question:

Why am I making myself miserable every single football season when I could be enjoying myself?

Here’s what prompted the question. Every store in the mall has Steelers stuff up in their windows. Everyone is wearing football gear. Everyone is talking about Sunday’s game. I have a well-worn Newsbreak shtick where I gripe about the endless Steeler stuff, but if I were a fan, I would have jumped in with both feet a long time ago.

I was a huge NFL football fan until 1995. I went with some great seasons — albeit some with hugely frustrating endings — with my Cleveland Browns until that point.

And then my team was stolen, with the blessings of the league. And even since the team came back, I’ve been largely absent from NFL fandom. In the four years I went without the Browns, I learned to live without Sunday football; since the team rejoined the league, I’ve had precious few reasons to get excited about anything they’ve done. And in a league that is built to make sure all its teams have a shot at being competitive, the only reason I can find for a decade of embarrassing, barely professional football in Cleveland is complete and total incompetence, from the owner on down.

And I’m tired of it.

Still, as I’ve lived in Pittsburgh area for that entire decade, that question has never popped into my head. I’ve had people ask me why I’m not a fan of  the local team; I have plenty of friends here who aren’t natives but have had no trouble assimilating.

So what’s my deal? Am I admirably loyal? Or am I just an idiot?

For the past two years, a native friend of mine who is as frustrated by the Pirates as I am by the Browns has offered me a trade: He’ll dump the Pirates in favor of the Cleveland Indians fan if I make the reverse switch in the fall. I’ve never taken him up on his offer, but on the ride back home from Robinson this afternoon, I started thinking about the possibility.

In theory, it would be easy. I already know more about the Steelers day-to-day than I do about the Browns and I don’t think I would have too much trouble finding gear I would like — I look good in black and I already own two terrible towels.

Having said that, I’m not even sure it would be possible. I’m talking about a team that I’ve hated for years; along with my feelings for pro football in general, that’s kind of faded towards indifference recently, but it still could be tough to try to flip a switch and change my allegiance. It might even be impossible.

But you guys know me — I’m all for fun, and if I had already found a different approach to Sunday football, I’d be having a lot more fun than I am now.

So, I’m curious to hear what y’all think about this one. Am I a horrible person for even letting this cross my mind? Or am I moron for trying to hang on to something well past the point that any sane person could be expected to do so?

“Jeez, Bill — that was a beating, huh? Hey, have a nice trip back to Boston.”

This departure, however, is a pretty big deal. And a much more important reason to be upset.

Thanks, Harvey, for sharing your life with us and reminding us of the depth, humor and joy we can all find in our common, everyday lives.

This doesn’t solve all the problems.

It doesn’t answer all the questions.

We have the same owner, the same coach and the same players who have led us to a 2-11 season to this point, and a string of unbearable seasons before that. And that’s not going away anytime soon.

But for tonight, for the next 10 days, I’m not going to worry about it. I’m not going to feel like cursing when I see a picture of Mangini. And I’m not going to politely smile and shrug when my Pittsburgh friends want to talk about pro football.

I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this for a while. Because I deserve it.

Because it’s happened before.

I just finished watching the Niners beat the Bears; even though it was an ugly game — one of the ugliest I’ve seen this season that didn’t involved the Browns — it brought back some interesting memories.

Upon the close of the 1995 NFL season, I was kind of stuck. Midway through the fall, the Owner Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken announced he was stealing my football team and moving it to Baltimore. My first impulse was to take every single bit of my Browns gear — shirts, hats, books, everything — wrap it all up in my Cleveland Browns flag and go find someplace to burn the whole bundle.

Thankfully, Mrs. Crappy talked me out of that, but I was still left with a problem — I was a huge NFL fan, and I was without a team. I was still feeling a bitter about what happened, and I came up with a mildly sarcastic solution — I declared myself a free agent, and sent letters stating so to each team in the league.

The letter said the team that made the best offer would earn my undying loyalty, at least until football returned to Cleveland in one form or another. It said I would buy merchandise, and make every attempt to see my new team play in person when it appeared nearby. And I asked one question — why should it be you?

Each team got the same letter and the same opportunity to respond. About a half-dozen teams sent me something small, like, say, a magnet schedule for the season that had just ended. I was not impressed. The Bills, in an apparent reaction to the fact that I made it clear I had been a Browns fan, sent me a letter saying they would not comment on the Browns’ move, kind of an odd thing, because that’s not what I was asking them to do.

And every other team in the league failed to respond.

(Yes, that includes the Stillers. Think about that, boys and girls — if the team in the market where I was living had bothered to respond to my letter, I might be wearing black and gold today.)

I was kind of disappointed in the responses, until one Monday when I came home from work to find a box — a large one — that had been shipped to my apartment, from San Francisco.

I opened it up and found a letter, from a woman in the Niners’ marketing office who clearly understood the deadpan tone of my letter, and responded in kind. She outlined the Niners’ recent accomplishments, emphasized the team’s connection to Ohio (via the DeBartolo family) and said the Niners would be proud to have me as a fan.

It didn’t stop there. I pulled aside a sheet of brown shipping paper and saw I had hit the mother lode: three T-shirts, three hats, a program from the most recent Super Bowl, a media guide, a team yearbook, and all manner of pins, buttons, magnets and other Niners trinkets.

I was sold.

I did return to Cleveland Browns fanhood in 1999, although I’m not certain the team ever actually joined me. With the current season going as it is, I may be faced with a decision similar to the one I had to make in 1995. No, I won’t consider burning my Browns gear this time around, but packing it all up in a box and putting it up in a dark corner of the attic would be an option.

And if I’m not going with the Browns, what’ll I do? I’ll tell you right now — free agency could be an option.

Starting for the Phillies: Cliff Lee.

Starting for the Yankees: C.C. Sabathia.

I was half-heartedly following the Dodgers at the outset of baseball’s postseason, on account of the fact that their roster is lousy with ex-Indians: Jim Thome, Ronnie Belliard, Casey Blake and Manny Ramirez all helped L.A. make it to the playoffs.

I’ve had people suggest to me that I should be bothered about watching guys who played for my team making it to the Series while playing for others. I’ve even had people — Pirates fans, by the way — try to draw parallels between what’s going on with my Indians and what’s happening with Cleveland’s “professional” football team.

Sorry, but there’s no comparison. The folks who own and run the football team have yet to demonstrate that they have the ability to do so, but the Indians’ front office staff has shown just the opposite. Yes, it’s a small-market team, and they’re not only aware of those limitations, but they have done a good job of working the still-flawed baseball financial system to their advantage. Following the Indians means you’re following a cycle. Every five or six years, the team will contend. When that two-season stretch is over, the superstars will be moved in exchange for younger players that the Indians have demonstrated over and over and over can be developed into solid big-leaguers.

That’s how it works in Cleveland. And while this season was frustrating, I’m OK with the big picture.

And I thank God every day that I’m not a Pirates fan.

So. Back to the Series. We’re down to the Phillies and the Yankees,  and I can’t really base any kind of rooting decision on players who used to play in Cleveland, because outside of Cliff and C.C., there aren’t any others still playing.

Other possible variables:

Phillies manager Charlie Manuel. He is an ex-Indian, and I still love the idea of hard-bitten East Coast baseball writers trying to decipher his West Virginiaisms.

Yankees outfielder Nick Swisher. He’s from Columbus. He’s a Buckeye. And he did this during a visit to Progressive Jacobs Field earlier this year:

Nick’s presence in the Series makes it tough, but I’m still going to fall back on one of Uncle Crappy’s Basics of Baseball: ABY.

That stands for Anybody But the Yankees. Go Philly.