Cleveland was remarkably behaved last night. Well, perhaps it's not so remarkable, but we were behaved, comporting ourselves in a dignified but passionate manner. The boos were loud (to start), the chants en-masse (to start), and the energy high, all until the Cavs went down by double digits and their soul-sucking performance sucked the life out of the assembly.
Everyone was worried about the specter of violence, what with the alcohol and emotions flowing so freely, but there was relatively little that actually happened.
One fella near the floor hurled a battery towards the Heat's bench and was briskly cuffed and roughed up by the cops (info at bottom of that link), which wasn't bright, and represented the exact kind of violence of which everyone was concerned about.
And there were also few incidents in the upper reaches of Quicken Loans arena, like the one pictured above which happened directly in front of my seats, Section 200, Row 6.
This Heat fan — or LeBron fan, or whatever he was — was popping his piece-of-shit black Heat jersey after parading up to the front row against the glass, then removing said gear and going all Petey Pablo. It wasn't long before the section righteously showered him in liquid (as you can see in the picture) — beer, pop, water... who knows what it was, but it was righteous — drawing the eagle-eyed but slow-legged security team.
Thankfully, by the time they arrived the real hero — and yes, hero is the right word — had already emerged and gotten in her parting shot. The young lady walked over, dumped a beer on his head, and then slapped him in the face. Fucking hero.
They were each escorted from the section, though I'm not sure whether either ended up being thrown out. (The Cavs final damage report, incidentally: one arrest, four ejections, 12 shirts and 24 signs confiscated.)
The other brouhaha in the rafters happened a few sections over. And while I'm not sure about all the details, it started with a Heat fan (of course, right?) and ended with this set of brothers in handcuffs surrounded by some of Cleveland's finest. (Those finest, by the way, were none too pleased about my picture taking or my intent to chronicle the incident. They not-so-kindly asked that I, "Go away and write about something else," to which I replied, "No, I'm good, thanks.")
Without going into incriminating details, let's just say big brother was a big brother and his parents, while they probably will never admit it out loud, are probably proud of what he did for his little brother.