The aftermath of the Haslams' indecent proposal

Dear Dee and Jimmy,

The Mistake on the Lake is over, but I’m not done with this debacle yet. It’s time to, metaphorically speaking, kick off my muddy boots, peel off my rain-soaked scarf and try to shake off the lingering stench of disappointment that clings like the stink of Lake Erie, and he only way I know to do that is through words. So, buckle up.

I just woke up, and I’m still seething after that absolute travesty up north. And let me tell you, the 1-0 loss feels like a paper cut compared to the gaping wound you, our so-called club stewards, just inflicted on the heart of your club’s supporters.

Moving a marquee match — perhaps the marquee match, the one we’ve had circled on the calendar since schedules were released — to that godforsaken place on the lake? Because you saw dollar signs doing the Macarena?

Three times the tickets, your lackeys chirped. “It’ll grow the Crew,” they promised, but after the soulless spectacle (spectaCLE?), it’s clear the only thing that’s gonna grow is the Haslam family swimming pool of gold.

I saw three times the emptiness in the stands where the Nordecke should have been roaring. I saw three times the number of pink jerseys celebrating a glorified exhibition match instead of the Black & Gold faithful chanting our boys to victory in our home.

We braved the elements, we shelled out our hard-earned cash, we made the 2-hour pilgrimage to witness what should have been a statement game in our fortress. And what did we get? A sterile, lifeless atmosphere more akin to a neutral-site friendly than a crucial MLS clash. The air was thick with the buzz of Messi mania, drowning out any semblance of Crew support. It felt like we were playing an away game in our own damn state!

And the result? A predictable, passionless 1-0 loss. Shocker. How could our lads possibly conjure the usual magic when the very soul of our home field had been ripped out and sold to the highest bidder? The energy was gone, the intimidation factor vanished.

It was like watching a shadow of the Crew we know and love. Hell, it was like watching your Browns any given week. Shudder.

"Opportunity," you called it.

I call it a betrayal. A slap in the face to every single one of us who bleeds yellow and black.

And while I’m at it, WE saved the Crew. Not the Haslams, not you. If it wasn’t you ponying up the money, it would’ve been someone else who was put in that position because of our hard work, dedication and refusal to settle.

You should be thanking us.

(And if you’re one of those telling Crew fans we should be thankful and show more gratitude, congrats on bringing some real JD Vance energy to the table. You’ve added a heaping helping of douche to the proceedings.)

Listen, I’m not naive. I understand the allure of a big payday. But this isn’t some faceless corporation we’re talking about. This is our club. This is the team that unites us, that gives us a voice, that represents our city. And to treat a home game — a significant home game — like some traveling circus act is an insult to everything we stand for.

So yeah, I’m tired. I’m sore. And I’m absolutely disgusted.

This isn’t about a single loss; it’s about a fundamental disrespect for the fans who built this club, who pack Lower.com Field week after week, rain or shine. This isn’t about maximizing profits; it’s about preserving the identity and integrity of the Columbus Crew.

The fact that you don’t get that, is what’s so concerning. It’s why so many of us are pummeling your poor social media manager with comments dripping with disdain.

You made your money, but you lost something far more valuable in the process: a piece of our trust. And let me tell you, that’s a price you’ll be paying for a long, long time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a strong drink and maybe a therapy session.

Up the Crew and up yours,

CREWZINE!