Sending prayers to my friend, Bernie Kosar

Bernie Kosar is not doing well. Liver failure wears on him like nothing ever in his life and Bernie's had a life of wear. Right now, he competes against cirrhosis of the liver and Parkinson's disease. "It's been a punishing battle to stay alive," he texted me in late October. I consider him a friend. He needs our prayers. He's asking for them. The Bernie I know has never been one to ask for anything. He's always been a giver. And, maybe more importantly, he's never run from a challenge. Kosar was the King of Cleveland in the late 1980s and early '90s. He was the Browns quarterback when the team was still relevant. I covered the Browns as a television sports reporter in Cleveland in the late 80s and all through the 90s. Bernie will be 62 on Nov. 25. I'll be 61 in March. I like to think we grew up together, as reporter and quarterback, nearly 40 years ago, in the close-knit locker room next to Finnie Stadium at Baldwin Wallace College in Berea and on frozen field Sundays inside Cleveland's Municipal Stadium. This past Thursday night, Bernie texted me a video that he had shared publicly. Maybe some of you have seen it. He's in a hospital bed, 20 minutes before one of several surgeries this week, talking about how "it used to be, kill or be killed back in the day" and you never, ever "fraternized" with your opponent but yet, here he lay in his hospital bed wearing his Browns, gray sweat pants and, gulp, black socks with yellow footies. "You never saw me in black and gold, BUT in the spirit of the hospital and maturity, I'm wearing the hospital regulation socks and footies." He never lets you see him unnerved. In late June, he sent me a text with a picture. In it, Bernie is smiling from his hospital bed, with his surgeon giving a thumbs-up and the message, "Hey, been a ruff (sic) few weeks — got discharged the other day following this surgery cycle." Let's go back A single anecdote in time. It's the summer, 20 years ago or so. Bernie folds himself into the passenger seat of my Honda Civic. He's 6 feet, 5 inches tall and my Civic is not built for a tall man. His knees are an inch or two below his chin as he sits and he turns to me and says, "Sorry, bro, my joints aren't what they used to be." We both laugh. Bernie spent the day with me in Elyria and Lorain, getting in and out of that Civic, smiling and laughing, telling stories, throwing footballs and raising money for the Boys and Girls Clubs of Lorain County. He spent the whole day. My good friend, Mike Conibear was the executive director of the BGC at the time, and he had asked if I'd ask Bernie to help us help kids. I did. Bernie said yes and he didn't charge the club a dime. Bernie was less than a decade removed from his days as the Browns' boy wonder. He was still in high demand for public appearances. He could've charged whatever he wanted. He asked for nothing, and he gave everything. The day was built on stopping at as many clubs in the county as we could and in between, there were two scheduled appearances. The first was in Lorain County Community College's College Center and the second was at Spring Valley Country Club in Elyria. That's where the money was made, but the moments were at the clubs with the kids. I pulled down a dusty road on the northern end of Lorain and tucked in the middle of a depressed neighborhood was a small building. In and around it were kids — little ones and big ones. Five-year-olds, 18-year-olds, and all the ages in between. Boys and girls. In the back seat of my Civic, I had a football. Bernie and I got out of the car and he approached the kids with the football in his hand. I remember the day being hot and the grass brown. It was dirty and dusty. Bernie threw passes to the kids. He threw deep balls, down and outs, and he handed it off to the shy ones not sure if they wanted to play or not. He was generous in celebrating catches and encouraging, always. I doubt any of the kids knew who he was — they were too young — but all that mattered was there was a fun, really tall guy here to play with them and play he did. We went from club to club and the same scene played out. He loved it. I loved watching it. More importantly, a whole bunch of kids, with not much good going on in their lives, got moments of simple joy. Still competing I'm praying he'll beat the odds. He always has. As a senior at Boardman High School outside of Youngstown, not many big schools recruited him. Ohio State never made an offer. The University of Miami did, but he was third string behind Jim Kelly and Vinny Testaverde and ready to quit and come home. He didn't. He quarterbacked his Hurricanes to a national championship. No one wanted to play for the Cleveland Browns in the mid-80s, but Bernie did, and he led them to two AFC Championship games. As I write this, I wonder if he'll make it to his 62nd birthday. I wonder if he thinks about it. He was supposed to receive a liver transplant a week ago, but an infection prohibited it and his insides are starting to fade. He'll tell you, it's hard to stop the bleeding right now. He smiles through it all. Bernie Kosar ends every message with an arrangement of "God Bless! U matter! I love football! Stay strong and never quit!" The game is not over. Contact Ron Jantz at rjantz@chroniclet.com.