CLEVELAND, Ohio -- The sun rose on the quiet anger of a steelworker, setting fire to a lighter fluid-drenched dummy of Art Modell, stringing it on a sign across a nearby interstate highway.


By mid-afternoon, fans were tearing out the wooden bleachers where they have sat for decades and tossing them onto the field.


But the relationship between the Cleveland Browns and their fans was never about hatred or destruction. And so the worst day in many National Football League seasons Sunday ended with the gentleness of a hug.


The Browns' probable final moments at Cleveland Stadium were spent at the base of the famed Dawg Pound cheering section, their padded arms wrapped in fans, their helmets smothered in gloves and kisses, their ears filled with painful whispers.


"They were telling me, 'Please don't leave, please don't leave,'" tackle Tony Jones said.


But leave they will, for Baltimore next season, unless the NFL or a judge can devise a way to make owner Modell stay.


The Browns' 26-10 victory over the Cincinnati Bengals marked their final home game after 50 years in the aging stadium.


A postgame rush by about two dozen veteran players to the east end zone bleachers, where fans became famous for their dog masks and passion, marked their final home gesture.


Rob Burnett, a defensive end, was one of the first to get there. As Burnett stood against a rickety fence with his arms raised, a mustachioed, red-faced construction worker named Greg Topovski grabbed him around his waist.


Moments later, Topovski was crying into Burnett's brown number 90.


Said Topovski: "It is like losing your best friend."


Said Burnett: "A piece of me is going to be on this field forever."


In 351 games dating back to the Browns' debut in the All-America Football Conference in 1946, about 22.5 million fans have purchased tickets to the 78,512-seat stadium.


That is an average of about 64,000 per game, for half a century.


"These are the best fans, of any sport, anywhere, in the United States," defensive back Eric Turner said. "There is a oneness here between the team and town that you don't find anywhere else.


"When we won, it was like everybody in town had a good week. When we lost, it was like everybody felt terrible."


Turner is suffering from two broken bones in his back, and he watched the game in street clothes. And yet, even he ran to the Dawg Pound afterward. While stadium and game officials worried about postgame violence -- the teams were turned around twice in the fourth quarter so players would not venture into the end zone in front of the Dawg Pound -- nothing more dangerous than a few benches emerged.


When Jones absolutely could not hug one more person without crying himself, he jogged back to midfield, where he knelt, alone.


"I wanted to thank God for giving me an opportunity to play in this place," he said.


"It's so weird, and so sad," said Jim Dombrowski, a schoolteacher and regular fan at a tailgate party before the game. "I've drank with guys here who just got married, smoked their cigars after they had babies, then drank with them after their divorce ... and never once knew their last names."