THE CLEVELAND BROWNS were in the middle of their best season in decades, and Malcolm Pridgeon was sitting alone in his Dodge Durango outside the Berkshire Nursing & Rehabilitation Center in West Babylon, New York, thinking about better times.

When there was no pandemic, and the doors to the nursing home were open, Pridgeon would visit his mom during his breaks from football. He'd bring plain buttered bagels and chocolate milk for breakfast, and she always knew he was coming before he even walked into the room, possibly because 6-foot-6, 330-pound offensive linemen do not walk softly. Her face would light up when she saw him, and she would almost always say the same thing. "Look, my football player's home!"

Click HERE to read full article.