(As I realized my previous piece largely served as a “state of my fandom address” towards the Bucks, I figured I’d do the same for the other three teams I promised/threatened discussing here at Raytown Raging. Today’s piece focuses on the strangest and most complicated of “my” teams: The Cincinnati Bengals)
“It builds character.” It’s an expression often used when someone has to find a positive in a situation that essentially has none. For example: Winters in Wisconsin, skinned knees and watching “The View” are all examples of these supposed character-building activities. If that tired phrase holds even a nugget of truth, then being a fan of the Cincinnati Bengals has surely made me the Mother Theresa of sports fans. The gratuitous amount of character it has forced me to build is nothing short of remarkable.
As a pre-teen living in Wisconsin, my fandom was unique. What adults call “unique” however, fellow children see as “different”, and at that age, different is a bad thing to be. So I predictably endured taunts directed towards the “Bungles” (original, eh?) throughout much of my grade-school days. I wore them like a badge of honor. I proudly wore my Corey Dillon jersey the Monday after he set what was at the time the single-game NFL record with 228 rushing yards. I would later destroy the jersey after he bad-mouthed his way out of Cincy, but at the time, it was the first thing that ever “vindicated” my fandom. My guy had set a record. The Bengals had done something newsworthy in a positive way! I would wait a very long time to experience this feeling again. Many character-building years ensued.
In 2003 the Bengals drafted Carson Palmer with the #1 pick in the NFL Draft. This was a move that paid dividends quicker than any move a Bengals fan my age had ever seen. In his second season as a starter, Carson led the Bengals to an 11-5 record. They clinched their first playoff berth since 1990, when I was a strapping lad of 6 months old. Finally, my time had come. I rushed home from work so excitedly to see their playoff game. It was the biggest day of my life up to that point. And wouldn’t you know it, the Bengals had just scored a touchdown as I walked in the door. It should have been such a happy moment, such a good day. But it was ultimately just another character building exercise. Carson Palmer had been (late) hit on the play by Kimo von Oelhoffen, and was laying on the field, writhing in pain; his knee shredded. I sobbed. I knew it was over. Jon Kitna would come in and put forth a valiant effort, but to no avail. The Steelers would go onto win the Super Bowl, and the Bengals would miss the playoffs the next three seasons. Things had returned to normal. Character was built.
The 2009 season was the next chance I had to beat my chest. After a stomach-punch week one loss to the Broncos,(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxSMP8yY-Pk) I found myself fortunate enough to go to Lambeau Field to see my boys take on the Pack. And win. This set the tone for the rest of the season, as the Bengals would improbably beat both the rival Steelers and Ravens twice on their way to the teams’ second division title in my lifetime. I was four years older, but no less optimistic this time around. The Bengals were going to win a playoff game. They had to. Karma, The Universe, The Sports gods, they all owed Bengals fans one moment in the sun after decades of pain. How foolishly naive of me. The Bengals would fade down the stretch, and by the time the playoffs started, optimism seemed like a distant memory. The Bengals again went out in the Wild-Card round, and I was left with another heaping helping of character.
So here we are in 2011, and the Bengals are a completely different team than the one I’ve rooted for most of my life. They’re young, hungry, and likeable. It’s a team that displays a lot of…… character. It would appear that after years and years of futility, the Bengals have finally put together my football avatar: A team that plays, looks, and feels exactly like the team I’ve been waiting for my whole life. I understand nothing is guaranteed; oh, trust that I understand that. But also trust that I know one other thing: All the pain that the Bengals have made me endure, all the near-misses and “if-only’s”; they hurt. They genuinely hurt. Character may not be quantifiable, but I know that when the Bengals finally break through and hoist the Lombardi Trophy, the amount of joy it will bring me won’t be quantifiable either. “Who Dey.”
raytownraging 