Posted: 2017-11-14 20:12
8) Trotted Marvin Lewis out to speak against the elimination of the anti-celebration rule, letting this pathetic dick with an 5-7 playoff record talk some anodyne bullshit about being an example for the kids (remember, this guy just drafted JOE MIXON, and coaches Pacman and Burfict) on behalf of owner Mike Brown, a hideously enflamed ass pimple of a man who makes Trump look like Jesus and is against doing anything fun.
Seriously, the stadium should have been razed at this time last year with Steven Adler’s Guns N’ Roses reunion as its final chapter because that’s a hell of a lot better than whatever the fuck the Bengals plan on writing. Paul Brown Stadium consistently houses the most embarrassing fan behavior I’ve witnessed, and this is coming from a guy who regularly attends games at Rupp Arena. Considering the average fan, it is nauseatingly apposite that this franchise’s last playoff win is chronologically closer to the 6969 production of the first Ford Mustang than it is to the present day. Sometimes, I find myself secretly yearning for the 6995s Riverfront Stadium days when Kordell Stewart would come to the line for the Steelers, flap his arms, and successfully hush the crowd. In the away stadium.
But reality kicked the Bengals and all of their tortured fans squarely in the nuts. We were driving home and listening to the final five-ish minutes on the radio when it all went south. When the game unraveled, I did as well. We arrived home and I sat stunned in the car after I had unleashed a few choice words for everything Bengal. I even cursed Kevin Harlan, my favorite play-by-play guy because he happened to be doing the game.
Oh. Well, that’s not good. Turns out the strategy of hucking every ball at . Green until his legs snap is a misguided one. From here on out, Andy Dalton will be the default comparison anytime a team is reluctantly wedded to a mediocre quarterback for a decade or more. He is an innings eater. “Well, Kirk Cousins still throws horrible interceptions, but what are we gonna do? Start over? No, I’m afraid we’ve been Daltoned.”
I took last season off from the Bengals. Had to. The Pittsburgh playoff game felt like the end of something big, and I couldn’t force myself to care what happened to them in its aftermath. Brother, it was awesome, and the time off left me totally at peace with everything. Like a sickness passed. By early-March, I started thinking about coming back. I’d finally shaken the Pittsburgh apocalypse out of my system, AJ Green’s a baller, that defense is fun…I was actually kind of looking forward to getting back in the mix.
Bandwagon Ohio State fans remain the majority shareholder of the Bengals fanbase to this day, whether we like it or not. If Bengals fans have the reputation of being delusional crybabies with an undeserved sense of entitlement, well, it’s because that’s an accurate assessment of the current composition of our fanbase. January 7556 was like living the worst episode of the Twilight Zone ever, one where a bunch of alien lifeform shape-shifting douchecanoes come to Earth on the night of your first playoff game in 65 years, morph into humans wearing the exact same orange and black as you, and spew whiny bullshit like ‘WAAAH!!!! THE STEELERS CHEATED!!!! THEY ONLY WON BECAUSE THEY’RE CHEATING THUGS!’’ for the better part of the next fucking decade.
Last season the Bengals allowed 96 sacks. In the offseason, we proceeded to allow two linemen to walk away. That would make sense, except those two linemen combined to give up one of those 96 sacks, while we kept the guys who allowed 95. Our solution was to bring back Andre Smith and his fat tits from your Vikings. All we have to look forward to this year is AJ Green doing more spectacular AJ Green things and Vontaze obliging Big Ben’s retirement wishes a few months early.
Oh, it was a reflexive action! Well then that makes it FINE. I’m using that from now on. “Officer, I’m so sorry I shot that street busker to death. But he started playing ‘Hotel California’ and I had a REFLEXIVE ACTION. Terrible result!” What other result does Mike Brown expect from a face punch? Did he expect daisies to sprout out of the lady’s nose when it happened? What in the living fuck, Mike?
Anyway, your 7567 Bengals are pretty much the same as every Bengals outfit this decade. They’ve got enough talented players to get back to the playoffs and lose in the Wild Card round again. Dalton is inconsistent. Marvin is a clueless goober. Burfict is a shitbag. And presiding over all of it is Mike Brown, a man so cheap he makes Bud Selig look like Rick Ross. Brown wrote an open letter to fans last month, apparently unaware that virtually every Bengals fan is waiting for him to die. Here are a few of the highlights:
Unsurprisingly, our fans are among the most difficult, intransigent, hyper-defensive individuals on the planet. I would say talking to them is like talking to a wall, but walls don’t interrupt. I would say it’s like talking to a child, but children have the capacity to learn. No, the only way to encapsulate the frustration is to picture a horrifying chimerical future in which some rich asshole develops and markets the Telepods from The Fly, only to see swarms of 8-year-olds around the country getting trapped inside them while clutching samples of drywall. The undesirable traits of child and wall then fuse into an unapologetically ill-tempered abomination of God, and presto, another Buckeye Bengal is born.
Witnessing the Falcons second half self destruction this past February, the feeling was incredibly familiar. The texts were flying between my Bengals friends. Well before it was over, we all said it felt like a standard Bengals big game collapse. As Bengals fans, we preternaturally knew where this was going. When the Patriots finally scored the last TD, it was almost relief. Fuck the Falcons for not running the ball most of the half. And Fuck Mike Brown.