A daddy blog.

25 April 2007

I suck at deadlines

Just ask my boss, who just posted examples of the bloggers' favorite live game memories he solicited last week.

It's days late, but the draft this weekend has me thinking Cincinnati. So: 1991.

The Bengals were 0-8 and Sam Wyche was bound for the guillotine. The Browns (at 4-4, an Ohio pro football powerhouse) were in town and I was strangely adamant that Cincy would beat them.

In the 4th we go ahead 21-23, and the rest of the game just churns in my gut. Because Cleveland knows it has Matt Stover, who had hit ten field goals in a row. And we know we are the Cincinnati Bengals.

But then with two minutes, Stover thwacks a 47-yard attempt off the left upright. Tiger-striped fat men are hooting. All we had to do was get a first down, which of course we can't do. We give the ball back, and as the Browns move back into field goal range there's not a person in the stands who can freaking believe they fell for this idiotic crap again.

Down at the other end of the field from our seats, Stover sets up for a last-second 34-yard chip. We can't see what the hell is going on, but we stand up anyway and wait for the gut punch. Instead, there's a ruckus down around the line of scrimmage. We can't see anything except a wave of profane euphoria roll our way through the bleachers. When it gets to us, it sounds like 'Holy effing eff, we blocked the effing thing.'

The next week, the Steelers beat us in overtime and that season was officially dead. If memory serves, that was the last game the Bengals won in the 90s.