When pigs fly

... or cows fall. Of course, pigs flying would be more appropriate since I am going to quickly mention the 4-1 Cincinnati Bengals.

So, I have been a Bengals fan my entire life. I grew up in Cincinnati, and I was in middle school when Boomer Esiason (I will spill the beans on a VERY awkward meeting I had with him at a later date... let's just say, he might rightly have a restraining order against me, or at least have been extremely creeped out) led them to the Super Bowl. Unfortunately, I had to watch them lose on a (admittedly) spectacular 84 second drive - the length of the field - orchestrated by the great Joe Montana. However, they were, are, and always will be my team.

But, because they were the losingest (not sure that's a word) franchise in the '90s and not much hotter in the early '00s, they have brought a lot of pain in my life. I remember dreading Sundays because I knew I would get my hopes up only to see them dashed upon the rocks... or the shoulder pads of some better managed team.

Hold the phone! Now, I can wear my Palmer jersey proud. I can wear my old Bengal's t-shirt with honor (that way people know that I am not just jumping on the bandwagon, well at this point it is probably more of a bandscooter). My Bengals are 4-1 and in 1st place in the AFC North. I just wish I could actually see them on television.