Brent Wolfingbarger's Blog

January 5, 2014 has joined an illustrious list of dates that may mean nothing to humanity in general, but which nevertheless mark important turning points in my own life.  That's the day I officially ran up the White Flag and tendered my unconditional surrender to the immutable laws of the Universe.

 

Oh, I fought the good fight, all right.  For 23 long years, I gritted my teeth and forged on, believing in the depths of my soul that my fealty and determination would eventually be rewarded.  Alas, on that day, I finally realized that even undaunted faith and truly epic willpower are no match for this Irrefutable Truth of the Universe: 

 

The Cincinnati Bengals are cursed.

There is nothing I can do about it, and there is no end in sight.

For a long time, I blamed my Uncle Darrell for cursing me with the cruel fate of being a Bengals fan.  After all, he was the one who bought me a Bengals pennant when he was working in Cincinnati, and I was an impressionable 3-year-old growing up just outside of Charleston, West Virginia.  My hometown wasn't big enough to support an NFL franchise, and as I was a Cincinnati Reds fan at the time, the logical consistency of supporting the NFL team based in the same city appealed to my simple, childlike mind.

 

 

Uncle Darrell (aka “The Sadist Who Made Me A Bengals Fan”)

I clung to that perceived consistency throughout my childhood, which was no small feat growing up as I did in the 1970s, surrounded by countless traitors who shamelessly cheered on The Hated Steelers TM every fall, only to turn around and root for The Big Red Machine every spring.  Plus I had to listen to my own father repeatedly rub it in my face as those lucky Black and Gold Bastards racked up 4 Super Bowl victories by the time I was 10 years old.  

 

My dad, trying to brainwash my innocent daughter back in 2010.

 

I remain convinced the Steelers accomplished that feat only because the Rooney family was practicing human sacrifice on a scale that would have shocked even the ancient Mayans.

But I digress...

During the late 70s, the Bengals usually managed to remain competitive with the Steelers, Browns and Oilers in the old AFC Central.  Those teams used to beat the hell out of each other year after year, and although the Bengals only occasionally made it to the playoffs, I was rarely embarrassed by the on-field performance of Ken Anderson & company.  Even as the Steelers were racking up their Lombardi Trophies, I could still take pride in the Bengals, viewing them as gutsy underdogs who never gave up even in the face of long odds – the perfect Rebel Alliance foil to the Steel Curtain’s Evil Empire.

The Bengals' all-too-brief Golden Era dawned during the 1981 season, as Ken Anderson led them all the way to Super Bowl XVI where the equally upstart San Francisco 49ers awaited.  I will not recount the horrific officiating that robbed Pete Johnson of a goal line touchdown in Super Bowl XVI, or the maelstrom of bad luck that befell the Bengals in Super Bowl XXIII.   However, notwithstanding those two losses, the Bengals acquitted themselves well in those battles against Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, et al., and I was optimistic as the 1990s dawned that even greater success awaited them in the years to come.  Alas, it was not to be.

Those who know me best know I can be maddeningly stubborn.  Passionate and opinionated, as well.  And I know all too well from which parent my five-year-old son inherited his oppositional and defiant traits (Spoiler: It's not his mother.) These characteristics can come in handy if you're looking for a lawyer to handle a wrongful death case against an army of doctors and their insurance companies, but they are often – how shall we say it? – problematic in many other areas of life.

On January 4, 1991, I had just started my second semester of law school.  The Bengals had just destroyed the Houston Oilers 41-14, advancing to face the Los Angeles Raiders in the Division round of the AFC playoffs.  Note this victory came against a team that no longer exists, and the Raiders were still exiled in L.A. at the time.

On January 11, 1991, the Bengals took the field with current CBS NFL commentator Boomer Esiason, at quarterback.  The Raiders' defense, led by current FOX NFL commentator Howie Long,  kept the Bengals offense in check all day, sending Cincinnati out of the playoffs with a 20-10 loss, but not before legendary running back Bo Jackson was knocked out of the game with a hip injury in the third quarter.  That injury subsequently ended Jackson’s career, giving rise to the Curse of Bo Jackson that afflicts the Bengals to this day. 

Prior to that game, the Bengals' historic playoff record stood at a respectable 5-6, including 2 trips to the Super Bowl in the past 8 seasons.  All in all, I felt reasonably confident they would continue to enjoy a measurable degree of success in the post-season, and it was at this point I made a most unfortunate, spontaneous, and quite foolhardy declaration:

 

"I will not buy another Bengals key chain until they win another playoff game."

 

You see, by this time in my young life, I had acquired a few trinkets that served as testimonials to my love for the Bengals.  A coffee mug, a small metal trash can, and most of all, an orange Bengals key chain that doubled as a bottle opener. 

  

 

The Bengals key chain of ancient lore!

 

By this time, I had owned the key chain for at least 3 or 4 years, and I had used it so frequently that the small metal clasp connecting the bottle opener to my main key ring had broken off earlier that week.  Of course, I spent my undergrad years at West Virginia University, so I imagine the stress to which that bottle opener was subjected during those four years far exceeded what the manufacturer would have deemed "reasonably foreseeable." I probably should have counted myself lucky it managed to last as long as it did.

My declaration to refrain from purchasing another bottle opener was just a throwaway line.  It was undertaken in a spirit of frivolity; just one small way I could demonstrate my faith that the Bengals' loss to the Raiders was but a temporary setback.  Subconsciously, I believed my willingness to make this commitment might somehow, in the Karmic flow of things, help expedite the Bengals' return to their victorious post-season ways.  In my mind, the worst case scenario involved me going two or three years without having a bottle opener in my pocket at all times, which might also serve as a convenient ice-breaker at parties in the meantime:

 

STRANGER: "Hey, man.  Do you have a bottle opener by any chance?"

ME:  "Unfortunately not.  My old one broke, and I've sworn not to buy a new one until the Bengals win another playoff game."

STRANGER:  (All color drains from his face, and he begins slowly walking backward away from me)  "Okay then..."

As the years passed, my frustration with the Bengals’ ineptness gradually reached the boiling point.  I watched helplessly as the likes of David Klingler, Jay Schroeder, Scott Mitchell, Jeff Blake and Akili Smith took over the reins of the Bengals offense with varying degrees of incompetence.  I raged as a series of idiotic and/or ill-fated draft picks (see "Big Daddy" Wilkinson, Akili Smith, et al.) failed to live up to expectations, or suffered horrific injuries that prematurely ended their careers (see Ki-Jana Carter, Charles Fisher).  I mean...Mike Ditka offered to give the Bengals ALL of the Saints' draft picks in 1999, PLUS two 1st round picks in 2000 and 2001, AND a 2nd round pick in 2001, just to move up 11 spots in the draft and select Ricky Williams.  But the Bengals’ owner, Mike Brown, politely declined his offer because, you know, they couldn't pass up the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to BLOW A FIRST ROUND DRAFT PICK ON AKILI FRIGGIN’ SMITH FOR GOD'S SAKE!!!!!!!

Over and over, for 12 long years, I watched the once proud Bengals franchise slowly deteriorate to the point where they became the NFL's official laughingstock, boiled down into one slur which continues to be thrown in the faces of their loyal fans today: 

"The Bungles," they began to call us.  "The most entertaining 15 minutes of the draft," Chris Berman once pointedly observed, referring to the annual debacle when the eyes of the football world gleefully awaited yet another string of head-scratching selections that would fail to bring the team any closer to competitiveness. 

And, of course, a decade of horrible draft decisions was only compounded by an equally long period of moronic free agent signings.  Cincinnati was the last place any self-respecting professional football player wanted to play between 1992 and 2003.  It was the graveyard of the NFL, the place where stars at the end of their career would go to collect one last fat check before they retired.  Hell, I remember when Elvis Grbac learned the Bengals were the only team interested in retaining his services as an NFL quarterback.  He chose to RETIRE rather than play for the Bengals.  Although I was horrified and enraged at the time by what I perceived to be Grbac's arrogance, in retrospect, I have come to begrudgingly respect his decision to head for the golf course rather than squeeze just a little more blood money from the Bengals' long-suffering season ticket holders.

In the spring of 2003, I teetered on the edge of flipping the Bengals the bird and diverting my loyalty to some other franchise that wasn't so maddeningly star-crossed.  Once again, their performance the previous season had been so bad, they were stuck with the #1 pick in the draft – along with the nightmarishly expensive, long-term deal they would have to offer whatever player they selected.  The team had a new coach, Marvin Lewis, who looked at first glance to be a good choice for the position.  But as the draft neared, rumors began to swirl the Bengals were seriously considering wasting the #1 draft pick in a truly epic manner by using it to select former Marshall quarterback, Byron Leftwich. 

That marked my personal Line of Death.   I had watched Leftwich play many times over the years against truly subpar competition in the Mid-American Conference (MAC), and there was no way in hell I was going to continue subjecting myself to the mental abuse inherent in being a Cincinnati Bengals fan if their front office was stupid enough to believe that BYRON FRIGGIN’ LEFTWICH was truly the best player available in the entire NFL draft.  Fully anticipating yet another Draft Day debacle, I carefully assembled all my Bengals memorabilia in preparation for the bonfire that would immediately ensue if Paul Tagliabue walked to the podium and announced, "With the #1 pick in the 2003 NFL draft, the Cincinnati Bengals select...BYRON LEFTWICH!"

Alas, my long-standing misery would not be ended so humanely.  Instead, the Bengals managed to spark optimism in my jaded heart by choosing USC quarterback Carson Palmer in the first round; a shockingly sensible decision that was reinforced by other reasonable selections in subsequent rounds of the draft.  For the first time in my adult life, experts like Len Pasquarelli were giving the Bengals "A" grades for their Draft Day performance, and I started to believe the Bengals were finally on their way to regaining post-season respectability after 12 long years of wandering in the wilderness, and that I would soon enough be the proud owner of a new Bengals bottle opener/key chain.

I started writing this polemic on January 5, 2014, shortly after the last game of Marvin Lewis' 11th season as head coach of the Bengals had ended, fittingly, on the same note as each of the 22 seasons that preceded it:  The Bengals were still winless in playoff games after breaking Bo Jackson's hip, and I still didn't have a friggin' new bottle opener/key chain.

There’s really no point in discussing at length the events that unfolded between 2003 and today.  They can be summarized succinctly:  Carson Palmer appeared to be emerging as the franchise quarterback the Bengals lacked since Boomer Esiason departed to the Jets in 1993, but he was never the same after Kimo Von Oellhoeffen blew out his knee.   Palmer grew as jaded as Elvis Grbac and threatened to retire in 2011 rather than honor the terms of the lucrative extension he signed shortly before his knee injury.  Mike Brown eventually consented to trade Palmer to the Raiders for a 1st round pick in 2012 and a 2nd round pick in 2013, but only after seeing Andy Dalton achieve enough success as a rookie that he felt comfortable turning Palmer loose. (Sidenote:  Al Davis is probably still spinning like a centrifuge in his grave over that lop-sided exchange.) 

During the Lewis Era, the Bengals have consistently drafted better, and they have generally handled free agency more successfully (albeit with some prominent exceptions, notably the signing of Terrell Owens which ended about as well as you'd expect.) But at the end of the day, Marvin Lewis is 0-5 in playoff games, and that's all that really matters anymore.  Especially if you listen to the constant chorus of naysayers and mouthy Steelers fans, for whom the Bengals will always be "The Bungles" regardless of how well they do during the regular season.  Until the Bengals win a playoff game and, dare we dream, a Super Bowl, all their other accomplishments don't add up to a hill of beans.

A whole lot of things have changed during the past 24 years. 

American forces under President George H.W. Bush and General Norman Schwarzkopf invaded Iraq for the first time on January 17, 1991. 

 

The Soviet Union disintegrated.   

An obscure governor from Arkansas  decided to take on Bush in 1992, won back-to-back terms in the White House, but was ultimately impeached by the House of Representatives for lying under oath about extramarital hummers.    

George W. Bush knocked off Al Gore in the closest presidential race in American history to date, and less than a year later, 3000 Americans were brutally murdered by Islamic terrorists on a crisp September morning the world hopefully will never forget.  

America invaded Afghanistan, re-invaded Iraq, and has watched helplessly ever since, as her sons and daughters bleed and die in a conflict that has raged for more than 13 years (and counting).  But the media no longer seems to care  about it much.

We elected --- and re-elected --- our first black President.   And in keeping with a long-standing tradition that has only accelerated and worsened over the past 13 years, we continue to mortgage our children's future because our political leaders lack the ability to treat one another with simple human dignity, let alone the intelligence, integrity and guts necessary to rein in our budgetary deficits. 

Miley Cyrus hadn't even been born the last time the Bengals won a playoff game.  Hell, Billy Ray Cyrus hadn't even released Achy Breaky Heart the last time the Bengals won a playoff game!!!

On January 4, 1991, Beyonce was 9 years old.  Kurt Cobain hadn't killed himself yet.  For that matter, no one had even heard of Nirvana.  It would be another 9 months before Smells Like Teen Spirit hit the charts and drove a spike through the heart of 80's Hair Metal.  But that's a rant best left for another day.

Peyton Manning was in the 9th grade.  Andy Dalton was 3 years old, for crying out loud!

Kobe Bryant was in the 7th grade.  LeBron James was 6 years old.  Michael Jordan still hadn't won his first NBA title, let alone retired, unretired, changed his number to 45, re-retired, or become an NBA franchise owner.  

So after sitting down and reviewing all this history, I decided to add another item to the list of things that have changed since the Bengals last won a playoff game:

 

I'm buying another friggin' Bengals key chain.

 

The “throwaway line” I so casually uttered 24 years ago became an albatross around my neck, and it was long past time I got rid of it.  I idiotically threw down the gauntlet to the Universe 24 years ago, and I'm honest enough to admit the Universe finally pounded me into submission. 

Each of the last five playoff defeats has been harder to swallow than the previous one, and each passing year without a playoff victory has only ratcheted up my blood pressure.  Every September, I mentally crawl back into the ring and start rooting for the Bengals, hoping and praying they will somehow find a way to end this miserable curse.  Every January, I find myself TKO'ed when they choke in some new and previously inconceivable way, with the taunting laughter of sadistic Steelers fans ringing in my ears before I fade out of consciousness.  Taunts like this one, which a friend posted to Facebook this past Sunday night after the Bengals choked yet again on the road:

 

 

 

I'm as willful a man as you will find on this planet.  But even my head isn't thick enough to endure this merciless of a pummelling on a rolling, annual basis.

"No mas," I pleaded, as utterly defeated as was Roberto Duran at the hands of Sugar Ray Leonard.  For younger readers, who don't remember a time when mixed martial arts fights were outlawed almost everywhere in America – the first Ultimate Fighting Championship wasn't held until 1993  – let me put it a different way:  "I tapped out."

Part of me still wanted to hold out, of course.  To refuse to let the Universe get the best of me.  Fortunately, I'm old enough now to recognize that's just my ingrained stubbornness speaking (well, screaming actually), and I've gained enough life experience to recognize when the virtue of persistence has disintegrated into self-defeating, sheer bullheadedness.  Today, it is discretion – not persistence – that's the better part of valor.

Because when it’s all said and done, it’s really not my Uncle Darrell’s fault I’m a Cincinnati Bengals fan.  It’s my own damn fault.  I could choose to abandon them and start rooting for another NFL team at any time.  Day after day, I’ve made the conscious decision to keep allowing my emotional state to be influenced (sometimes positively, but mostly negatively) by the success or failure experienced by 53 extremely athletic and fortunate millionaires who, I am quite certain, collectively do not give a single solitary damn whether I buy a new bottle opener or not.  That stupidity is on me, not Uncle Darrell.

 

                         

10-11-1998.  Stupid guy at Cinergy Field, on right.

                  

  10-22-2006.  Stupid guy in Paul Brown Stadium upper deck.

 

 

                                

10-19-2008.  Stupid guy, right-center.  Stupid guy's hot wife on right.

 

                                                      

1-9-2010.  Stupid guy at home, foolishly optimistic pre-playoff loss to the Jets.

 

 

So as I sat on the couch last January, following the Bengals' self-destruction against the Chargers, my sullenness was pierced by an unexpected epiphany.  From the darkest crevices of my memory, I found a legal loophole that thankfully allowed me to escape my self-imposed ban on the purchase of new Bengals key chains.

I took a Contracts class taught by Professor Sam Calhoun my first semester in law school.  And I can thank him for teaching me that "no contract is enforceable unless it is supported by consideration." 

"Consideration" is a concept that sometimes takes a while for law students to grasp.  Here's an article that explains the gist of it, if you’re feeling particularly curious or masochistic.  In short, because my promise to refrain from buying another Bengals key chain until they won another playoff game was not supported by any reciprocal consideration from that entity known as “the Universe,” I am free to disregard that idiotic position in good conscience.  And with that one, blessed paradigm shift, the throwaway line from 1991 I had slowly transformed into a rigid blood oath miraculously became just a throwaway line once again.

So, thank you, Professor Calhoun, for helping me to achieve this personal breakthrough.  And thank you, God, for granting me the courage to change what I can change, the serenity to accept what I can't change, and the wisdom to recognize the difference.

The Cincinnati Bengals have never cut me a pay check, and it's safe to say that I will never play a single down of football in the NFL, so I have no control on when – or if – the Curse of Bo Jackson will ever end.  But even after taking 23 years of symbolic shots to the head, I thankfully still had the mental capacity last January to go on the Internet and order myself a shiny chrome Bengals bottle opener key chain.

 

And by God, that's exactly what I did:

 

 

Eat it, Universe!  I’m not carrying around that albatross one more day.  8,402 days was long enough!

 

 

I cannot understate how liberated I have felt since purchasing my new keychain.  The prospect of the Bengals losing to the Colts on Sunday doesn’t carry the dread it would have in years past.  If Cincy manages to pull out an upset on the road, I will be thrilled beyond words.  But if they lose, the post-game atmosphere in my house will be described as “disappointed” instead of “funereal” or “soul-crushing.”  In other words, the loss’s effect will be in closer proportion to the importance that a professional football game should have on any sane man in his mid-forties who is not on the team’s coaching staff. 

I earnestly hope that a similar sense of peace comes over Marvin Lewis, Andy Dalton, and the rest of the Bengals shortly before they arrive at Lucas Oil Stadium on Sunday.  Especially Andy Dalton.  If so, I’m confident they will leave the field in victory and drenched in catharsis, which would be particularly satisfying, as Sunday marks the 24th anniversary of the team’s last playoff win.

Against a team that no longer exists, by the way.

I am pleased to announce that I will be appearing as a "featured author" at the Gaithersburg Book Festival this coming Saturday, May 19, 2012.

Beginning at 10:00 a.m., I will deliver a wide-ranging presentation about both the Electoral College and my new novel, The Dirty Secret.  I will discuss the history of the Electoral College, including its origins and some early controversies that led to significant changes in the way it operates.  I will address its modern mechanics, including the Supreme Court's landmark 2000 decision in Bush v. Gore, and some of the nuts-and-bolts details that make it one of the most important, yet least well-understood components of the American constitutional system.

At the conclusion of my presentation, I will have a brief book signing session near the Dashiell Hammett Pavilion stage.  Afterwards, folks will be able to stop by my table to pick up a copy of my book or just shoot the breeze.

For more information about the Gaithersburg Book Festival, please click here to visit their website.  The weather forecast looks absolutely gorgeous, and there will be a slew of things going on at the Festival including presentations by some amazing authors, interactive panel discussions, writing workshops, and even a children's village.  Best of all, admission and parking are FREE!

Some come out to the Gaithersburg City Hall Grounds this Saturday!  The Festival kicks off at 10:00 a.m. and keeps rolling until 6:00 p.m.

Hope to see you there!

Circle April 18, 2012 on your calendars, folks!  Unless something unforeseen arises during the next week, that is the day THE DIRTY SECRET will hit the market.

I'm extremely grateful for the outpouring of support and encouragement I have received from folks back in my home state of West Virginia.  People can order THE DIRTY SECRET right now from my good friends at the West Virginia Book Company, and it will be available for sale at other online retailers on April 18.  If your local bookstore isn't carrying THE DIRTY SECRET, please ask them to do so.

 

Much to my chagrin, it appears my website has been experiencing some technical difficulties as folks who signed up for my mailing list may not have received their free excerpt as promised.  If you fall within this category, I offer my sincerest apologies and I hope that your interest in THE DIRTY SECRET will not be diminished by this setback.

 

To read the first four chapters of THE DIRTY SECRET for free, simply click on the link below.  No need to join my mailing list, even. :-)

FREE EXCERPT!

 

Want to read the first 8 chapters of THE DIRTY SECRET for FREE? 

Use the box on the left sidebar at any of the pages at www.wolfingbarger.com to add your email address to Brent's mailing list, and we will send you the first 8 chapters of THE DIRTY SECRET for FREE!

That's right...for FREE! 

And after you have the chance to read the excerpt, let us know what you think.  We feel confident you will find THE DIRTY SECRET intriguing enough that you will be compelled to find out how the story ends.

The M3 Rock Festival in Columbia, MD is coming up.  On May 11-12, 2012, to be precise.

If you still love 80s metal (like I do), this looks like it's going to be a great event.  A whole slew of megastars from the 80s metal era will be performing at M3 including:

Night Ranger
Kix
Cinderella
Ratt
Queensryche
Warrant
Quiet Riot
Dokken
Stryper
Loudness
Lynch Mob and
XYZ


Start growing your mullets now, folks! :-)

Thanks for visiting www.wolfingbarger.com, my official website!

I'm extremely excited that my new political thriller, THE DIRTY SECRET, is tentatively scheduled to hit the market on March 14, 2012.  Readers will be able to pick it up in either trade paperback format or as an eBook, and we are also exploring the possibility of releasing an audiobook version.

Keep an eye on my Facebook page and this blog for more information.  As soon as I find out when THE DIRTY SECRET will be available for purchase online or in brick-and-mortar stores, I will shout it to the heavens! :-)

Thanks for all your support and take care!

Brent