To be a Bengals fan is to be a character in a Hemingway novel. It is an act of endurance. It is a long, salt-stained row out into unknown waters. While others are seen sailing into historically promising tide pools, we set sail for the unknown. Drifting forever out into the deep, away from the typical fan base.
Santiago (the lead in The Old Man and the Sea) spent 85 days fishing on the water without catching anything. Never changing his method. Never doubting that success would come. Relying on his steadfastness and faith to pull him through. Who-Dey Nation, you… we… are Santiago, but instead of 85 days, we’ve been fishing the deep indigo waters our entire lives.
Most of us have lived through Jeff Blake, Jon Kitna and Akili Smith. Nothing happened and then suddenly we saw our lines tighten. Drafting Carson Palmer, a nibble on the line. Certain of playoff glory until Kimo von Oelhoffen snatches the fish off the hook. We remain determined, now having the taste of hope in our brine-covered mouths. Another day. Another tug. The Red Rifle and AJ Green, the proper line and reel to hook the big one. Yet it is merely seaweed tangling up our baited lore.
Then we see it, the big one. We’ve weathered the storm, our faces wrinkled and beaten down by the ever-oppressing sun. We see the Lombardi trophy through our squinted sea-glazed eyes. Joe Burrow is our calloused hands holding the line through gritted teeth. Ja’Marr Chase is our base, with legs steadfast and planted against the hull to keep our prize from getting away.
We hook it on the line and get ready to bring it ashore. To feed the Cincinnati masses for years to come. We are diligent. We sleep when we can, dining on sardines and first downs, slowly making our way to the city lights. Suddenly, a shark appears. We ready our harpoons and take aim. We’ve struck it…but wait, a flag. The yellow harbinger of death we’ve come to know all too well. Pass interference on Logan Wilson. The Rams score, but we are not deterred. We sail on with Joe Cool at the helm, when suddenly we see the shoreline. Chase gets Ramsey to slip — it’s ours for the taking, when out of nowhere…our ship gets capsized by an Orca that goes by the name of Aaron Donald.
Devastated but determined, we are confident we can return. We have the tools. We have the roster. Well, we had the roster. As if circled by hungry porpoises, free agents exit and injuries pile up. Yet, the Bengals stick to their guns. No new plans, no new waters to fish, no fancy new lines or reels. Simply sailing on into the proverbial day 86 with nothing but our hopes and dreams. Like Santiago lashed to his mast, mumbling to himself and the sea that he’ll fish again, we cling to the faint orange glow of Paycor Stadium, convinced that there is still a marlin out there with stripes that match our own.
The NFL, like the sea, is a fickle thing. One moment you’re chasing playoff glory, the next you’re gripping the rail of the ship, reaching for the Dramamine. And yet…and yet, we endure. Despite circling sharks, blown calls, holes in our sails, cunning marlin or national commentators treating Cincinnati as if it is a meaningless town this side of Mayberry, we endure. We patch the sails, throw on the apparel and paddle back out for every game in hopes of dragging that marlin-sized dream all the way home after a lifetime of battling waves, sun, currents, predators and doubt. For what is a fan, if not a fisherman who believes that the next cast may change…everything?
So, fish on Bengals’ fans. It isn’t going to be easy. It isn’t for the faint of heart. Grab the paddles and row back into the deep, because that is what we do.
Joshua Stout is a muralist and illustrator from Cincinnati who is dedicated to bringing the worlds of art and sports together. You can view his work on Instagram.