2011 represents a Red Dawn for the team once dominated by me-me's and I-I's.

Okay, I admit it. No, make that, I proclaim it.

Two or three eye blinks after the Bengals final game of 2010, I was done. DONE. I’d contracted painful and debilitating Mike Brown Disease and it had spread from the pit of my stomach to the outterskirts of my entire being. I had it bad.

I was sick of Brown, and the whole idea of watching, hearing about or god forbid actually writing on his team ever again was nauseating. Any team with Mike Brown or the two cancer-causing WRs was no team of mine.  And the whole Carson Palmer fiasco soon after made matters worse. I was a beaten man. But time heals all wounds – even Mike Brown.

For the record I’m not predicting a successful 2011 season, at least measured by wins, playoff games and Super Bowl trophies (although I’m not ruling out a “decent” season, possibly even nursing a playoff run deep into the season).

While this team will struggle with a rookie QB who’s had the prep time of a sneeze attack, and their best WR has yet to catch his first NFL pass, there are bright spots aplenty. Canceling the terminal TOcho Show and a few other bad seeds from last year’s mess was the requisite blood-letting the team needed, and by all accounts, The New Bengals are a better team. Yes, a better team.

Even with a rookie QB … no, make that BECAUSE of a rookie QB, The New Bengals are born. Is Andy Dalton a better skilled signal-caller than retired Carson Palmer? Probably not. But does Dalton give them a better change to win in ’11? Hmmm. Possibly? Look, by the end of last season Palmer was so TO’d out, Ocho’d out and Mike Brown’d out that he too was done … a beaten man. Like I was.

But over time (lotsa time) I found my way back, because I’d grown up with the Bengals (and Palmer didn’t). But I’m also on the Andy Dalton Bandwagon. The kid is good.

It’s said you can’t cure stupid. Not true. The New Bengals have proved that wrong by shipping out TO and Ocho, making The New Bengals a possibility. I mean, c’mon, don’t you feel better about this team without The Weekly Clown Show? Be honest.

Isn’t the The New Bengals team IQ and likebility factor on the up?

Now all we need are Ws.

It’s good to be back.

"Opinions? Yeah, I got 'em!" said a perpetually agitated Nuff Johnson

I tried conjuring up Geraldo The Oddbounces Jeanie for some low down on the Cincinnati Bengals’ upcoming 2010 season. But apparently our misfit mystic is sleeping off an all-night kegger held at the U.C. HairPie Sorority House. With that being the case, here’s one Johnson’s opinion on what to expect in 2010:

Key Players:  Can O-Line keep Carson clean… can D-Line make opposing QBs dirty…can Marvin & Brat work in harmony to maneuver all their new passing game toys to get more balls in the air?

Best New Contributors: Rookies Jordan Shipley & Jerome Gresham with veteran Terrell Owens should have Carson Palmer on the top of his game – no excuses for #9. 

Biggest Hole on Roster:  We’ll not shed a tear over Shayne Graham’s departure. The most difficult challenge will be for the Bengals Training table staff to find a way to fill the insatiable hole that sits just above Entree Smith’s neck.  Lil’ Palmer at #2 QB illustrates the degree to which they are screwed should Carson crumble.

The ’10 Season Comes Down to:  (Picture me reaching into the Big Bag of Football Cliches). Injuries can destroy a season in one play, while a healthy Bengals team should play well enough to be in every game this year.

But What If…?  If they continue with 10+ penalties per game I see a losing record. I’m also concerened that their very average Special Teams could cost them at leaast one game.

Follow the clues to an elementary conclusion: an 8-8 season

Summary:  When healthy, we should see a dynamic Bengal offense that’ll be hard to stop and a young Defense that could be even better than last season’s breakout year. (However, they play a brutal schedule and could start the season 0-2.)

W/L record:  8 – 8, with a swing of 2 games either way; obviously, those 2 games will make all the difference.

Nuff said.

Does Andre Smith know that it's impossible to genetically determine the sex of a platypus?

Over the weekend, I was conducting field research on my latest preoccupation, the mating habits of hot celebrit…err, monotremes, when I had an epiphany about Andre Smith.

What, you don’t know monotremes? Well, you haven’t been spending enough time at Oddbounces then, have you? Long-time ‘bouncers come here all the time for just these sort of zoological ice breakers at their tailgate parties.

Anyway, I was brushing up on the platypus, one of only two known monotremes (the other the echidna, if you must know). This bizarre creature has baffled naturalists for over 200 years. Why? It’s a venomous, duck-billed, beaver-tailed, otter-footed mammal that lays eggs. It needs to eat 20 percent of its own weight each day…meaning it spends 12 hours a day looking for food. Most scientists of the day thought it to be an absurd, ridiculous fraud.

Two hundred years later…

My epiphany hit me like a ball peen hammer. Before me was the vision of a ravenous Andre “Big Tub of Goo” Smith — with a duck bill, beaver tail, and huge otter feet. Not more than 10 feet in front of me, a hungry, drooling, lactating Smith lay on its back, effortlessly crapping out a pile of big, fat eggs.

The blob-like underbelly of Platypus Man in the wild.

And I do mean crapping them out. Platypi pee, fart, crap and have sex all from the same orifice. Kind of like the players union. Can you picture a 360-pound man-platypus squeezing out fresh eggs with a constipated grin on his face? Well, I couldn’t, until I saw it myself. And if Smith ever gets on the field, you’ll see this rarified oddity too. But you’ll wish you hadn’t.

It now seems clear that Smith, a modern monotreme, is the last survivor of an early branching of the mammal tree. He is, in fact, the missing man-platypus link that exists only to eat, lay eggs, and be ridiculed by the football community as a fraud.

And brilliant thinkers that they are, the Bengals drafted it.

Platypus Man, I Hate You!

Hell is coming to the Bengals in the shape, scowl, and fury of T.O. enforcer Chef Gordon Ramsay.

Look who’s cooking a man-sized bowl of whoop ass a la mode? None other than feared celebrity Chef Gordon Ramsay. News that Ramsay just signed a one year-contract with the Cincinnati Bengals is spreading across the Internet today faster than a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat.

It appears the Bengals are mitigating the risky signing of Terrell Owens by hiring kitchen drill sergeant Chef Ramsay as their locker room counter-weight to the unpredictable receiver.

Here’s what the notoriously straight-forward Ramsay told us via phone in an exclusive interview earlier this morning as he prepared for his flight from London to meet with the team in time for the Hall of Fame game.

“Everyone thinks T.O.’s an arsehole. But I have a very assertive way. It’s shut up, move your arse, or piss off home. I maintain f***ing standards. When I ask T.O. a f***ing question, he better start with, ‘Yes, Chef!’

Asked what he knows about the antics of Chad Stupid Name and T.O., Ramsay replied, “I’ve been reading media reports on the two. I’m absolutely gobsmacked. They’re so carried away with the glamor side of football, and there’s nothing f***ing glamorous when you’re busting your nuts off. Not in my kitchen.”

Ramsay was also asked what he knows about American football. “Who the f*** are you to ask me what I know about it, you french pig! What I know about football is enough to shove up your f***ing arse. Would you like it whole or diced? Now get your breasts off the counter you bloody cow! Donkey!”

The conference call ended there (and yes, my breasts are a bit large for a man, but how the hell did he know that?”).

In a follow-up interview with Bengals equipment intern Benny Feinschwacker, Oddbounces learned that the Bengals have already ordered full-length cooking frocks for the entire coaching staff. All indications are that Lewis’ motivational theme this year – “Now Piss Off!” – was scripted by Ramsay as a not-so-subtle warning to T.O.

Editor’s Note: Throughout our exclusive interview with Ramsay, Oddbounces’ staff came away with some exciting cooking advice from the Michelin-starred chef, such as, “You know, ‘Zilla, if you saute’ scallops in a non-stick pan, they won’t stick. That’s why it’s called f***ing non-stiiiiiick!! I don’t know what they call it in Cincinnati, sweetheart, but f**k me!”

Bengals road-grinder Cedric Benson will not be suspended by NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell for his role in an off-season bar fight.

With a slew of wide receivers armed and ready to fire up the offense, the last thing the Bengals needed was a stalled running game out of the gate, especially due to another suspended cog in the machine. Ced wasn’t guilty, this time. If he were, Goodell would have disposed of him faster than a bag of Cheetos at a Britney Spears dinner party.

But c’mon man! Cogs like Benson, Roethlisberger and Vick – no matter how hard they try – can’t seem to get far or fast enough away from trouble. These guys are guilty of being in the wrong place all the time. They’re attracted to bar fights, shoot-outs, and strippers like flies to a Britney Spears family reunion.

Hell, the houses they buy (yeah, I watch Cribs too) have enough built-in entertainment to make Caligula weep. Feel the need to go to a bar? You already have one on the first floor and one at the pool. Need an erotic dancer to lift your spirits? Ask a few over and let ‘em practice on the stripper’s pole installed your bedroom. And why, for Baby Jesus’ sake, carry a gun outside your home when you’ve got two bodyguards and an Olympic-size shooting range out back?

Never thought these words would come out of my mouth. But I wish Brit Brit was still sweet and innocent. Is that so wrong?

An NFL cog’s life is champagne wishes and caviar dreams. To keep it that way, here’s my tip, free of charge and all meat substitutes. Buy your own private Neverland (where children never grow up) and fill it with all of the bars, strippers, friends, and guns you want. Then, JUST STAY HOME. It’s not like you’re stuck in MY house (now that would be a miserable, lonely existence). Yours is a frakkin’ compound.

C’mon cogs, this is easy stuff. A helluva lot easier that your playbook. Go to practice, work hard, go home, and do it all over again. Like the rest of us. Except for the disappointing fact that our homes are made of canned tuna wishes and cottage cheese dreams.

For a cog to risk blowing his multimillion-dollar privileges – and our chances of winning – so needlessly is about as focused as a Britney Spears haiku.

Plastic Tupperware
Containing bags of Cheetos
Ewwww, pretty flower!

Arriving in '03, Marvin Lewis was all smiles. Where have the smiles gone?

It can be said Marvin Lewis has had a magical, yet maddening, reign as head coach of the Cincinnati Bengals the past seven years.

When he took the job, Lewis did what his predecessors could not – restore hope and re-establish pride to the orange and black faithful. (During his first training camp in 2003, I recall believing with certainty, even when sober, Marvin would bring us a Super Bowl sooner rather than later.)

ROOKIE SENSATION – Marvin’s charisma, leadership and his will to win provided pure pleasure during that rookie year in ’03. Even after his two best players (Cory “shoulder pads in the stands” Dillon and Takeo “I’m not smart enough to recognize what’s good for me” Spikes) chose not to drink the “Marvinade,” Lewis simply shrugged and said “Next….”

And the team got better, quickly.

Lewis’ young Bengals learned how to win while shedding the habit of losing – no easy task. Marvin could do no wrong and the Bengals reached the Mike Brown Promised Land in his first season – a .500 record.

It was a beautiful thing.

And when it came to using the media to proselytize the doubtful, which after the lost ’90s was just about everyone, Marvin was The Maestro. Looking back, I wonder if it was just because the first-time coach was new that he seemed so passionate, so believable and well, so likable. There, I said it. Because Marvin was truly likable when he first came to Cincinnati.

Fast forward to ’10. On the heels of his 2nd AFC North Division crown, Marvin no longer sees the media as a tool to reach his people. You can see it, hear and feel it – the resentment, irritation and contempt when he speaks to the press.

SO, WTF HAPPENED? Why the long face, Marvin?

Can it be he’s been beaten down by the ‘whiffing’ sounds of Bengals ownership? It appears at every turn Marvin has had to beg, fight and justify his desire to zig, while ownership wanted to zag – frequently to save a couple bucks by steering around an approaching toll booth. It’s enough to make a head coach want to bite the hand that feeds him.

I believe the turning point came with the re-signing of Chris Henry. After Henry, with his life in tatters, was divorced from the team in ’07, Marvin went public saying the Bengals were NOT interested in re-signing the trouble WR.

A short time later, guess who the Bengals front office signed off the reclamation heap. It seems that’s the moment Marvin said, “No mas.”

So given his high level of aggravation, Marvin’s complete and total disdain for the media is partially understandable … I mean, who wants to explain everything they do in their job, without being able to spread the blame upward. Unfortunately, Marvin seems to have forgotten that when he speaks to the media, he’s really speaking indirectly to us, the fans – those who can largely influencing how long he’s welcome here.

We loved that Marvin did his phoenix routine upon arrival, restoring the once proud Bengals franchise. But I am not alone saying that when Marvin speaks now, I bristle. Worse yet, I tune it out, because I know it’s nothing but a string of mindless, meaningless clichés.  (OK, I confess I do listen sometimes for comic value, seeing if I can predict which stupid cliché’s coming next.)

For perspective, here’s what sports writer extraordinaire Paul Daugherty wrote in his January 18, 2003 Cincinnati Enquirer column:

He stood at the podium, impressive, a handsome man in a custom suit, careful to flash the Super Bowl ring he won two years ago as defensive coordinator of the Baltimore Ravens. Then he square-shouldered his way through 35 minutes of skeptical questions as though he were swatting bugs from a picnic.

“We’re going to set some things straight right away about how things are going to be,” Mister Lewis said. “We’re going to become better professionals.”

On second thought, maybe Marvin has always been spewing clichés – they just sounded fresher seven years ago. But Marvin’s clichés are aging like fish – they only stay fresh for so long.

Nuff said.

By Nuff Johnson 

In case you missed it, Marvin Lewis held a pre-draft press conference today.  Or as some call it, a de-press-ion conference. Assuming your life contains even a small amount of purpose, I truly hope you missed it. If so, I’ll fill you in on what you missed.     

"That's brilliant, Jerry! An entire show... about nothing!"

Nothing.  Nothing! NOTHING! Not a !&#%$! thing.   

I thought I was experiencing an out of context “Seinfeld” promotion, referencing a show about nothing. In Marvin’s defense, I didn’t expect him to blurt out the entire Bengals draft plan, or what positions the team hopes to secure. Or what a poor use of oxygen it wasted to utter the words, “With the 46th pick in the 2008 NFL Draft, the Cincinnati Bengals draft Jerome Simpson.”   

Regardless, some of my favorite quotes from today’s 13 minutes of sustained nothingness:    

"The very thought of having to answer your question makes me nauseous."

“We’ll come away with players that will have an impact on one side of the ball or the other.”     

“We hope there are some areas we can address early in the draft.”     

“Let’s not overdraft anybody, and let’s not reach for a player based on a particular need.”    

Other than that, it was mostly what you’d expect – a 13-minute demonstration of how disinterested Marvin is in interacting with the Cincinnati media. Not even three months removed from his last loss, Marvin still has the look from behind the microphones that teeters between anger, indifference and indignation.     

Remember back in days of old, when the Bengals front office had more brains than nepotism? Paul Brown was fond of saying the Bengals will draft, “the best player available.”  They cared less about a player’s position, and more about their ability to play football. Maybe that was because PB had a special knack for evaluating a kid’s’ college career, and for recognizing his potential.  (Apparently that apple was caught by a herculean tail wind, ‘cuz it fell far, far from the tree. )    

But I digress. In summary, you didn’t miss a thing in today’s press conference.  And that’s just the way Marvin likes it.     

‘Nuff said.

By Timzilla

Sadly, Dey-Banger graffiti litters I-75 north and south.

It was the 2007 season finale against the Dolphins in Miami and I was entering the stadium concourse where a small child approached wearing an orange bandana.  I first saw his gang sign before hearing the chant … huh-de.

Soon after an 80-year-old man passed saying the same, huh-de.  Then a transgendered, cross-dressing transvestite from South Beach nodded and mumbled, huh-de. In all I heard nearly 500 huh-de chants that day.

While I was unsure of this gang lingo directed at me, I was obviously among friends. And I knew some serious hurt must be inflicted upon the Non-Oranges. Sure, I cut open a lot of Miami fans that day—spilled a lot of Dolphin blood. Any regrets? Hell no, they deserved their fates.

Wild bands of deadly Dey-Bangers shown terrorizing Indian Hill.

But it wasn’t until the drive back to central Florida that I realized  I wasn’t hearing huh-de … they were instead mumbled, garbled  Who Deys from hordes of Bengals fans. Who Deys echoed throughout the stadium of death and carnage that day.

It’s been called the most heated rivalry since democrats first set eyes on Sarah Palin. Two cities. Cincinnati and New Orleans. Two words. Dat and Dey.

For full disclosure, I’ve never been a fan of professional team chants, or pretentious fraternity handshakes. I mean, yeah as a marketer I get the basic idea … branding your favorite team with a single “street jingle” seems cool in theory. But just when I thought we were the only ones, along comes Who Dat.

Who Dat? Huh? Who Dat? What da …. ?

So naturally the war began— what came first, Dat or Dey? Well, there’s been more theories than the Kennedy assassination, with both teams claiming originality. Hell, New Orleanders (or is it New Orleandites?) claim they were saying it before the Pilgrims.

Young Dat-Banger shown laughing after arrest in the French Quarter.

Truth is, I think New Orleans probably said it first, but unassociated with football or the Saints. The Bengals probably used it first in a team vernacular in 1981. I mean, who would seriously say, “Who Dat think gonna beat them Saints” before 2006, back when the team was losing 14 games a year? Be that as it may, the Dat-Dey War raged on. More blood spilled. Families destroyed. So many young male Dat- and Dey-bangers imprisoned.

So Bengals fans, we must be the bigger people and give away the chant to the Saints.

Yeah, I know all the Who Dey’ers will call for my head, and write me nasty emails. But we gotta let go, people. Look, the Saints are the first to win a Super Bowl with the chant, and now we look like Johnny-come-lately ripper off’ers. Right? So let’s allow New Orleans to have it, so they continue to look and sound stupid.

That’s right … I mean, didn’t you see the thousands of live reports from Bourbon Street—real Saints fans brainlessly chanting Who Dat? Did you see and hear how stupid they looked and sounded? Gawd people, if Marvin Lewis hadn’t killed our passing game, that could have been us winning the Super Bowl, and looking stupid nationally chanting Who Dey.

Hollywood to release tell-all expose movie, Dats and Deys, realistically depicting Dat-Dey bloodshed.

C’mon, let’s learn from New Orleans’ mistake.

I’m proposing we officially bequeath the stupid Who Dat-Dey chant to New Orleans. Poof, gone. No more. Over. Outta here. K’putski. Dead. Finally!

Let’s use this off-season to create a new chant (if we must) that doesn’t make us sound as if we’re coughing up hair balls with marbles in our mouths. We can do it. You can do it! Just send us your suggested chant replacements (send it as a comment; just click this post’s Headline, or the Small Numeral in the blog post dateline).

Let’s end Who Dey and the violence. Hasn’t enough blood been shed?

By Nate Smith

Editor’s Note: A colleague and fan of Oddbounces, Nate and his merry band of bloggers at Ohio Press Pass provide daily news and analysis of all major sports across the Buckeye state.

I’m not yet done talking about the Bengals.

Last year at this time, sure, I wanted no part of the Bengals; for that matter, while the mother-truckin’ Pittsburgh Steelers were winning the gosh-darn Super Bowl, I wanted nothing to do with the entire NFL.

This year is different. The Bengals won the division, hosted a playoff game, beat the Ravens and Steelers a combined four times and, more importantly, reignited my previously stale passion for professional football and my favorite NFL franchise.

By the time this season ended, I would’ve happily taken a bullet for Carson Palmer — his shaky playoff game performance notwithstanding.

On the heels of last season’s embarrassing 4-11-1 campaign. neither I nor anyone I know thought the Bengals would win more than, say, six or seven games…if everyone stayed healthy, happy and out of prison.

So, imagine the collective surprise of members of WHODEY! Nation when our courageous ’cats of the Queen City were forced to overcome more obstacles than a minority growing up in a single-parent environment in south-central LA.

Despite the insanity surrounding them, the Bengals shocked the NFL landscape during the first two months of the season, piling up so many dramatic, comeback victories that Gus Johnson (who may be my favorite play-by-play guy and is certainly the most underrated of all) started calling them the “Cardiac ‘Cats”.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GOdVGFsNrw

The week three win at home against Pittsburgh, or as my buddy Zach and I like to call it, the “Leonard In The Flat Game”, was easily one of the top-10 happiest moments I’ve had as a Bengals fan.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-DV5WPYrio

I’m man enough to say it loud, my apartment got very dusty after the week five victory in Baltimore days removed from the sudden death of Viki Zimmer.

A second victory over the Steelers, this time in Pittsburgh on Nov. 15 had Bengals fans thinking Super Bowl. Remember, that game was just six days after Pittsburgh turned in a dominant performance in Denver on MNF against a Broncos team that, at the time, everyone thought was pretty good.

These wins were among the happiest moments I’ve had in my entire life, surpassed only by my college graduation, the day of my engagement to my beautiful, blushing bride-to-be and that evening in early-July 2006 when Adam Dunn hooked a slider off Cleveland Indians closer Bob Wickman into the right field bullpen in the bottom of the ninth inning, completing a mind-numbing eight-run comeback over the Indians at Great American Ballpark.

Obviously, the season ended the exact way Bengals fans feared it would, in embarrassing, heart-breaking fashion.

Devastating losses to San Diego and, of course, the Jets were serious chinks to the armor molded during Cincinnati’s torrid stretch from mid-September through November.

But, the way the season ended in no way poisons the unbridled happiness I felt as the Bengals were systematically dismantling every divisional opponent.

It’s kind of like that one Garth Brooks song called “The Dance.”

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance

C’mon, ya’ll know ya’ll like Garth Brooks.

Look into my eyes...deeply...tell me what you see!

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, yeah, the season ended abruptly and ultimately proved to be pretty anti-climactic. And yes, it’s true that I’m not handling the playoff loss well at all, so much so, in fact, a doctor recently wrote me prescription to offset my PTSD.

But, the joy and pure elation I felt during the season was so great that if I wouldn’t have changed a thing about this season. Except, of course, Cincinnati would have won all its playoff games and basked in Super Bowl glory.

I’ll rephrase: I wouldn’t have changed a thing about this regular season.

By ‘Nuff Johnson

After broadcasting two embarrassing defeats in consecutive weekends nationwide, it appears NBC has seen enough of the Cincinnati Bengals.

Details of the ban indicate the Bengals are unlikely to be televised again until “the gates of hell are cold to the touch,” NBC spokesperson Dean Warner said before sheepishly adding, “… but please don’t tell anyone – wink wink.”

Did you ever notice how the Bengals front office seems to take their fans for granted?

Although first denying the allegations, Warner later acknowledged the Jay Leno Network no longer plans to televise Bengals games outside Greater Cincinnati.

Oddbounces learned the news shortly after Saturday’s playoff game (OK, more likely we overheard a conversation from a PortaPotty stall near the Longworth Hall parking lot, but let’s not split hairs).

“With back-to-back beat downs at the hands of a team led buy a Maybelline-model QB, the Bengals have show their true stripes,” said Warner. “NBC is placing the Bengals on double-secret probation ban until further notice.”

Oddbounces quickly asked what the network planned to run in place of Bengals games. “Heidi and Punky Brusters … or perhaps rebroadcast of C-SPAN debates on health care reform. Ooops, forget the C-SPAN thing.”

Oddbounces asked for a comment from Bengals Director of Business Development Bob Bedinghaus, who was all smiles.

“We are pleased with the 2009 season. We can claim a divisional title, got a playoff game at PBS and our net income exceeded our budget,” said Bedinghaus. When asked about any possible fallout from the team’s weak finish, Bedinghaus would only say, “Excuse me, but we have lots of cash to be counted … stacks and stacks before April’s draft.”

‘Nuff said.