This morning, a portion of an email I sent to Cincinnati Bengals Beat Writer Joe Reedy was published in both the print and online paper. You can find the link here. I am Nick from the 100 level, but you already knew that.
For your viewing pleasure, I have included on this post the entire email I sent. Enjoy.
Hello Joe. Nice job this season in what had to be a tough job. We appreciate it.
Re: your column about renewing, wanted you to know that I will not be renewing my season tickets this year. I try not to make these decisions lightly, or even during the season, because this year was very, very tough. Even in the midst of a good year like last year, it's hard to make decisions that arent moment to moment or play by play.
My decision not to renew has nothing to do with the players or the coaches, whom I love. I love Marvin Lewis and Mike Zimmer. I even love Chad Ochocinco, crazy as he may act sometimes. I love Whit and Bobbie Williams and especially the many solid players on defense over the past couple of years, like Dhani Jones, Peko and Joseph and Hall.
It is obvious that these players played their hearts out this season, and I was especially impressed with their inspired play over the last month when they were clearly out of the running for the playoffs.
With all of that said, though, it is still difficult to invest one's discretionary income into a product that provides very little consistent emotional return. Yes, we may have a good season once in a while, but the fact of the matter is we have had losing seasons 18 out of the past 20 years. This is a fact most difficult to overlook.
Most of the season, I wavered between "most likely" and "definitely" not renewing, but I waited until the events of the week after the season to make my final decision. I wanted to see if the organization would make the changes it so desperately needs to make in order to be a consistent winner. I held out hope that Marvin Lewis would be able to speak candidly to Mike Brown and somehow let him know of the pressing need to upgrade our franchise in the crucial areas of scouting, personnel, and an indoor practice facility.
When it was announced that Coach Lewis will be returning, I was optimistic that his return was an indicator of change. I told myself that afternoon that if I was satisfied with the results of the coach and owner's discussion, I might very well renew.
And then I watched the press conference.
As one who has given this organization thousands of dollars of hard-earned money over the past six years, I was appalled by Mike Brown's lack of humility. He does not seem to understand the basic concept that the press-- difficult as they may be for him to deal with-- are a direct conduit to the fans. To me.
And when he refuses to answer questions, even basic, non-controversial ones like the length of a contract, it communicates the idea that I, as represented by the media, am not worth his time. And that, frankly, makes me regret being a season-ticket holder.
Where I expected to see humility and regret, I saw arrogance and belittling. Where I expected to see change, I saw more of the same. I am so disappointed in our owner, because this city and franchise deserves more.
What Mike Brown does not understand is that no one blames him for being old-fashioned. Loyalty is an exceptional trait. No one hates him for being tight with money; that is usually a good quality no matter one's circumstances, rich or poor. His heart-felt desire to "redeem" players who may have made mistakes off the field is truly a noble thing, and I think it has worked out fine over the past few years. With exception to family, who loved Chris Henry more than Mike Brown?
Again, what Brown doesnt know is that if he would just change, put someone capable and competent in charge of football operations, and bring this franchise into the 21st century (which would result in long-term success), this city would build monuments to him. They would name their children after him. All the hate and vitriol you see today could become love and respect. The amazing thing is, it wouldnt take long.
I have many friends from Pittsburgh, and whenever the name "Rooney" is mentioned, there is a pause, and there is silence and respect.
It could be the same for Mike Brown.
It could, but sadly, it will not. The press conference left little doubt that Mike, unlike the Rooneys-- and unlike his father-- will go the route of the mythological tragic hero on this one. The hero who, when presented with compelling evidence and reason about truth and reality, dismisses it at the height of his hubris. And we know how those stories end.
When I walk downtown, I often see people with signs, begging for money. There have been many times in the past when I have reached into my pocket and given them a dollar or two out of a desire to help. When I started studying the poor and the homeless, though, I realized that giving a person money is not the best way to help them, as the research shows that they often use cash to feed their addictions and not their real needs.
The best way to help is NOT to give them money. The best way to help is to buy them food or get them to a place where someone can come alongside them to meet their needs.
In a very similar sense, I have decided to no longer give my money to Mike Brown. He has squandered it. I am investing in a franchise in the hope that it will use my money to make itself a long-term winner, but instead, Mike has used it to feed his own self-serving interests, and I am tired of it.
I will always love the Bengals. But until the tragic hero meets his unhappy end, he will no longer be getting any cash from me.
Over and out. Thanks for reading.
Nick
Section 152
Sunday, January 23
Thursday, January 6
On Jesus and Bumper Stickers
Driving to work today, and couldnt see anything in front of me except gratuitous bumper stickers. Everywhere. The car on which the stickers resided was barely discernible.
One said: "I Already Have a Savior. Now I Need a President." Another: "Keyes/Palosi 2012." Another said something difficult to read, but two words stuck out because they were large: "COMMUNISM" and "CHAINS."
Not terribly hard to determine this person's political views. Not hard at all.
Which begs the question: have you ever been one to share your views through a bumper sticker? Are you comfortable making your automobile a moving ad for whatever political/controversial issue you believe in?
Tell you one thing: I'm not. Not going there, ever.
Not with the way I drive. God help me.
My very first car was an 86' Chevy Cavalier. Big and Blue. Gas tank never filled up so "Full" was indicated by a half-tank on the dashboard. When I bought the car, I noticed a bumper sticker on the back, just under the windshield:
Jesus Lives!
Partially because I believe it (yes, Jesus does live), but probably more because I am lazy, I never took the darn thing off. Sometimes I would get odd looks from other drivers or the occasional "weirded-out" comment by my high school buddies, but it generally wasnt an issue.
Until someone rode my tail one day and I told them how I felt. With my finger. Through the rear-view mirror.
I remembered the Jesus Lives! sticker afterward, well after Said Guy Who Tailgates drove around me honking his horn. Felt like Peter, later, with the weeping and all.
Tell ya one thing, though: that bumper sticker came off that day. It's not going back again.
Why is it, though, that I took it down after I flipped off Random Man I'll Never See Again? Is it really because I felt remorse? Not entirely. Cant say I've never done it since. Probably have, more than once.
I think it was because I didnt want a target on my back-- or at least a target on the back of my car. I didnt want people judging Christians by how I act when I drive, because I know how I drive.
And it's often not good.
We're a bit tired today from the ceaseless Madden-playing at night. Franchise mode is endless. For some reason, I love having the power of being the de-facto GM of a team. Probably because my GM is a fool and to me, money is no object. I spend millions upon millions and never have to answer tough questions.
It's beautiful.
Heading off to Nashville for a week on a mission project Sunday, so there will be a brief hiatus from writing. Yes, every day means every day, but I will get back to it soon.
Enjoy what you can of 2011. I will talk with you soon.
One said: "I Already Have a Savior. Now I Need a President." Another: "Keyes/Palosi 2012." Another said something difficult to read, but two words stuck out because they were large: "COMMUNISM" and "CHAINS."
Not terribly hard to determine this person's political views. Not hard at all.
Which begs the question: have you ever been one to share your views through a bumper sticker? Are you comfortable making your automobile a moving ad for whatever political/controversial issue you believe in?
Tell you one thing: I'm not. Not going there, ever.
Not with the way I drive. God help me.
My very first car was an 86' Chevy Cavalier. Big and Blue. Gas tank never filled up so "Full" was indicated by a half-tank on the dashboard. When I bought the car, I noticed a bumper sticker on the back, just under the windshield:
Jesus Lives!
Partially because I believe it (yes, Jesus does live), but probably more because I am lazy, I never took the darn thing off. Sometimes I would get odd looks from other drivers or the occasional "weirded-out" comment by my high school buddies, but it generally wasnt an issue.
Until someone rode my tail one day and I told them how I felt. With my finger. Through the rear-view mirror.
I remembered the Jesus Lives! sticker afterward, well after Said Guy Who Tailgates drove around me honking his horn. Felt like Peter, later, with the weeping and all.
Tell ya one thing, though: that bumper sticker came off that day. It's not going back again.
Why is it, though, that I took it down after I flipped off Random Man I'll Never See Again? Is it really because I felt remorse? Not entirely. Cant say I've never done it since. Probably have, more than once.
I think it was because I didnt want a target on my back-- or at least a target on the back of my car. I didnt want people judging Christians by how I act when I drive, because I know how I drive.
And it's often not good.
We're a bit tired today from the ceaseless Madden-playing at night. Franchise mode is endless. For some reason, I love having the power of being the de-facto GM of a team. Probably because my GM is a fool and to me, money is no object. I spend millions upon millions and never have to answer tough questions.
It's beautiful.
Heading off to Nashville for a week on a mission project Sunday, so there will be a brief hiatus from writing. Yes, every day means every day, but I will get back to it soon.
Enjoy what you can of 2011. I will talk with you soon.
Wednesday, January 5
Nine Years Later: Earn This
They say that after a while, you become like the person you married. You take on their mannerisms, begin to see things their way, even repeat the same catchy sentences and phrases.
Sometimes you fail miserably.
In football, a punter's job is not only to try to kick the ball as deep as possible into the opponent's territory, but he also has to account for his coverage team. He has to consider issues like wind, hang-time, height and angles. He has to kick deep, but also needs to make sure his teammates have a chance to bring the ball-carrier to the ground after the punt.
Sometimes, he kicks the ball so far that it takes too long for his team to get to the returner. This is called "out-kicking one's coverage," and will often result in a long punt return for a touchdown. The idea is, the punter gets credit for a great, long punt, but doesn't deserve it.
It also applies to marriage. To "outkick one's coverage" means to marry someone way more attractive than you. It means having to live a life in which you know, completely and without reservation, that you do not deserve the person you're with. You get credit you dont deserve.
I am humbled to admit that I, and I am certain that most will agree, have outkicked my coverage in life. Completely.
Tammy is extremely kind, polite and gentle. Sometimes I get angry because of some perceived injustice against me or the family --something really terrible, like de-friending me on facebook or insulting me on twitter-- but she usually smiles and laughs, because she often knows that, in the midst of anger and sadness, it is really not worth it. I thunder and scream; she smiles and listens.
I always feel the need to be true to myself, and being fake is my greatest fear. Tammy's greatest fear is not being faithful. I am the harsh judge, the angry man in the department store waiting in line, and she is the patient mother gently leading her young.
I am determined to be "real"; she is determined to be "truthful." I talk about loving others but rarely actually do it; she does it everyday, again and again, but rarely talks about it.
And so I, in the midst of this surreal life --one where I love little and get way too much in return-- find myself here, again, nine years since pledging my life to her. Seems like just yesterday.
In Saving Private Ryan, Tom Hanks leans toward Matt Damon in the film's climactic scene, trying to teach Damon all that has been done to save him, all the lives lost and affected forever, and he whispers, ever so softly: "Earn this."
Earn, with your life, the sacrifices that have been made for you. Earn the trust and respect that we will never receive. Earn it, because you dont deserve it. I died for it, says Hanks.
And so it is with me. Far be it from me to compare myself to dying, sacrificing soldiers, but all the same: Tammy, tell me I've been a good man. Tell me I've led a good life.
And I hope that one day, when all this is over and done with, I may look back with fondness, knowing that even though she has surpassed me in grace, I may do my best to earn my place next to her, a place of honor, because it is an honor to stand next to her in this world.
Marrying you has been the honor of my life. Thanks for living it with me, Tammy. Happy 9th.
Sometimes you fail miserably.
In football, a punter's job is not only to try to kick the ball as deep as possible into the opponent's territory, but he also has to account for his coverage team. He has to consider issues like wind, hang-time, height and angles. He has to kick deep, but also needs to make sure his teammates have a chance to bring the ball-carrier to the ground after the punt.
Sometimes, he kicks the ball so far that it takes too long for his team to get to the returner. This is called "out-kicking one's coverage," and will often result in a long punt return for a touchdown. The idea is, the punter gets credit for a great, long punt, but doesn't deserve it.
It also applies to marriage. To "outkick one's coverage" means to marry someone way more attractive than you. It means having to live a life in which you know, completely and without reservation, that you do not deserve the person you're with. You get credit you dont deserve.
I am humbled to admit that I, and I am certain that most will agree, have outkicked my coverage in life. Completely.
Tammy is extremely kind, polite and gentle. Sometimes I get angry because of some perceived injustice against me or the family --something really terrible, like de-friending me on facebook or insulting me on twitter-- but she usually smiles and laughs, because she often knows that, in the midst of anger and sadness, it is really not worth it. I thunder and scream; she smiles and listens.
I always feel the need to be true to myself, and being fake is my greatest fear. Tammy's greatest fear is not being faithful. I am the harsh judge, the angry man in the department store waiting in line, and she is the patient mother gently leading her young.
I am determined to be "real"; she is determined to be "truthful." I talk about loving others but rarely actually do it; she does it everyday, again and again, but rarely talks about it.
And so I, in the midst of this surreal life --one where I love little and get way too much in return-- find myself here, again, nine years since pledging my life to her. Seems like just yesterday.
In Saving Private Ryan, Tom Hanks leans toward Matt Damon in the film's climactic scene, trying to teach Damon all that has been done to save him, all the lives lost and affected forever, and he whispers, ever so softly: "Earn this."
Earn, with your life, the sacrifices that have been made for you. Earn the trust and respect that we will never receive. Earn it, because you dont deserve it. I died for it, says Hanks.
And so it is with me. Far be it from me to compare myself to dying, sacrificing soldiers, but all the same: Tammy, tell me I've been a good man. Tell me I've led a good life.
And I hope that one day, when all this is over and done with, I may look back with fondness, knowing that even though she has surpassed me in grace, I may do my best to earn my place next to her, a place of honor, because it is an honor to stand next to her in this world.
Marrying you has been the honor of my life. Thanks for living it with me, Tammy. Happy 9th.
Tuesday, January 4
After the Debacle 1/4
Well well well... one day later and I have proven myself a prophet. Only not. Not at all. Just for fun-- and since this is my sovereign domain-- let's just see how right or wrong this prophet was.
First, the reality, with yesterday's post in italics. I'll keep a running score, just for fun:
First, the reality, with yesterday's post in italics. I'll keep a running score, just for fun:
Nothing happens today. They will wait until Tuesday at the earliest. Maybe even Wednesday.
Happened Tuesday. Prophet. 1-0 Me Me Me!
When they finally do make an announcement, it will come in the form of a press release from the team. Mike loves being in charge but only addresses the media (i.e. has to answer questions) one time a year, for about ten minutes. That is all he is willing to give.
Dead wrong. They addressed the media together. Mike has proven that there is a spot-on reason why he only addresses the media once a year: he sucks at it. 1-1. Darn.
Marvin will bow out gracefully and actually speak to the press, gushing about good times and "moving forward." He will say "again" many times before he begins a sentence. He will somewhat speak in riddles.
Yes and no. He obviously stayed on as coach. He said "again" many times, though, and he always speaks in riddles. Even. Still 1-1.
He will not address the negotiations he attempted with Mike. He will pretend there are none. He will smile and/or laugh when asked.
Prophet indeed. This is so true it kinda scares me. 2-1 ME!!!
Even though he is 60-69-1 over eight years, many of the fans and perhaps even many in the pressroom (who he routinely chides and ridicules) will be sorry to see him go. They will write stories about his legacy, flawed but heroic, how a man, one man, tried to stand up to the owner and tell him what has to happen for this franchise to win.
Not a prayer. Marvin caved like Fred Flintstone. Not sure if he stood up to Mike at all, and he still took the job like a wounded animal. Ugh. 2-2. Blah.
Because somewhere, in his heart of hearts, Marvin is a tragic hero and he knows it. He knew he would never get what he asked for; he knew there was a greater chance of him becoming a neurologist than MBrown adding scouts or giving him control. Marvin knew that "indoor facility" he wants was an unrealized pipe-dream, which-- if ever even comes to fruition-- is several years down the road.
Right on. But he is no longer tragic, or a hero, because he stayed with a team. Tragic heroes have no choice. Marvin did. Too bad for him. Close, but 2.5-2 ME. I'm taking the pts.
In short, I win, but it is thisclose... Now on to the dream:
Mike and Marvin both address the media together. They do not leakinfo/speak to the media beforehand, so no one, and I mean no one, has a clue what they are about to say.
Right again. 3.5-2
They tell the local radio and television channels of the press conference. It is streaming live on NFL.com, for the world to see.
I am on fire. 4.5-2
Mike begins by announcing that Marvin has just agreed to a new, three-year contract. He says this was the contract he wanted to give Marvin last year, one which Marvin turned down. Mike then makes this statement:
"In light of the contract we have agreed to, we will begin in the next few weeks finding and hiring several new employees to our scouting department, as well as making significant upgrades to our training facilities.
Uh oh. 4.5-3
"Within the next year, we will build a state of the art indoor practice facility to help our program in the winter months.
Crap. 4.5-4
"Finally, Coach Lewis has been given more authority in hiring and firing his own assistants, as well as making the football-related personnel decisions for the team, while I step back and handle the business and executive duties.
Oh man. I suck at this. 5- 4.5 Mike.
"More than anything, we have come to this agreement to put our team and product in a better position to win football games. It is our desire to bring an NFL Championship to Cincinnati within the framework of this contract."
That's it. It's over. I am done. 6-4.5 MB
With that, Mike turns it over to Marvin, with the statement that Marvin will now be the ultimate face of the franchise and make the football decisions.
Mike departs, and Marvin smiles, and takes questions.
At this point, everything I have written is so wrong it makes me wish I was a Steelers fan. I can no longer keep a tally. Mike wins, not me, and it wasnt even close.
Until tomorrow. Let's get back to something more fun, huh? Enjoy your evening, and wherever you are, give thanks to God if you are not a Bengals fan.
Monday, January 3
The Waiting is the Hardest Part
Nostalgic today, and spending way too much time today wondering about the fate of one Marvin Lewis. Does it even really matter who coaches, at this point? The tired "shuffling chairs around on the Titanic" metaphor is lame, but appropriate.
So there's that. Here's one person's prediction of the events of the next few days (and by one person's, I mean mine):
Nothing happens today. They will wait until Tuesday at the earliest. Maybe even Wednesday.
When they finally do make an announcement, it will come in the form of a press release from the team. Mike loves being in charge but only addresses the media (i.e. has to answer questions) one time a year, for about ten minutes. That is all he is willing to give.
Marvin will bow out gracefully and actually speak to the press, gushing about good times and "moving forward." He will say "again" many times before he begins a sentence. He will somewhat speak in riddles.
He will not address the negotiations he attempted with Mike. He will pretend there are none. He will smile and/or laugh when asked.
Even though he is 60-69-1 over eight years, many of the fans and perhaps even many in the pressroom (who he routinely chides and ridicules) will be sorry to see him go. They will write stories about his legacy, flawed but heroic, how a man, one man, tried to stand up to the owner and tell him what has to happen for this franchise to win.
Because somewhere, in his heart of hearts, Marvin is a tragic hero and he knows it. He knew he would never get what he asked for; he knew there was a greater chance of him becoming a neurologist than MBrown adding scouts or giving him control. Marvin knew that "indoor facility" he wants was an unrealized pipe-dream, which-- if ever even comes to fruition-- is several years down the road.
He knew this, all this, but tried anyway. And for that reason, that one, he is, yes, heroic.
That's my best shot.
In a perfect world, though, one in which I am the Master of All That Happens, here is how it would go down:
Mike and Marvin both address the media together. They do not leakinfo/speak to the media beforehand, so no one, and I mean no one, has a clue what they are about to say.
They tell the local radio and television channels of the press conference. It is streaming live on NFL.com, for the world to see.
Mike begins by announcing that Marvin has just agreed to a new, three-year contract. He says this was the contract he wanted to give Marvin last year, one which Marvin turned down. Mike then makes this statement:
"In light of the contract we have agreed to, we will begin in the next few weeks finding and hiring several new employees to our scouting department, as well as making significant upgrades to our training facilities.
"Within the next year, we will build a state of the art indoor practice facility to help our program in the winter months.
"Finally, Coach Lewis has been given more authority in hiring and firing his own assistants, as well as making the football-related personnel decisions for the team, while I step back and handle the business and executive duties.
"More than anything, we have come to this agreement to put our team and product in a better position to win football games. It is our desire to bring an NFL Championship to Cincinnati within the framework of this contract."
With that, Mike turns it over to Marvin, with the statement that Marvin will now be the ultimate face of the franchise and make the football decisions.
Mike departs, and Marvin smiles, and takes questions.
One can still dream, right?
But somewhere, deep in my soul, I still have hope, hope beyond all belief, reason, and logic. Hope for a new day, that out of the bitter sadness of losing a despair, things can one day, again, turn out well.
Here's to a fool's hope. Now, the waiting, and Waiting is, as you know, the hardest part.
So there's that. Here's one person's prediction of the events of the next few days (and by one person's, I mean mine):
Nothing happens today. They will wait until Tuesday at the earliest. Maybe even Wednesday.
When they finally do make an announcement, it will come in the form of a press release from the team. Mike loves being in charge but only addresses the media (i.e. has to answer questions) one time a year, for about ten minutes. That is all he is willing to give.
Marvin will bow out gracefully and actually speak to the press, gushing about good times and "moving forward." He will say "again" many times before he begins a sentence. He will somewhat speak in riddles.
He will not address the negotiations he attempted with Mike. He will pretend there are none. He will smile and/or laugh when asked.
Even though he is 60-69-1 over eight years, many of the fans and perhaps even many in the pressroom (who he routinely chides and ridicules) will be sorry to see him go. They will write stories about his legacy, flawed but heroic, how a man, one man, tried to stand up to the owner and tell him what has to happen for this franchise to win.
Because somewhere, in his heart of hearts, Marvin is a tragic hero and he knows it. He knew he would never get what he asked for; he knew there was a greater chance of him becoming a neurologist than MBrown adding scouts or giving him control. Marvin knew that "indoor facility" he wants was an unrealized pipe-dream, which-- if ever even comes to fruition-- is several years down the road.
He knew this, all this, but tried anyway. And for that reason, that one, he is, yes, heroic.
That's my best shot.
In a perfect world, though, one in which I am the Master of All That Happens, here is how it would go down:
Mike and Marvin both address the media together. They do not leakinfo/speak to the media beforehand, so no one, and I mean no one, has a clue what they are about to say.
They tell the local radio and television channels of the press conference. It is streaming live on NFL.com, for the world to see.
Mike begins by announcing that Marvin has just agreed to a new, three-year contract. He says this was the contract he wanted to give Marvin last year, one which Marvin turned down. Mike then makes this statement:
"In light of the contract we have agreed to, we will begin in the next few weeks finding and hiring several new employees to our scouting department, as well as making significant upgrades to our training facilities.
"Within the next year, we will build a state of the art indoor practice facility to help our program in the winter months.
"Finally, Coach Lewis has been given more authority in hiring and firing his own assistants, as well as making the football-related personnel decisions for the team, while I step back and handle the business and executive duties.
"More than anything, we have come to this agreement to put our team and product in a better position to win football games. It is our desire to bring an NFL Championship to Cincinnati within the framework of this contract."
With that, Mike turns it over to Marvin, with the statement that Marvin will now be the ultimate face of the franchise and make the football decisions.
Mike departs, and Marvin smiles, and takes questions.
One can still dream, right?
But somewhere, deep in my soul, I still have hope, hope beyond all belief, reason, and logic. Hope for a new day, that out of the bitter sadness of losing a despair, things can one day, again, turn out well.
Here's to a fool's hope. Now, the waiting, and Waiting is, as you know, the hardest part.
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