Buffalo, the Republic of Cincinnati Feels Your Pain
Cincy, Buffalo are twin sons of different football mothers
Welcome to FreeForAll Monday. Today’s lecture sends hugs to Buffalo and shrugs to Kansas City, rips selfish court-stormers who almost did real harm over the weekend and pays tribute to the best band ever to come out of our town. Plus, a thought or two on Reunions. Enjoy and please consider a paid subscription. It costs $8 a month, less than a Big Mac meal and far better for you.
We think we know some about Buffalo, NY. Summer happens there one day a year. The mayor and council determine the day and if you miss it, well, tough luck.
They invented the chicken wing. Niagara Falls is near. The ghosts of steel mills drape Lake Erie in a shroud of better days that aren’t coming back.
And the Bills. We know about them.
We knew Tyler Bass would miss that 44-yard field goal late in the 4th quarter Sunday. Further, we were fairly certain he’d miss it wide right. This was Buffalo and these were the Bills. Life might be wonderful, but it is never fair. And there it went.
High, majestic, inevitably cursed. Wider right than Ron DeSantis.
The kick would not have won the game. It wouldn’t have sent the Bills to the AFC title scrum next Sunday in Baltimore, where they might lose to the Ravens in excruciating fashion. Or worse, delivered them to the Super Bowl, where the L would be more excruciating and definite.
Wide right again
*
No. It would have just tied the Kansas City Chiefs, with overtime a likely scenario. Seen in that context, Tyler Bass did Buffalo a favor. He hastened the misery that was going to occur anyway, sooner or later.
You can wait to get that tooth pulled, but it’s still gonna throb.
The kick missed. But of course. The accuracy and strength of a man’s leg are no match for the forces of fate. KC 27, Bills 24. Scott Norwood, move over a chair.
The Bills prompt the existential key-of-life question: Is it really better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?
We in the Republic of Cincinnati are as qualified as anyone, anywhere to answer that question. Charlie Brown’s football is buried along the banks of the Ohio. The only difference between their Bills and our Bengals is, the Bills are 0-for-4 in Bowls; the Men are 0-3.
"I've got to do a better job of playing it a little bit more left when you have a left to right [wind],’’ said Bass. “I've been here long enough to know that you have to do that. You know, I was trusting my line that I had in warmups.’’
Honorary Bills fan snatches defeat from jaws of victory
Bless the boy for all he does not know. In Buffalo, it’s not about adjusting to the wind or follow-through with the leg. It’s about everything but that. The fates, the gods, the karma, the Cubs and the Red Sox. Buckner and Bartman. (And Burfict, if we’re being truthful here.)
Curses are real and they are a bitch.
In the post-game post-mortem, Bass’ teammates said all the proper stuff. Don’t blame him, it shouldn’t have come down to that kick. We win and lose as a team. All true.
QB Josh Allen, whose very good career might indeed be defined by what happened Sunday, did almost everything he could. He threw for a TD and ran for two more. He also threw deep and incomplete on the determining drive, when he had Stefon Diggs open by three counties across the middle. The same Diggs, it should be noted, who dropped a perfectly thrown deep ball on the drive’s first play.
The Bills defense did not rise up. Allen averaged less than 5 yards per pass attempt. And so on.
I don’t know much about Buffalo. I’ve been there 10 times or so, for work. None of those trips involved a lot of winter, thankfully. I stayed in a couple airbnbs in a delightful neighborhood, Elmwood Village, near downtown. My uneducated guess is that the Bills are inordinately important to their city, maybe more than any other team and town in the country.
How can you not root for a town whose fans shovel out their stadium seats? Twice in two weeks. It’s easy to be a fan in LA or the Bronx. Anyone can root for the 49ers. Try being a fan in Buffalo. You gotta have some fiber to you, brother.
We live in a more pleasant place here, but our fanly grit has been equally tested. We can relate. When Buffalo’s hearts break, ours chip.
To answer the essential question about Buffalo, the Bills and unrequited love:
Yes. It is better to have loved and lost. We can’t know pleasure until we’ve experienced pain. Buffalo’s football pain is impressive.
Same as ours, pretty much.
Tyler Bass didn’t miss a kick. He contributed to a legacy and not all legacies are sunshine. They’re just inevitable.
Hang in there, Buffalo. There’s a lot of you in us.
Now, then. . .
PLEASE, RAVENS, SAVE US FROM TRAVIS SWIFT. Or is Taylor Kelce?
The Chiefs have gone from a shining example of the NFL’s Marxist domination to a team we simply wish would find their coats and the front door. Feel me?
The first four times Travis Kelce caught a football Sunday, CBS showed us Taylor Swift, celebrating like she’d just banked another billion bucks. Mr. Swift caught a TD pass and — yes, yes, YES! — crooked the fingers of one of his hands into the shape of a heart and thrust it in Swift’s direction.
I think I’m gonna hurl.
Kelce Time, not-so-excellent
The Chiefs excellence has become tiresome, their omnipresence dull. Travis Kelce is not the guy living in your basement and renting week to week. You don’t really see him more than your pet beagle. He’s a tight end with a crush, who hawks insurance and lives in your TV.
It’s time for Kelce and Mahomes and Andy Reid to run along to their next TV ad. I speak for the nation in saying we’re all on pins and needles for that.
Moving right along. . .
HATE SAYING I TOLD YOU SO. . . Court-storming stupidity and selfishness strikes again. Caitlin Clark, the best women’s college b-ball player on the planet, got KO’d by a court-stormer Sunday at Ohio State. AP:
The (Iowa) Hawkeyes star was running off the court with her head down when a female fan, trying to film the on-court celebration, banged into Clark. She fell to the floor under one the baskets as personnel and teammates rushed to her aid.
“I was just trying to exit the court as quickly as possible, so I started running and I was absolutely just hammered by somebody trying to run onto the court,” Clark said after the 100-92 overtime loss. “Basically blindsided and, you know, kind of scary, could have caused a pretty serious injury to me and knocked the wind out of me. But luckily my teammates kind of picked me up and got me off the court. Their AD already came and apologized to me, so I really appreciate that.”
Clark was most gracious afterward — “great environment, good for the students,’’ she said, without a trace of sarcasm — but we won’t be equally forgiving.
The young woman who plowed into Clark should be punished in some fashion. A ban from attending all future OSU women’s games, and a written apology that details how stupid and selfish she was.
Again: You’re not supposed to be there if you are a fan.
REUNIONS. . .
What do you make of them?
I’ve never attended any of mine and never will. They just make me. . . uncomfortable, yeah?
Reunion: A gathering of people you rarely saw or especially liked while you were in high school, college et cetera. The only commonality after a few decades is that you shared some hallways and had experiences you might not have liked then and couldn’t care less about now.
It’s odd, because I’m a professional melancholist and actually liked high school and loved college. But the (few) people I’ve wanted to keep in touch with, I have. No need to revisit anyone else.
Who’s with me?
Remember that time. . .?
No.
You and I were in Algebra II. . .
So?
We should get to—. . .
Not a chance.
A couple lifetimes ago, I attended my then-girlfriend’s 10th high school reunion with her. She became my wife. I had to stand around and talk to people I didn’t know and act interested in their current lives. It was just so sad.
I met her ex-boyfriend, a steel-plated loser named David or Bill or Alphonse. He asked me where I was from. I was tempted to say Oshkosh or Vladivostok or the Planet Claire.
“The DC suburbs,’’ I said.
“Ah,’’ he said, rubbing his chin. “You’re a Beltway Bandit.’’
I beg your pardon?
He explained he was referring to the roadway that circles the nation’s capital. “From now on, I’m calling you The Beltway Bandit.’’
From now on? From now on????!!!
“If I ever see you again, I’m going to run screaming to the nearest police station and beg them to incarcerate me.’’
I didn’t say that. I said, “Oh. That’s really funny, Alphonse. Have you thought about doing stand-up?’’ Then I ran away.
Does the story have a point, Doc?
We went to a reunion of sorts Friday night. Jack Brennan and his wife Val celebrated their 50th anniversary with a party at the Redmoor in Mt. Lookout. Jack’s a friend and former colleague. I was honored to be included. And, you know, it was really good.
I saw lots of folks from my working past, people whose company I enjoyed. (I didn’t dare ask them if they enjoyed mine.) The conversation was easy, not at all awkward. In short, very un-reunion-like. When I said to old friends and colleagues, “It was great seeing you,’’ I actually meant it.
Reunions. Thumbs up or down?
TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . On occasion, I’ve noted how much I like these hometown guys. They could rock — Fight the Power is my favorite tune of theirs. They could croon — a lovely rendition of Summer Breeze, an equally smooth effort on Harvest For the World. They could Motown — that’d be this tune.
I finally saw Bearcats because they were on a cable channel. I was really pleasantly surprised at how they had improved and kept in dance step with KC players and energy. We need to plug in 2 dependable three point shooters and a run and dunk guy, like the Helicopter. No one player stood out for me. We need heroes in basketball we can count on to be consistently good.
Reunions. I had never gone to a high school reunion until a few years back. My dad had taught at my high school. Besides playing football & baseball, I did not spend much time around the school. Decided to give it a try w my wife, who also went there a year behind me. It was awesome. People I thought of as stuck up a holes had lost their self importance. People just hung out. We now keep in touch via Facebook. Headed your way 50th next September.
College is very different. Have been to most reunions. Just had 45th in Annapolis in October. The Academies are different. You spend 4 challenging years within a company of ~25 guys, all of whom go off to serve from 5 to 30 years in the Navy. An amazing bond between the guys and our spouses. We Zoom twice a month just to chat.
If you’ve never gone. Give it a shot. You might be pleasantly surprised.
For high school I really was.