No respect, I Tell Ya

Rodney would understand

Every athlete who has ever lived has been disrespected, according to every athlete who has ever lived. It’s atop the Motivation List. If you find it juvenile, you miss the point. These are long seasons, boring months spent in meetings watching film or banging pain pills to be able to sleep. Six days a week in the obsession cocoon, for six and a half months. One needs something to bear up.

“No respect’’ has never not worked.

The late, great Rodney Dangerfield understood this. He made a living off it.

I told my psychiatrist that everyone hates me. He said I was being ridiculous - everyone hasn't met me yet.

The Bengals have quietly simmered all season, from the moment the following narrative commenced:

Mahomes is great. Allen is great. The Chiefs and Bills are great. What a great rivalry for the next decade. Great, great, great.

The Bengals were like stunt doubles in a Dwayne Johnson movie. Occasionally, such as yesterday, they were seen as worthy supporting actors. The Bills had to have someone to play on their way to Atlanta.

To their credit, the Bengals didn’t jaw about it much. Here and there, a rogue Joe Mixon would flip a coin in the end zone. A stray Joe Burrow would make a subtle, pointed point in a press conference, but it was lost in the ether, attributed to Burrow being Burrow, quietly the most, um, confident man in the NFL. Certainly the most deserving of the title.

But then the league announced it was selling tickets to the AFC title game. Chiefs-Bills, in ATL. Of course, every team still alive was doing likewise. You put up your cash beforehand, betting on a dream. If the dream crashes, you get your cash back.

That aspect didn’t register with The Men or their fans. Or if it did, they suppressed it. It would have derailed the motivational train.

Dangerfield: When I was born the doctor slapped my mother. . .

After their uncontested 27-10 win in Buffalo, the word o’ the day in the Bengals locker room was “refund.’’ As in, the 50,000 folks who paid for tickets to KC-Bills would be getting theirs, hopefully soon.

I told my wife the truth. I told her I was seeing a psychiatrist. Then she told me the truth: that she was seeing a psychiatrist, two plumbers, and a bartender.

The national media have been willing accomplices. Frequent Perusers of This Space will note my occasional jabs at the boys and girls on the coasts. You know: The folks who as recently as Thanksgiving had Tua Tagovailoa and Justin Jefferson ahead of Burrow in the MVP race.

The learned kids who seemed to have forgotten who was 3-0 in Mahomes-v-Inevitable Joe, and who starred in insurance ads.

Peter King. Very nice guy, worked with him a few years at Newsday, back in the old days. He covered the Giants, specifically the Bill Parcells Giants. Peter would show up very early in the morning, at the Jersey shop where Parcells regularly got doughnuts, and wait for Bill. Parcells nicknamed Peter “Relentless.’’

Peter covered the Bengals in the mid-80s for the Enquirer. When Paul Brown found out that Peter was looking to leave for Newsday, the Great Man wrote him a ringing endorsement.

Was it because PB thought Peter was a prince? Or because Peter was such a good reporter (and wrote great stuff PB didn’t want written) that when Brown saw a chance to get King gone, he took it?

A little of both, probably.

I’ve never suggested Peter didn’t like The Men. I doubt they occupy much of his time. I’ve suggested that he followed the herd when forming his Men-ly opinions. Anyone who has seen Burrow play regularly simply would not have been so dismissive as the experts have been until now.

But we digress.

I met the surgeon general - he offered me a cigarette.

The Chiefs opened as 1.5-point favorites in the AFC title game. Mahomes can barely walk. Even when he walked just fine, he couldn’t beat Burrow or Uncle Lou’s defense. The Bengals are better now than they were at any time last year.

Vegas says KC is the favorite.

I get no respect. The way my luck is running, if I was a politician I would be honest.

Of course, a betting line is not an endorsement of a team. It slides daily, to encourage more gamblers to spend money. By the end of the week, I’m thinking Cincinnati will be favored.

The players hope that’s not the case. Open the cap, fill up the tank with diss-leaded. “We just keep screwing it up for everyone,” Bengals head coach Zac Taylor said after the W Sunday. “I hate that. We just keep screwing it up. So, sorry.”

Sorry, not sorry.

And Burrow would be awesome in an insurance commerical, don’t you think?

Now, then. . .

A HIGH ANKLE SPRAIN IS NO JOKE. Conventional thinking at the moment seems to be Mahomes can play through it. Maybe so. But a big chunk of his game requires using his legs. Not simply on called RPOs, but to evade the rush. Burrow’s biggest improvement this year has been his success at navigating the pocket. That means fewer sacks and big pressure on the opponent’s cover crew.

Mahomes looked bad Sunday, fighting his way through the pain, and that was with a relatively warm ankle and the adrenaline of the moment. You can bet today his ankle feels like somebody took a bite out of it.

He won’t be able to dance, he won’t be able to plant and throw deep or hard. Uncle Lou knows this, of course. So does Mike Hilton.

SO GLAD THE NINERS SHUT UP THE COWBOYS. . . As an erstwhile fan of the Washington Redskins, bad days for Dallas are still good days for me. Dak Prescott came through nicely, tossing two picks and making zero decisive plays. And once again the most hyped team in all of pro sports did nothing to justify the fawning.

Awesome.

If Prescott played for, oh, Cincinnati, he’d be Gary Hogeboom. Lookimup, kids.

TIP O’ THE TML CAP to the road crews. Fantastic job yesterday, making 5 inches of snow disappear.

I NEED SOME HELP, MOBSTERS.

No kidding, Doc.

I’m seeking unique, unusual long weekend roadies. Not standard trips. No Nashville, please. No Asheville, Chicago, Bourbon Trail, Upper/Lower Peninsula, Smokies etc.

I’m thinking West Virginia? New Glarus, WI, home of Spotted Cow Cream Ale, available only at the source?

It’ll be when the weather warms. No more than six hours, hopefully less. Places to sightsee, maybe a little hiking, just me and the missus. Enlighten me, Mob.

TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . Obvious, yeah. That doesn’t make it bad. The incomparable Otis live is never bad.