The last thing any Bengals fan/chronicler/card-carrying masochist wants is to be Charlie Brown-ed. Being Chuck-ed by The Men not only leaves another welt in a psyche stuffed with them, but also marks you as a chump. Hope is a right, but trust should be earned.
So why did I enter the annual Mock Turtle Soupfest Monday dripping with cynicism and exit with a dry sense of feelgood? I’m simply not that kind of guy.
After three-plus decades of commenting on The Men and The Club, cynicism suits me. It’s good armor against being Chuck-ed.