Alright, I'm not angry anymore. I kind of wish I was, though, because now I'm just sad. I would do anything to change the outcome of Saturday's game. Literally anything. I would trade all the Bengals seasons for the next decade to send them to New England where they would have a shot to go to the AFC Championship and maybe the super bowl.
What does it matter, though? The Bengals haven't won a playoff game since 1990 and I'm beginning to think that they never will, at least not while I'm alive or while they're in Cincinnati. That would be my luck. I die and they win or they move away and they win. I'm sure it won't happen while I'm alive or while they're in town because I'm just not that lucky and the football gods obviously don't like me very much.
Since I'm probably never going to see the Bengals win the super bowl, I'm just going to curl up in this dark hole, grow a beard (which will literally take me like 50 years) and take the insults from all the imaginary friends that I'm sure to create. Hell, maybe I'll adopt 30 or 40 cats and be that weird cat guy that doesn't talk to anybody. How else could I react to my favorite team losing to the Texans in the playoffs? This is a team that the Bengals allowed to win in Week 14 and then came out on Saturday and just got destroyed on both offense and defense. Andy Dalton couldn't throw because he was running for his life, Cedric Benson couldn't run because he can't run, their defense couldn't stop Arian Foster or T.J. Yates.
So I'm going to go get in my hole because the Bengals broke my heart on Saturday. Man, I really wish that I would start to feel better soon and that I would accept what happened and move forward with my head held high (foreshadowing).