The George Costanza of Sports Fans?
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by user Kevinsecaur
Did you ever see that episode of Seinfeld where George competes with an Andrea Doria survivor in attempts to “win” a new apartment?
In the episode, George is confronted with a tenant association which, apparently, has quite a soft spot for pain and suffering. Hence the apartment, originally promised to George, is awarded to the man who was on the Andrea Doria, which collided with another ship near Nantucket and later sank. George decides to play hardball, leading to the following exchange:
JERRY: You know, if this tenant board is so impressed with suffering, maybe you should tell them the “Astonishing Tales of Costanza.”
GEORGE: I should!
JERRY: I mean, your body of work in this field is unparalleled.
GEORGE: I could go bumper to bumper with anyone else on this planet!
I mention this only because sometimes I feel like the George Costanza of sports fans. You see, I was born in 1984 just outside of Cincinnati, Ohio. The Cincinnati Bengals had played in and lost Super Bowl XVI just two short years before, and it seemed like a promising time to grow up as Cincinnati sports fan.
I was given further hope as a youngster when the Bengals again made it to the Super Bowl following the 1988 season. I turned five just days before Super Bowl XXIII, a 20-16 Bengals loss to the 49ers. I’m still amazed at how vividly I can remember some details of an event that would be lost on most five-year-olds.
In 1990, I turned six and oh what a good year to be a sports fan in the Queen City. The Reds went wire-to-wire and won the team’s first World Series crown since the Big Red Machine days. The Bengals followed with a playoff appearance later that same year. I was too young to understand and enjoy fully what had happened that year, and I was certainly too young to prepare myself for what was about to come.
The Reds have gone sixteen years and counting with just one playoff appearance, the 1995 NLCS in which they were swept by the Braves. The only other close call came in 1999 when Cincinnati finished the season tied for the NL Wild Card but lost a one-game playoff to the Mets.
The Bengals, on the other hand, have had a far worse go of it. I don’t need to tell even the most casual of NFL followers how bad Cincinnati was and for how long. But allow me one stat to prove my point (and my pain and suffering): After appearing in the 1990 NFL Playoffs, the Bengals proceeded to go 55-137 from 1991 until 2002. A mind-boggling 82 games under .500 during a stretch which included a 2-14 season, four 3-13 seasons, and two 4-12 years. SEVEN out of 12 seasons with four wins or fewer.
In the words of Costanza, “In closing, these stories have not been embellished, because they need no embellishment. They are simply, horrifyingly, the story of my life as a short, stocky, slow-witted” Cincinnati sports fan.
Oh by the way, the Bengals finally did make the playoffs again following the 2005 season only to see Carson Palmer’s knee snap like a twig on just the second offensive play of the game. Cincy lost the game to the hated Pittsburgh Steelers.
(“Oh, also … my fiancé died from licking toxic envelopes I picked out.”)
Don’t get me wrong now. I’m not suggesting my sports pain and suffering compares with that of, say, an Arizona Cardinals fan, a pre-2004 Red Sox fan or a Cubs fan. Then again, George Costanza’s pain and suffering isn’t really that bad either.
Costanza has his moments. He always seems to have a woman in his life; hell, he was even engaged to Susan. Plus, let’s not forget when he landed a job with the New York Yankees. Yet every once in a while, life seems to reach out and punch him in the sack, just for good measure. It’s inexplicable but it happens just frequently enough to make Costanza one of the most self-loathing, angst-ridden and cynical characters in television history.
I am not trying to make excuses for my constant pessimism and harsh criticism of Cincinnati’s pro sports teams. But next time you catch me predicting a Reds team that should – at least on paper – be improved from last year’s squad to lose 88 games or ripping to shreds a Bengals draft which may have included the best corner in the draft and a versatile and explosive back, keep in mind that it’s not because I don’t want my Cincinnati teams to succeed. Rather, it’s that my life as a Cincy sports fan from age seven to 23 has all too closely resembled that of a short, stocky, slow-witted bald man.
As critical as I may be and as overly cynical as I may seem, I’m still pulling for you, Cincinnati. And as George Costanza would say: It’s not you, Bengals and Reds, it’s me.
