TWTW's Super Bowl LI Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- Long, long, ago, in a far-off distant land called Foxborough, legend tells of a boy who rose from obscurity to become a great leader of men. A man who stood in the shadow of lesser men while serving as the backup quarterback of the Michigan Wolverines. A Michigan man who became a New England man, thrust into service after the injury of Drew Bledsoe back in that fateful 2001 NFL season. An unheralded 6th round draft pick who showed America that any man can do anything with hard work and a little luck.

Folks, I remember where I was in February of 2002, when Tom Brady and the New England Patriots faced a team from St. Louis that belonged in Los Angeles in Super Bowl XXXVI. After Bledsoe's injury, I followed Mr. Brady with a great degree of curiosity; even then, it seemed as though we were witnessing history in the making. Fast forward 15 years, several lousy trade deals and disastrous forays into nation-building in the Middle East later, and Tom Brady is on the precipice of providing a tidy bookend to an illustrious NFL career that began with an improbable Super Bowl victory all those years ago.

Tom Brady's path to Super Bowl LI, to be played tonight against the Atlanta Falcons, was not without controversy. Folks, I thought Brady was dead to me after news of the heart-breaking Deflate-Gate scandal of 2015 broke. To an uninformed outsider, it seemed as though Brady had abandoned the Michigan Man grit so central to his legend and mythos, in favor of becoming a member of the NFL aristocracy that plays by a different set of rules. But sometimes, a man must admit when he has made a mistake.

Folks, more often than not I'm right. I correctly predicted that the Kansas City Royals would emerge victorious in both the 2015 American League Championship Series and World Series. I correctly predicted the resurgence of Detroit Tigers ace Justin Verlander. I correctly predicted that Peyton Manning would lead the Denver Broncos to victory in the last Superbowl, despite the scorn I received from liberal commentators heralding the rise of Cam Newton. I correctly predicted that Donald Trump would win the 2016 election. Folks, if liberals didn't look at me like I'm some sort of neanderthal just because I enjoy a good bowl of queso at Chilis now and then, I'd already have a job at FiveThirtyEight given this pedigree and resume of correct forecasts. But I'll admit: I got Tom Brady wrong.

When the Deflate-Gate news broke, I was dumbstruck. How could the man who had authored so many Super Bowl success stories be nothing more than a liar and a crook? I even called for the man to be banned from the NFL. In retrospect, the swiftness with which I condemned Mr. Brady was uncalled for. But the mainstream media deserves its share of the blame. The media is always quick to pounce upon those who wear their political opinions on their sleeves like Mr. Brady. Crooked Roger Goodell was also quick to stack the deck against Brady by falsifying pounds-per-square-inch data, cooking the books worse than the National Park service did with Trump's historically well-attended inaugural address.

@wikileaks I was at Trump's inauguration! I know what I saw! --> https://t.co/6fWNZwWpb7 pic.twitter.com/OociYZHsiC

— The Will To Win (@TWTWsports) January 22, 2017

I was misled by the corrupt NFL establishment and their media toadies. But I won't be misled again. I un-apologetically predict a Tom Brady triumph tonight, on the biggest stage in all of professional sports.

Touchdown Tom has so much more to play for than the Atlanta Falcons: with his 5th Super Bowl victory, he would secure his legacy as the greatest NFL quarterback of all time. A final Super Bowl ring would be a fitting bookend to career that has spanned nearly two decades, beginning with his first Super Bowl win at age 24 and a 2017 swan song at age 39.

My unabashed admiration for Mr. Brady is no longer fashionable; the radical left is determined to politicize this Super Bowl, citing Brady's "Trump Problem." Folks, I don't know when it became a "Problem" to be on the winning team or why it is now politically incorrect to be an outspoken supporter of the President of the United States. St. Louis Cardinals slugger Stan Musial didn't get lambasted by the media for campaigning with John F. Kennedy, the man who brought us the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion. Folks, I don't remember Steph Curry getting criticized for being an avowed supported of Marxist tyrant Barack Obama.

Nope, this is just part of the continuing double standard, a double standard that leads the media to smear good men like Brady, a double standard that keeps me unemployed while Nate Silver lives large despite an awful track record of predictions. It turns out that in the world of sports, only liberals are allowed to express their political opinions.

The Atlanta Falcons really have nothing on the Patriots. Teams from Atlanta can't win; it probably has something to do with lingering humiliation over Sherman's March. Just ask the Atlanta Braves: perennial regular season champs, permanent postseason losers. I have no respect for the city of Atlanta ever since my wife deserted me at The Varsity drive-in restaurant, taking my kids, my car, and my collection of Bon Jovi cassettes with her. Matt Ryan, aka "Matty Ice," is a Boston College educated elitist who has never known the crisp taste of "Natty Ice," a drink of the people.

Super Bowl LI has become more than a football game. It is now a referendum on Trump's America writ large. The stakes are high: this game will decide the fate of both Tom Brady and Donald Trump's legacies. This Super Bowl presents the nation with an easy choice: a New England Patriots win will be yet another victory for the still-young Trump administration, imbuing further momentum in Donald's efforts to Make America Great Again. An Atlanta Falcons win would be a catastrophic setback, imperiling Trump's efforts to repeal and replace Obamacare, secure our borders, and reverse globalization. Tom Brady's journey to legend status began some 15 years ago. It's ending has not yet been written. Tonight, Mr. Brady will not only deliver a win for the New England Patriots; America itself will be taught a valuable lesson on how to win with class and dignity. That should cause every loyal American patriot's heart to inflate with pride.

TWTW's Packers vs. Lions Sunday Night Football Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- President Reagan once said "it is better to be respected than loved." This motto was the driving force behind his administration as he restored American moral authority worldwide and brought an end to the Cold War. Reagan's timeless adage is not only true in the realm of politics; it is also true on the gridiron. But respect is earned, not given. Like many men of my generation, I learned this lesson on the football field.

In my youth, football was the sport of choice for young Danville men during the brisk Kentucky fall. Every day after school we'd head to a patch of grass near an old, abandoned bottling factory and play two-hand touch football. As a 3rd grader, I fell in love with the game of football. I fell in love with the smell of dead leaves, the feel of slick mud and grass stains on my pants, and the touch of the leathery pigskin in my palms.

But there came a day when my gridiron utopia was assaulted. Some 5th graders showed up at our favorite playing spot near the long-closed bottling factory. They took over the field and imposed their own rules. The big kids didn't want to play two-hand touch. They played tackle football, a scary idea given the size and heft of some of these 5th graders. I could've backed down that day, and found some other place to play football with kids my own age, but I didn't.

Against my better judgement and my mom's pleas to not play such a violent and dangerous game, I began to play tackle football with the 5th graders. It didn't go well initially. The 5th graders wouldn't pass me the ball. When they did, I'd immediately get decked by kids twice my size. They seemed to enjoy beating up on me. We didn't wear helmets or pads, folks; each tackle meant a mouthful of earthy muck and unsightly bruises.

I remember the day I earned the respect of the 5th graders. It was winter of 1966. The ground was damp, and cold. We had already played three or four games of football that day, and everybody was more tired and worn-out than Megyn Kelly's sorry excuse for a prime-time news show. We agreed to play one last game that day before we would all head home for dinner. My team -- a rag-tag bunch of my fellow 3rd graders and a couple of 5th graders nice enough to join us -- had trailed most of the game but had an opportunity to head home on a high note. The game was tied. It was fourth down, and we were deep in enemy territory.

I was playing fullback, because I was one of the few kids big enough and wide enough to not get totally knocked around and brutalized by the 5th graders. Our quarterback called a fullback dive. He put the game in my hands. He had faith that I could punch the ball across the goal line to give our team the win. He believed in me. But he didn't respect me. Not yet.

On that fateful final play, I scored a touchdown, but not before getting mercilessly slammed into the ground. After emerging from the mangled pile of limbs in the end-zone, I had done it. I had EARNED the respect of the 5th graders. With blood trickling from my knees and dirty grass stains on my favorite Cleveland Browns shirt, a wry smile crept across my face as my teammates congratulated me. I felt a special type of satisfaction as I ate my mother's meatloaf that evening at dinner.

Lions vs. Packers: Pride and Respect On The Line

This Sunday night, the NFC North title is on the line. But respect is on the line as well. Folks, the Detroit Lions are on the cusp of finally earning the respect of the NFL's big kids; of graduating from two-hand touch to tackle football. Having endured decades of ridicule and derision from the NFL's talking head commentators, the Lions have a chance to silence their doubters and begin a new era of football in the Motor City. All they have to do is beat the Green Bay Packers and their immaculately photogenic quarterback, Aaron Rodgers.

Folks, it won't be an easy task. The Packers are a formidable opponent, and it's no secret that the NFL would rather have playoff games hosted in Lambeau than Ford Field. The NFL has a financial stake in continuing the Aaron Rodgers iron man narrative; he's one of the league's most recognizable faces and sells a ton of jerseys. Roger Goodell and company want Rodgers to succeed, and they're perfectly willing to stack the deck against the Lions do to so. The NFL hasn't hesitated to keep the Lions down in the past. The history of the Detroit Lions is a history of questionable calls against them.

Remember the 2014 playoffs, when the refs called pass interference on the Dallas Cowboys, only to pick up the flag?

Remember the no-call on Seattle's illegal bat last season?

Remember the phantom face-mask last year that set up an NFL-manufactured Packers comeback victory?

Folks, just a couple of weeks ago a referee admitted to improperly penalizing the Lions for an infraction committed by the Chicago Bears.

This is but a small taste of the daunting task before the Lions: not only do they have to defeat the NFL's golden boy Aaron Rodgers, they have to defeat the officiating crew, which is typically composed of a bunch of closet cheeseheads.

Lots of folks dismiss this line of argument as conspiracy theorizing. But rigging happens all the time. Wikileaks showed us that the democratic primary was rigged against Bernie Sanders. The NCAA playoff selection committee was rigged against Penn State. What makes people think the NFL doesn't also engage in rigging, especially with so much money on the line? It's naive to suggest otherwise.

PREDICTION

Fortunately, there may be hope for the Lions. Don't get me wrong. The Lions have their weaknesses. Their running game is weak. They are over-reliant on the passing game, and have struggled to score points in the red zone because they can't punch the ball across the goal line like I did back in '66.

But the Lions have several factors working in their favor. First, Wisconsin men are not men of their word. Aaron Rodgers promised that Green Bay would "run the table" in their final games of the season en-route to a playoff berth. Folks, I'm old enough to remember when Paul Ryan, a republican representative from Wisconsin and Speaker of the House, promised our nation Obamacare repeal, a restored economy, and high paying jobs. He's been the house speaker for a full year and we're still no closer to a return to small government principles. Men from Wisconsin often promise things they can't deliver, Rodgers is no different folks. The Packers may very well take this "L" like Paul Ryan has been taking Ls all year.

Second, the Lions have home-field advantage. Ford Field will be packed with tens of thousands of hungry Lions fans rooting for something that hasn't happened in Detroit for more than twenty years: a division championship. The Lions will be led by Matthew Stafford, an MVP candidate entering his prime. Folks, if I were a Lions fan (I'm not, I'm a Bengals fan wishing a blue collar team well from afar) I'd be encouraged by what I saw in the first half of their showdown in Dallas last week. Stafford looked like the best field-general I've seen since Douglas MacArthur. He orchestrated an excellent up-tempo, no-huddle offense that reminded me of the glory days of Jim Kelly's Buffalo Bills. Such an offensive assault may leave the defensively-challenged Packers in disarray.

That wasn't the only positive sign for the Lions last week. A legit running game option for Detroit emerged: Zach Zenner, an un-drafted free agent and former South Dakota State Jackrabbit. Folks, when I see Mr. Zenner pound the ball across the line of scrimmage, I see myself 50 years ago in that abandoned field back in Danville. This kid knows how to run. He's got more heart than all of Milwaukee. He may just help the Lions win their first division championship since 1993.

That's Zach Zenner in the thick of that dog-pile, being gritty as heck.

It won't be easy, folks. The deck is stacked against them. But the Lions might -- just might -- beat Green Bay tonight. With an NFC North title under their belt, the Lions will not only be beloved by their loyal fans: they will be respected by a league that was dead-set on their elimination.

Buffalo Blues: TWTW's Browns vs. Bills Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- On the eastern shores of Lake Erie, north of Pittsburgh and west of The City That Never Sleeps, lies a fateful city that never gives up. Buffalo, New York, tidily snugged into the state's westernmost corner, didn't give up in 1813 when the treacherous British army pillaged and razed the city in what came to be known as the Battle of Black Rock. As part of their larger campaign against the young American republic during the War of 1812, the British cruelly plundered and dispossessed the good people of Buffalo. But Buffalo didn't back down. Those Erie-dwellers, living in the shadow of the majestic Niagara Falls, picked up the pieces and rebuilt their city, transforming it into a shining center of commerce and trade in 19th century America.

Did the people of Buffalo sit around and feel sorry for themselves when President William McKinley was murdered in their city in 1901?

No: they put their heads down, got back to work, and rallied behind a great leader and huntsman, Teddy Roosevelt. Buffalo did all this and more. They became a center of manufacturing in the 20th century prior to the great de-industrialization of NAFTA. They gave our nation the Buffalo Wing, the single greatest culinary creation in the history of human civilization.

They also gave us the Buffalo Bills of 1990-1993, the runners-up in Super Bowls XXV, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII. Wow, I hope I never have to use that many roman numerals again, unless I'm talking about Star Wars. You have to be pretty, pretty good to appear in four straight Super Bowls. And indeed, the Bills beat legends like John Elway, Dan Marino and Joe Montana en route to their Super Bowl appearances. You can't fake that. Yet to many Americans, the Bills are all but forgotten or a laughing stock. That's an insult to this storied franchise and its loyal fans.

Folks, I'm a Danville man not a Buffalo man, but I remember where I was during Buffalo's Silver Era of football. It was January of 1991, just a few months shy of 90 years since McKinley's grisly demise. Earlier that winter I decided to make a pilgrimage to the Allegheny mountains of Pennsylvania, taking only my truck and my trusty basset hound, Barry Goldwater. I hoped to discover the natural beauty of this region and hopefully discover some things about myself as well, as I was still reeling from an acrimonious divorce a few months prior.

the Allegheny Mountains, folks.

Barry and I ended up making our pilgrimage something of a semi-permanent relocation. I got a job plowing snow in nearby Olean, New York, a sleepy town some 74 miles from Buffalo.

I fell in love with the sights and scenery of the Allegheny region, and of course, the buffalo wings. Plowing snow was rewarding work. Sitting atop a plow gave me a feeling of might and omnipotence. Behind the wheel of a snow plow, I could feel power flowing through my fingertips as I effortlessly cleared the streets of white, fluffy tufts of sparkling white snow and occasionally knocked over a garbage can or two for fun. The best thing about being a snow-plower in Olean was that there was never a shortage of work in America's snowiest city south of Anchorage.

I used my salary to rent a cozy apartment on the floor above a bustling pub. I remember Super Bowl XXV like it was yesterday. I had just come back from an emergency plow session. I went downstairs to the pub to watch the game; it was dimly lit and there was an frigid breeze coming in from the pub's front door as folks walked in and out. I took off my coat, scarf, and gloves which were damp from the snow. I sat down at my usual spot in the pub next to an old trucker and ordered some beer and wings. The atmosphere was tense but excited. Many lifelong Bills fans from the great city of Olean were in the bar, giddy with anticipation for what could be Buffalo's first championship. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the feel of the warm, saucy wings in my numb, frost-bitten fingers.

The Buffalo Bills and the New York Giants played a tightly-contested game. With seconds remaining and the Bills trailing by a single point, the pub went silent. As Buffalo kicker Scott Norwood lined up to attempt a 47-yard field goal, Buffalo seemed poised for its biggest victory since the construction of the Erie Canal. But Norwood missed. Wide right. The ball was blasted as though struck by Thor's Hammer, but sailed far right before bouncing harmlessly in the end zone. I'll never forget the look I saw in the eyes of those hard-working men from Olean: it was a cold, dead look, the type you might see from an old, blind dog. As a Bengals fan I'll never understand their suffering.

Three more Super Bowl appearances and three more Super Bowl losses later, the city of Buffalo never got the championship it deserved. The 1990-1993 Bills had no shortage of heroes: the resilient Jim Kelly, Bruce Smith, Thurman Thomas, their excellent punter Rick "Bootin'" Tuten, and Don Beebe, the man who taught an entire generation of children about the virtues of never giving up. But at the end of the day they fell short of the ultimate prize and were denied the catharsis that accompanies a Super Bowl ring. The days of glory from 1990-1993 eventually became the days of irrelevance during the Doug Flutie era.

This past summer, the Cleveland Cavaliers finally brought a championship to the folks on the burning river. That leaves Buffalo, home of the championship-less Bills and Sabres, as the saddest sports town around.

This Sunday, the sad sports city of yesterday will face the sad sports city of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I'm referring to the match-up between the 0-13 Browns and the 6-7 Bills. Some folks might get excited about the Patriots and Broncos game this Sunday, but I consider Cleveland vs. Buffalo the match-up of the week. Why? Allow me to explain.

Cleveland is fighting to avoid a miserable 0-16 season, the Bills are fighting for a slim chance at a playoff spot and dignity. With a losing record and coach Rex Ryan's future in Buffalo looking uncertain, the Bills are wounded and vulnerable. The liberal Washington Post has speculated that this game might be Cleveland's best shot at avoiding infamy. Folks, I hope the Bills do the right thing and keep Rex Ryan. A man brave enough to speak out in favor of our president-elect Donald Trump is hard to come by. The Bills need bravery on the sideline. They need Rex. Rex and Donald Trump embody the gritty lunch-pail mentality of Buffalo. Under Rex's leadership Buffalo will be made great again, I know it.

Although this would appear to be a meaningless game, a lot is on the line. The Bills' faint playoff hopes are on the line. Rex Ryan's job is on the line. Cleveland's potential 0-16 season is on the line. On top of that, this game will feature two very exciting young wide receivers: Terrelle Pryor and Sammy Watkins. That's worth the price of admission for me. By the way, the price of admission is dirt cheap. Apparently demand for the tickets is so low that you can get them for $20. $20 is nothing. I spend like $40 each time I go to Buffalo Wild Wings. If you're in the area, get to this game folks.

I wish I had the strength and toughness of the sturdy folk from Western New York. I eventually left my apartment in Olean and went back to Danville. I couldn't take the year-round bone-chilling winter. I still miss the chicken wings I used to get in the Buffalo area. Buffalo wings crafted by the Buffalonians themselves are simply unmatched in quality, though if I'm drunk I might tell you that the offerings of Buffalo Wild Wings and Chilis come close. Some men are born to persist and withstand every obstacle laid in their path, like Jim Kelly. It pains me to admit I am not one of those men.

In the past couple of years we've seen championship droughts in Kansas City, Cleveland, and Chicago come to an end. This should give hope to my friends in Olean, the Allegheny region, and the good people of Buffalo. Certain laws of nature that we take to be immutable and true -- the Cubs are cursed, Cleveland are losers -- can be undone overnight. Buffalo sees snow 9 months a year, but heck, if this crackpot "man-made climate change" theory that Leonardo DeCaprio keeps peddling is true, we could see a snow-less winter in Buffalo some day soon. Anything can happen in this great country, folks. Keep the faith, Buffalo fans. Your day will come.

Dak Prescott Must Resign

Danville, Kentucky -- America loves a fresh face. This was a lesson I learned the hard way while I was an employee at a rubber mill in Louisville. I loved my job. It was an honor and a privilege to help produce the material that is the lifeblood of our civilization. Think of how important rubber is, folks. Rubber puts tires on our cars so we can drive to work and to Olive Garden. Rubber puts treads on the tanks that our men and women in uniform use to deliver freedom abroad. Rubber bullets allow American law enforcement to suppress protesters without resorting to lethal force.

I was born to work in a rubber mill, folks. I dutifully put in 8 years working at that rubber mill. I did my time, gradually working my way up the company's food chain and earning the respect of my superiors. But then one day some punk showed up. I think he was roommates with my boss's nephew or something. He even had a fancy college degree. Before I knew it, this twenty-eight year-old carpetbagger had earned a position in management in no time.

Why? What that kid knew about making rubber I could fit into my eye with little to no discomfort. I spent almost a decade working on the assembly line. This kid was part of the company for only a couple of months. He had never even taken a whiff of the toxic smell of molten rubber. The injustice of it all was infuriating.

rubber production in action, folks.

America loves a fresh face. Every season, the NFL talking heads fawn over the improbable success of a rookie quarterback. Carson Wentz. Mark Sanchez. Robert Griffin III. Colin Kaepernick. Nothing sells more jerseys and NFL League Pass packages than an exciting rookie QB that Skip Bayless can label "the next Cam Newton" or "the next Peyton Manning" or "the next Tom Brady." We've all seen it: a season or two of serviceable football from a fresh-faced rookie, followed by uncontrollable hype and a massive let-down.

Folks, Dak Prescott, over-hyped rookie QB of the 11-2 Dallas Cowboys, is just the next RGIII that will be hyped for a year or two before fading into irrelevance. He's the Marco Rubio of quarterbacks. Marco Rubio, like that yuppie at the rubber mill in Louisville, was an annoying twerp because he didn't wait his turn. He was impatient and cut in line, unfairly shunting more deserving guys like Governor Jeb Bush aside. Just like Rubio betrayed his own mentor Jeb in cold blood, the upstart young Dak Prescott has stolen the job of the more deserving Tony Romo.

How Marco slew his ‘mentor’ Jeb Bush https://t.co/eshqasti5g | Getty and AP Photo pic.twitter.com/xhZVWO7mGH

— POLITICO Magazine (@POLITICOMag) February 24, 2016

The great quarterbacks in this league wait, my friends. Patience is a virtue. Tom Brady waited until Drew Bledsoe was no longer fit for the job. Aaron Rodgers waited for Brett Favre to retire. Prescott, on the other hand, cut in line. Dak performed admirably as a substitute for the injured Romo, no doubt. But with Romo healthy Dak has no business being the starter anymore.

the best things in life are worth waiting for, folks.

Tonight against the New York Giants, Dak turned in his worst performance yet. He looked lost, and unready for prime-time. He made the classic rookie mistake of favoring one receiver while under pressure, like young Matt Stafford used panic and over-target Calvin Johnson. Tony Romo has far more experience playing in high-leverage games. I have no doubt the Cowboys would be 13-0 under a healthy Romo's leadership.

The Cowboys have now turned the ball over 3 times.

All 3 times happened when Dak Prescott targeted Dez Bryant. pic.twitter.com/yewMnYKNjF

— NFL on ESPN (@ESPNNFL) December 12, 2016

America loves a fresh face, but America doesn't always need a fresh face. Sometimes America needs a man who has been there before. A man who knows the smell of molten rubber. A man who has more political experience than a one-term senator from Florida. A man who has played more than a season in Jerry Land. That's why I call on Dak Prescott to tender his letter of resignation to Jerry Jones. This is Tony's team. It will live or die by Tony's hand. For the good of the team, Dak must step aside.

The Battle of Ohio: TWTW's Bengals vs. Browns Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- As of this Sunday, it will have been 364 days since the lowly Cleveland Browns prevailed in a game of football. The 0-12 Browns are on a 15 game losing streak dating back to week 15 of last season. Although the Indians and Cavaliers have improbably brought a winning mentality back to that city on the burning river, the Browns remain hapless. To those loyal fans faithfully rooting for the Browns during this winter of discontent, the mere thought of a Cleveland Browns victory seems as distant as the warmth of spring, the touch of sunlight in May, or the scent of freshly-bloomed flowers in the Hocking Hills forest.

The Browns have had their share of close, nail-biter losses this season. Four of their losses have been by less than a touchdown: a 28-26 loss to the Tennessee Titans and a 31-28 loss to the New York Jets stand out as particularly heart-breaking. Yet, telling a Browns fan that his team has been just a few lucky breaks away from a win or two this season is cold comfort; like offering a pair of hole-ridden mittens to a man about to plunge into the chilly depths of frozen Lake Erie.

But small flickering embers of hope can be found even amidst the deepest, darkest winter. The beauty of football is that on any given Sunday, no matter how unthinkable or improbable, any team can win if its players are willing to dig deep enough and put their bodies on the line for their city. This weekend the Browns of Northeast Ohio will square off against their rivals from the South: the Cincinnati Bengals.

Neither team is very scary. I'd bet my big green John Deere tractor that Ohio State's football team could beat both the Bengals and the Browns handily. Ohio State would probably beat the Browns 42-15. Ohio State's margin of victory against Cincinnati would be narrower, perhaps requiring over-time and some crooked officiators like Ohio State's win against the University of Michigan.

Cincinnati has a few more victories than Cleveland, but football fandom is only marginally less depressing down south. The Bengals are having a disappointing season of their own. They are the owners of a 4-7-1 record thanks to the NFL's unwillingness to take a stand against European nonsense like "ties." The Bengals have their own dubious streak, as they have not won back-to-back games in more than a year. On Sunday, these mostly inept teams will battle for dominance over the great state of Ohio.

Many pundits, including yours truly, have written that the 2016 election was decided by the Forgotten Man. According to this narrative Donald J. Trump won because he improbably inspired millions of weary, downtrodden, ignored folks across this country to cast their vote in favor of change. If the 2016 election was about the Forgotten Man, then Sunday's Bengals vs. Browns match-up is primarily a football game about the Forgotten Rivalry. All the biased national media ever wants to talk about is the Dallas Cowboys and whoever they are playing that week, but wise football fans know the intensity of the Battle of Ohio, a tradition that dates back to the Nixon Administration.

You won't hear Skip Bayless or the talking heads at ESPN discuss the Forgotten Rivalry much. But the passion is real, as is the cultural divide between urban Cleveland and "practically-in-Kentucky" Cincinnati. The Bengals have more talent, but the winless Browns are hankering for a W like I hanker for spaghetti lovingly topped with magisterial cinnamon-chili sauce.

These teams are more evenly matched than they look. I predict a narrow Bengals victory over the win-starved Browns. Cleveland's athletic quarterback-turned-wide-receiver (and former Ohio State Buckeye) Terrelle Pryor will continue to impress, burning the Bengals defense. The Browns will have the element of surprise on their side, as they keep the Bengals off-guard by liberally rotating their four different quarterbacks in and out of the game. However, when push comes to shove the red-headed menace Andy Dalton will lead Cincinnati to victory. The pale-skinned ginger is at his best when the sun is obscured by grey wintry clouds and flurries of snow.

The Browns will play better than you'd expect a winless team to play, but will ultimately fall to 0-13 and inch another game closer towards solidifying their place in the NFL history books alongside the 0-16 2008 Detroit Lions. The bitter winter of Cleveland's discontent may end someday, but not this Sunday.

Dying with Dignity: Why the Detroit Lions Should Quit

Danville, Kentucky -- I am firm believer in never giving up; in putting your heart into something until you have nothing left to give. I believe in taking no days off, holding nothing back, putting it all on the line, going all-in, and leaving it all on the field. Yet, even I, know that sometimes, you have to fold: cut your losses, and quit while you can.

Rax Roast Beef knew when to quit. Folks, let me tell you about one of my favorite restaurants of all time. I'm a Danville man, born and raised. Rax -- based in blue-collar Ironton, Ohio -- used to be a staple beef-joint in the rust belt. Folks traveling through West Virginia, Ohio, and Kentucky during the glorious '80s knew that Rax was the best eating a man could get when home was behind and the open road ahead.

Rax embodied the spirit of the 80s. Thanks to Reagan, it was morning in America again. Americans were working hard and being rewarded for it; we were free to spend our disposable income on heaping stacks of beef and melted cheddar cheese, thanks to low taxes and small government. Every baked potato served by Rax came with not only luscious toppings, but also a feeling of optimism and boundless opportunity. It was a great family atmosphere; I used to take the wife and my children there every Sunday afternoon to eat a Deluxe Ham melt and watch the Bengals game.

At Rax's peak, it was an unparalleled fast-food phenom. 504 locations in 38 states, and even expansion into the international market. Yet, all good things must pass. Thanks to globalization, even the reawakening of the 80s gave way to the crushing disappointment of the 90s. By 1996, two years after the arrival of NAFTA, Rax filed for bankruptcy. Rax, a mom-and-pop fast-food chain, just couldn't compete with mega-franchises like Arby's and Wendy's. Many jobs were lost, and the Mid West was never the same. In spite of its colossal implosion, I respect Rax. They knew when to quit, and because of it, the franchise has down-scaled but persevered.

If only the Detroit Lions knew when to quit, like Rax did. There may not be a franchise in sports history that has inflicted as much pain on its fans as the Detroit Lions. I'm a Bengals fan, but I've seen firsthand the misery that this franchise breeds amongst its followers. My uncle, a life-long Lions fan and native of Flint, watches the team year in and year out, yearning for a championship, but always disappointed.

One of the oldest franchises in the NFL, with a loyal and long-suffering fan base. No playoff wins since 1991, when George H.W. was president and Jeb was just a starry-eyed youngster looking for his shot. No Super Bowl appearances in franchise history. And thanks to a disastrous off-season, nothing to look forward to in 2016.

Why the Lions are Hopeless

Two events this off-season have caused me to abandon all hope for this franchise.

First, the Fords have failed to take care of their own.

It's been a pleasure Detroit. Home is where the heart is and my heart will always be here. #DVE4Ever #WSU #B.H. pic.twitter.com/56xME7C7nN

— Joique Bell (@JoiqueBell) February 16, 2016

Joique Bell was the single most inspirational story of the Detroit Lions over the past half-decade. Born in humble circumstances in nearby Benton Harbor, Michigan, his untapped raw potential caught the eye of discerning scouts. He went on to play for Division II school Wayne State University, in mid-town Detroit. It wasn't glamorous. While a student at Wayne State, Joique was broke. There was no special treatment for athletes or fancy living facilities:

While preparing for his senior season at Wayne State, he had to survive an apartment so rough, his mother offered him $500 to move out. Rent was $150.
"I had to live in this (expletive) dungeon," Bell says. "It was triflin'. Dirt would just come off the floor. There was a pink shower, but the bottom of it was just black. It was the nastiest thing I've ever seen.
"My mom was crying because it was so filthy."
Bell went on to win the Harlon Hill Trophy – Division II's version of the Heisman – that year. (via MLive)

To make ends meet, Joique worked as a security guard for the Lions at Ford Field. He bounced around the NFL, notably getting cut by Bill Belichick, before landing on the Lions. Playing for his hometown team, Joique had great success and was a fan favorite. Bell was the go-to guy when the ball needed to be pounded across the goal-line, a master of lowering his shoulder and grinding his way to touchdowns. His uplifting life narrative was a source of pride and inspiration for a city that was down on its luck and needed a hero. Joique was just like his city: young, scrappy, and hungry.

Joique, the kid who beat the odds and became a star, was unceremoniously cut by the Lions on February 16th, 2016. That's not how you treat family.

Second, Martha Ford's betrayal of the city's proudest son might actually be only the second most depressing thing to happen to the Lions this off-season. The only thing harsher than the Michigan winter was the news that Calvin Johnson, an all-time great receiver and franchise cornerstone, was debating retirement.

The parallels to Barry Sanders' premature retirement are striking: a future hall-of-famer with years of productivity ahead of him, hanging the cleats early, leaving the Lions in disarray as he walks out the door.

Calvin Johnson has one thing going for him: he knows when to quit. Football is a brutal sport, that breaks the bodies of even the most mighty athletes. Why risk his well-being and health to play for an irrelevant team? Can you blame Calvin? This Danville man can't.

The writing is on the wall for the Lions. The ownership cuts the most likable players and drives the most talented ones out of the league. The Lions' divisional competition is not getting any less formidable. Adrian Peterson and the Vikings aren't going anywhere. Aaron Rodgers and his miraculous hail-mary throwing abilities aren't going anywhere. It's hard to chart a Detroit Lions path to the playoffs when they have to fill a Calvin Johnson-sized hole in the roster. Not under the current ownership.

The Fords have always been a family that brings both great joy and great despair. The Fords brought us the Model-T and the assembly-line; but they also brought us offshoring and the desolation of rust-belt economies after the 2008 economic collapse. As owners of the Lions, they brought us Barry Sanders and Calvin Johnson, only to drive these legends away from the franchise with their incompetence and mismanagement. The Fords brought us affordable automobiles; but they are also the family that brought us mass employee layoffs, and also drafted Joey Harrington; the promising young QB whose spirit was slowly broken by playing for an aimless franchise.

Conclusion

The weight of the Lions' sorrowful history can only lead me to draw one conclusion: the Fords should terminate this lowly franchise. Dissolve the Detroit Lions organization. Make a new expansion team in Mexico City, or London. Or just send the team to Vietnam, with the rest of Detroit's manufacturing jobs. If the team can't win playoff games, has never appeared in a Super Bowl, and can't retain inspirational and legendary talents like Joique and Megatron, then the team doesn't deserve to exist. The loss of this franchise will hurt Detroit-area football fans initially, but it will save them from heartache in the long run.

Those who remember the hey-day of Rax know where its surviving locations can be found. I still frequent a dusty old Rax in Parkersburg, West Virginia, from time to time. When I eat there alone, if I close my eyes and let the savory notes of roast beef linger on my tongue, I can almost feel the hope of the Reagan administration again.

Similarly, we will always have the fond memories of the undeniably good moments of the Lions franchise: Barry's 2,000 yard rushing season. Calvin breaking Jerry Rice's record for receiving yards in a single season. The unsung competence and consistency of longtime kicker Jason Hanson. The tragic comedy of 0-16 season in 2008. Third-string quarterback Mike McMahon leading the team to its first victory in Week 14 vs the Minnesota Vikings in 2001. The Matt Stafford-led 4th quarter comebacks of 2011.

Don't let the Lions become like Jeb Bush: trudging through failure after failure, endlessly prolonging their inevitable defeat, by refusing to gracefully bow out. It's time for the Lions to die with dignity. Only then will it be morning in Detroit again.