Bengals-Colts

Welcome back, my pretties. Tonight, we bask in the awe of the two best offenses the National Football League can offer (non-LT division). I've got my cup on; let's score like Courtney Love's in the room.

(By the way, it's not a good idea to eat half a box of chocolate for dinner after a certain age. That age is 7.)



First Quarter
Colts 3 - Bengals 3

Oh, look! Instant replay! That's the only way to slow down these offenses. Four minutes on Chad Johnson's shoes, brought to you by instant replay. Also, the rookie referee asks for a game clock reset due to the instant replay and thanks the clock operator upon completion. That's incredibly sweet and will probably be beaten out of him by Hochuli at the Pro Bowl.

Dallas Clark looks like a cashier at Trader Joe's.

It took over half an hour for the first score of the game and it's a field goal. I am deeply disappointed. I want my money back.

And the rest of the quarter is spent delivering the equalizer. Both offenses had full run of the field except the red zone, leaving me with that not-so-fresh feeling after one quarter.

Second Quarter
Colts 17 - Bengals 10

Mike Tirico starts the quarter by noting explosive games often start out slowly so please oh please don't tune out casual viewer we're gonna get this par-tee started soon. Please? (If I look that pathetic in the bar, it explains a lot.)

Now we're talking. The standard "Addai sucks the best veteran dick out of any rookie in the league" story is followed by a few plays his way and a touchdown to Harrison, summed up with the standard "Harrison stopped sucking dick years ago because he's married to Manning and married receivers don't put out" spiel. Monday Night Football at its "ESPN sucks the best NFL dick in all of television" best.

The Bengals recover a muffed punt. Dwight Freeney thanks the Bengals by crushing Carson Palmer like a beer can on his forehead. While Rudi Johnson completes the deed and ties the score, Carson Palmer returns to the sidelines and asks that all future turnovers be ignored.

Matthew McConaughey is the celebrity guest. Certain close-ups of him in the booth must be very...disturbing in HD. I know certain attempts by him to speak extemporaneously are disturbing.

Peyton Manning just ran 12 yards for a first down. That reminds me; I need a new egg timer.

This random thought sponsored by Cingular: Peter Dinklage probably hated the holidays before Elf started paying TV royalties.

Manning gets caught trying to run again for the touchdown. The gods may be crazy, but they ain't stupid. Don't get cute, Peyton; you don't have the face for it.

The Colts have years of experience on building suspense; they score on another Harrison reception with a few moments left in the half. I'll see you on the other side of my insulin attack.

Third Quarter
Colts 31 - Bengals 13

Some kind of kicking thingie happened for the Bengals. When does the second half start?

Oh, there it goes. Apparently, Marvin Harrison is the best wife since Eleanor Roosevelt, covering her husband's physical frailties and burning her own light into the firmament. (Also, he doesn't suck.) My cat has spent the last two hours chasing the same mouse unsuccessfully; he could teach something to the Bengals cornerbacks assigned to #88.

Happy thought of the week brought to you by the Booze Council: The clydesdales in the Budweiser commercial are probably dead.

After Reggie Wayne burned the Bengals for a fade in the back of the end zone, a shot of Marvin Lewis confirms that someone told him about the poor clydesdales.

Texas Instruments went wrong after this. Horribly, horribly wrong. Pippi Longstocking and Dumbo want me to buy a television? Fuck you, presumptive children's entertainment.

The third quarter ends with the Bengals driving and the feel of an explosive fourth quarter on the other side. I'll fight through the diabetic coma to join you. Be strong for me.

Fourth Quarter
Colts 34 - Bengals 16

Nice 27-yard field goal to affirm my gut feeling about this quarter. Jackasses. I'd pitch a hissy fit if I weren't trying to insert my own saline IV drip.

The Bengals are dropping passes and barking at each other; the Colts are inventing hip-hop. The resulting field goal does not properly punctuate the final sentence the Colts have placed on this game. Unfortunately, this safe margin makes the announcing team feel comfortable to pontificate on the Jail Bengals. It's a year late and billions short. Just stop while Theesman is making the relatively salient points of the group.

The Colts return to being the Colts after...well, they were always the Colts. They just had a few bad weeks here and there. Let's keep our undies unbunched; the underwear models among us appreciate your respect. The Bengals continue to be Colts Lite; they could very easily succeed where the Colts failed, which I would relish only to watch old white men squirm for Super Bowl week about the evil, evil Bengals players.