Football, love and cancer
By John Bach
Julie and I started dating in 1990, just a year after the Bengals last Super Bowl appearance.
It took Cincinnati 33 years to get back to the big game. In about that same span, Julie and I met, fell in love, got married and had three kids who are all now adults. Gulp.
Unlike the Bengals, our little family team has had way more highs than lows over the last 30 plus years. What can I say? Guess we had better draft classes. “With the first pick in the overall draft, we choose a beautiful bright-eyed, smart cutie who will light up our lives in unimaginable ways.”
The Bengals? Sure they had a few sniffs at success along the way, but mostly they just became incredibly good at ripping my heart out and stomping on it. Just ask Julie, Greta, Georgia, Josie or any of our pets. They can attest to my misery over the years.
One by one, they all eventually refused to watch games next to me. I get it. I had devolved into a raving lunatic on Sunday afternoons. But let’s be honest. Every other house in the 513 area code had at least one nutball stalking their living room and yelling at Marvin, too. Right? Yeah? Hello, this thing on?
At least once a season, Julie would repeat some version of this statement: “I don’t know why you get so worked up. They’re just going to disappoint you.”
And she was always right. But I’d hold out hope. “This year will be different,” I’d say.
Speaking of my wife’s in-season sayings, I might as well share a few more of my favorite Julie football-isms:
“Eww, I like their costumes,” she’d say on her way through the living room about the other team’s uniform.
“Are they allowed to shove each other?”
“They’re so angry.”
And, of course, the most memorable quote from this year. “Who’s Joe Burrow?” I stopped answering the last one about midway through the season when I realized she was messing with me.
Year after year, I bought into the Bengals hype only to watch a season-ending hit on Carson Palmer. Only to witness Jeremy Hill fumbling away my dreams. Only to experience the Steelers stepping on our collective throats once more. The Bengals seemed destined to get just close enough to a playoff win to frustrate their fans, but they were never quite able to win those primetime games under the bright lights — no matter how loud I clapped.
Enter 2021.
This football year felt different. The Bengals’ rookie QB was showing signs that he might overcome last year’s devastating knee injury. And by preseason, my Bearcats were actually in the Top 10 in college football, the highest preseason ranking in UC history. We even invested in UC season tickets for the first time. Football wise, the year held enormous promise for Cincinnati by summer.
Family wise, however, things hit a serious snag when our crew’s QB got blindsided by breast cancer in July. For a time, football was completely off my radar. And while UC turned in a historic 13-0 season and a run all the way to the College Football Playoffs, we never made it to a game.
By the start of the NFL season, the big game was no longer happening on Sundays. For our little team, the game of the week was every Friday in the chemo suite.
Smaller crowds. Higher stakes.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t turn my attention back to the Bearcats and Bengals in 2021. How could I not? We were in the middle of a season beset by both cancer and Covid, so putting my mind on something else even for a short period — especially something so encouraging — felt, well, so right.
Julie must have sensed my need to escape through sports. She even started rejoining me on the couch to watch UC on Saturdays and sometimes even the Bengals on Sundays.
While Cincinnati’s teams seemed destined for greatness, she was clearly poised for wellness. After four straight months of infusions, UC Health doctors shared that Julie’s tumor could no longer be found with modern imaging. She would still need surgery, but this was incredible news. That was January 13.
Two days later, the Bengals won their first playoff game in 32 seasons. The next week, they took out the Titans on the road, and by January 30, my whole family had gathered in our living room to watch every second as Cincy upset the Chiefs to punch their Super Bowl ticket.
After two years of a pandemic and six months of this cancer fight, it sure felt good to have something positive to rally around again.
So here we sit about to enter this enormous week. It’s a historic week for the city, and it’s huge for our family, too. The Bengals return to their third Super Bowl on Sunday. Three days later, Julie will have a double mastectomy to try to eliminate this cancer threat for good.
As silly as it may seem to put cancer and sports in the same breath, I’m thankful that this season — one often dominated by disease for our family — has also included a couple of unlikely Cincinnati football teams who have given us so many reasons to celebrate. So many reasons to keep fighting. So many reasons to hope.
