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CINCINNATI â He sat in the bar he owns, the one just down the street from Paul Brown Stadium, the one that opened nearly 11 years ago but never has been more perfectly named than now.
The Holy Grail.
Jim Moehring first described the victory that caused him to tear up, then the one that netted his bar a game ball, and finally the triumph that stunk of sweet cigar smoke.
Three weeks. Three wins. One topic.

âHere we are talking about the Bengals in February,â he said. âWe havenât done that in 30 years. Well, that Super Bowl was in January. So weâve never done that. Ever.â
Yes, the Bengals have outlasted everything from their wanting history to their loaded conference to their unyielding doubters on a title-game run foreseen only by those fans looking with their hearts.
And for 33 years this team has teased and tested, even twisted the hearts of its faithful. Now, a franchise locally famous for splitting apart souls is bringing a city together.
âAll the bumps along the way â no, not bumps â major road blocks âŠâ Moehring, 54, said, âall the questioning of ownership and the questioning of desire and the questioning of everything else ⊠everybodyâs just galvanized now.â
This is whatâs coming to meet the Rams in Super Bowl LVI at SoFi Stadium, a region unified by a team that has knocked off the AFCâs top seeds in consecutive weeks and swallowed completely the notion that itâs some sort of underdog.
In L.A., questions persist about where the Rams and Chargers fit in the sports landscape. There are no such issues here in an addicted city with a major Bengals problem.
Cincinnati hasnât been this far since the 1988 season â Jan. 22, 1989, to be precise â and only twice total, losing both times. The townâs storied baseball franchise has won five World Series titles, true, but none since 1990.
Suddenly, in the span of three January weekends of âWho Deyâ hysteria, this city is the happiest place on earth.
âThe Bengals arenât the only ones going to the Super Bowl,â local restaurateur Jeff Ruby said. âThe city of Cincinnati and all of northern Kentucky are going too. Itâs like theyâre on the same plane. It was our team when they were losing. Itâs certainly going to be our team when theyâre winning.â
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He is popular enough around here that recently, as he was receiving his COVID-19 booster, the person administering the shot asked, âHey, arenât you âBengal Jimâ?â
Jim Foster earned that nickname while growing up because he almost always dressed in Bengals gear, a kid whose imagination was first captured by the teamâs colorful uniforms.
Now 51, Foster hasnât missed a home game in nearly 30 years. He and nine friends â they call themselves âThe Bengal Roadiesâ â have attended every game this season, home and away.
He has a podcast that has counted Cris Collinsworth and Anthony Munoz among its guests, a room in his home he called a âmuseumâ of Bengals artifacts and a bus painted in tiger stripes.
Three of his four sons have Bengals-inspired middle names: Corey Anderson, for Ken; Cameron Curtis, for Isaac; and Aaron Riley, for Ken.

Cincinnati nominated Foster for the NFLâs âFan of the Yearâ campaign, a tribute to his relentless optimism, a belief that remained intact even during the desolate David Shula/Bruce Coslet years beginning in the early 1990s.
Foster could be the very face of Cincinnati sports â round and full, with dark-rimmed glasses tucked under a Bengals bucket hat. He is the smiling face these days, Foster redefining jolly in a place that each December stages a SantaCon.
âI love the Reds,â he said. âBut thereâs nothing that brings this city together like the Bengals. Thereâs way more passion around this team. Nothing here compares to the Bengals when theyâre doing well.â
If Fosterâs fandom has a signature, he has written it in the parking lot of the teamâs stadium for every home game since 1993. âBefore the Roarâ is a tailgate party that, before the Bengals played Las Vegas on wild-card weekend, attracted 2,000 people.
In Nashville for the divisional round â yes, âBefore the Roarâ has gone on the road during the playoffs and will travel to Super Bowl LVI â an estimated 5,000 people showed up.
Along with spreading the orange-and-black gospel, âBengal Jimâ and his tailgates annually raise money for charity. Thanks to Cincinnatiâs success this season, he said they could reach $60,000, four times the previous best.
âThis city desperately needs a winner,â Foster said. âWell, they got one.â
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Joe Burrow will stand tall at SoFi Stadium. Thatâs not a prediction but a fact. Heâll stand 25 feet tall.
The giant, inflatable likeness arrived in November, custom-made in China, and â much like the Bengalsâ young star quarterback â quickly was a sensation. He even has his own Twitter account: @BigBurrow9.
âIt has become a beacon,â said Craig Johnson, one of Fosterâs cohorts. âWe used to get at least 20 questions a week from newbies as to where the tailgate is located. Now, the answer is, âItâs underneath Big Burrow!ââ
Burrow as a beacon? Works in real life too. His arrival as the No. 1 overall pick in 2020 was the central move in a push bolstered by consecutive years of significant free-agent spending.
He has an ability, confidence and charisma around which this franchise â and city â has rallied. In a strikingly brief amount of time, Burrow has become part of Cincinnatiâs core.
If you walk into The Precinct, one of Rubyâs restaurants, you can order the Steak Burrow, a 14-ounce, blackened New York strip that is Cajun-based as a nod to the quarterbackâs time at Louisiana State.
The dish is finished with a crawfish and a splash of creole sauce. To understand how much people here are devouring everything Burrow, realize that a man recently ordered his dessert in the same style, Rubyâs staff serving up a crustacean-topped wedge of cheesecake.
âHeâs Cincinnatiâs answer to Joe Namath,â said Ruby, who has been in the restaurant business for 40-plus years. âIf he were any cooler, heâd be illegal in Utah and some other conservative states.â
Burrow joined the Bengals nearly two years ago, but didnât truly arrive until this playoff run, mixing his on-field substance with an off-field style that has sparkled in the glaring light of social media.
From his rose-colored Cartier C DĂ©cor glasses to his âJB9â chain â the one GQ described as âicyâ â Burrow has become as viral-worthy before and after games as he typically is in the time between.
At age 69, Dave Lapham has watched this all unfold with wonder. He was an offensive lineman on the Cincinnati team that made Super Bowl XVI in 1982 and now, as part of the radio crew, has surpassed 45 years with the franchise.
âWe captivated the city and the tri-state area back then too, but that was before social media,â Lapham said. âNow, itâs like someone has poured gasoline on the fire.â
Still, for all of Burrowâs flash, he possesses a grit thatâs as Cincinnati as all those flying pig statues around town.
That quality never was more on display than during the Bengalsâ 19-16 victory over the Titans two weeks ago. In that game, Burrow was sacked nine times and yet his team never trailed.
âThereâs this kindred thing within the city about that, about getting knocked down but not out,â said Dan Wright, the chef/owner of Pontiac restaurant in Cincinnatiâs Over The Rhine neighborhood. âHis swagger has people around here realizing that same sort of confidence in themselves.â

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Just around the corner from Paul Brown Stadium stands another version of Burrow: a mannequin dressed in his No. 9 uniform.
The faux Joe greets everyone walking into Koch Sporting Goods, a Cincinnati tradition, as the sign out front reads, âsince 1888,â when this place opened as mainly a supplier of theater curtains.
In the back of the store sits 39-year-old Eric Koch, who represents the fifth generation of the family. Heâs unpacking boxes of Super Bowl LVI T-shirts, attempting to keep up with the spiking demand. Koch said January sales were up 300% from a year ago. He estimated the increase from February 2021 could be 600%.
âThat just speaks to the civic pride that the citizens of Cincinnati are having right now,â Koch said. âThey feel good. Theyâre puffing their chest out. Theyâre on the same level as a Los Angeles, at least for two weeks.â
The fact that he is sitting cross-legged on the floor, in an area cordoned off by racks of clothes, is a fitting image. Thereâs no room in the storeâs normal unloading area because of the 1,000 Super Bowl hats that just arrived.
Such a snapshot is telling. And there are others:
âą People lining up outside Cincy Shirts in nearby Hyde Park on Monday morning despite being told the store wouldnât re-open until Tuesday.
âą The city of Hillsboro, 55 miles east of Cincinnati, temporarily changing its name to Hillsburrow.
âą A local couple deciding a Super Bowl berth would result in a head shaving. So, when the Bengals win the AFC, she goes through with it.
âCincinnati is such a great sports town,â said Anderson, who quarterbacked the Bengals to that first Super Bowl appearance. âThereâs so much pride here in our sports teams. Thatâs one of the things us old guys lean on.â
There is pride in these Bengals, to be sure, the connection as tight as the laces on a Wilson football. After each postseason victory, the team has handed out game balls to local businesses.
Coach Zac Taylor explained that he wanted the city to share in the teamâs success, noting that his players â particularly the younger ones â âmight not understand the significanceâ of what the Bengals have accomplished.

Of course, this is a new tradition, and Cincinnati still is relearning how to celebrate. So, when the 38-year-old Taylor stopped at the Mt. Lookout Tavern to present it with a game ball, he was carded and then briefly denied entry because he didnât have his driverâs license.
The Holy Grail received its game ball after the Tennessee win. Displaying the ball at the bar, Moehring is more than willing to share it with his patrons, since the idea of sharing is what landed the thing here in the first place.
A few days ago a policeman for the city stopped in after nearby S.W.A.T. training and asked if he could see the ball.
âHereâs this rough, tough guy â a commander, a lieutenant â all of a sudden cradling this football like itâs his six-month-old baby,â Moehring said, smiling. âThe response has been unbelievable.â
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None of this was supposed to happen, which makes the scene all over town more delightful.
The Bengals won six games combined the last two seasons and, even with Burrow on board and every arrow pointing up, the team was thought to still be a year away, at least.
Now, those arrows are pointing all the way up, into the gray, dreary, winter clouds and beyond.
âTheyâve been the underdogs and thatâs what this city is,â Moehring said. âItâs a blue-collar city thatâs usually the underdog. I think weâre starting to sense that America loves the underdog.â
Perhaps, but not as much as Cincinnati does, this parched city just one win away from tipping back footballâs holy grail.
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