Cincinnati Red and AJ Green: Somehow, Andy Dalton and the Bengals are 5-2

The Cincinnati Bengals' neanderthalic owner Mike Brown shuffles around in a cave strewn with excrement, bones and viscera, dressed in a gray and ragged pelt of some big striped cat, gnawing on the greasy thigh of a gray seahawk dead some three or four days now and starting to rot. He roots in his own filth, muttering and cackling triumphantly. Somehow, after a decade of sullen ambivalence, mischance and misfortune, everything is finally starting to go right. The jokes about the Cincinnati Bengals are so old and well-worn now that their very name is its own punchline. They are the Tonya Harding of the NFL, a franchise whose second-tier talent is commingled with criminal mischief and humiliating ineptitude. Only the negligence of Brown prevented a wholesale housecleaning before now. When he finally got around to it he turned the NFL's conventional wisdom on its year -- keeping his coach and firing his players. Chad Johnson (excuse me, Ochocinco) and Terrell Owens were told t...