CINCINNATI —
The Cincinnati Bengals had a choice to make, and like clockwork, the Brown family made the cheapest, safest, most comfortable one possible.
They kept Zac Taylor.
In a division defined by adaptation, urgency and an unapologetic obsession with winning, the Bengals once again chose vibes, nostalgia and contractual convenience over accountability. While the rest of the AFC North aggressively recalibrates every year — tweaking schemes, churning staffs, modernizing philosophies — Cincinnati clings to a head coach whose résumé remains dangerously thin for someone entrusted with Joe Burrow’s prime.
Yes, Taylor took the Bengals to a Super Bowl. Once. Four seasons ago. That banner still waves proudly at Paycor Stadium, usually when fans need something to point at while watching another December game that doesn’t matter.
And yes, according to multiple reports, the Bengals quietly extended Taylor after the 2022 AFC Championship loss to Kansas City — an extension the team never publicly announced, because transparency has never been a Brown family hobby. That deal reportedly keeps Taylor under contract through 2027, which all but guarantees this franchise will ride out mediocrity rather than pay for a new direction.
The Brown family almost never fire coaches early. Marvin Lewis stayed 16 seasons, made the playoffs five times, won zero postseason games and somehow became furniture. Taylor, entering his seventh season, has reached the playoffs twice. That’s not a typo. Two postseason appearances with a Pro Bowl quarterback, an All-Pro receiver in Ja’Marr Chase and Tee Higgins on the opposite side.
But hey — remember when Taylor delivered game balls to local bars during the Super Bowl run? That story still gets dusted off anytime criticism arises. Nothing screams “elite NFL operation” quite like nostalgia tours of Over-the-Rhine taverns while the standings say “eliminated.”
Here’s the reality, stripped of sentimentality:
Since that Super Bowl appearance and the following AFC title game trip, Cincinnati has missed the playoffs in three consecutive seasons. ESPN’s team metrics consistently place the Bengals’ defense in the bottom half of the league in points allowed and efficiency during that span. Even in games when Burrow and the offense score north of 30 — and yes, there have been several — Cincinnati has still found creative, almost artistic ways to lose.
That’s coaching.
The Bengals have dropped games when Burrow threw for 300-plus yards and multiple touchdowns. They have blown late leads because of clock mismanagement, conservative play-calling and defenses that couldn’t stop a nosebleed. According to ESPN Stats & Info, Cincinnati has ranked near the bottom of the league in defensive success rate in high-leverage situations over the past two seasons. That’s systemic and it falls largely on Taylor.
Front office blame is deserved. Personnel decisions on defense have been questionable at best, negligent at worst. But head coaches don’t get absolved when the same problems persist year after year. Taylor oversees the operation. He hires the assistants. He sets the tone. And his Bengals have developed a troubling identity: flashy offense, flimsy backbone.
Meanwhile, Baltimore continues to churn out top-tier defenses regardless of coordinator turnover. Cleveland rebuilt its staff and doubled down on innovation. Pittsburgh, even in down years, refuses to fall below competence. Cincinnati? Cincinnati congratulates itself for being fun on Instagram.
The most damning part isn’t that Taylor stayed. It’s why he stayed.
He’s affordable. He’s compliant. He doesn’t rock the boat. The Brown family values stability the way other franchises value Lombardi Trophies. Winning is nice. Being profitable and predictable is better.
And that’s the tragedy.
Joe Burrow’s career clock is ticking. Ja’Marr Chase won’t wait forever. Higgins already didn’t. This was the window — and Cincinnati chose to lock the shutters instead of renovating the house.
The Bengals don’t need another heartwarming anecdote. They don’t need patience. They need ambition. They need an owner willing to spend, a front office willing to admit mistakes and a head coach capable of winning games when everything isn’t perfect.
Until that happens, the Bengals will remain what they’ve always been: a franchise content with being almost great, proudly allergic to urgency and stubbornly loyal to the idea that yesterday’s magic should count forever.
At some point, Cincinnati fans deserve better than memories.
And frankly, the NFL deserves better ownership.








