
The Cincinnati Bengals are a franchise defined as much by frustration as by football. Since their founding in 1968, the Bengals’ history has been marked by brief flashes of brilliance overshadowed by decades of controversy, financial blunders, and chronic mismanagement. At the center of nearly every era of dysfunction stands one name: the Brown family.
From the genius yet bitter control of founder Paul Brown to the nepotistic and tone-deaf ownership of Mike Brown and now Katie Blackburn, the Bengals’ lineage of leadership has too often been an anchor rather than a sail. The Browns have built an empire not on winning, but on leverage — and the fans have paid for it, literally and emotionally.
Paul Brown, a football innovator without peer, founded the Bengals after his unceremonious firing by Art Modell in Cleveland. Determined to reassert his legacy, Brown brought pro football to Cincinnati in 1968, just before the AFL–NFL merger. His early teams were disciplined and competitive, even making the playoffs in 1970.
But while Brown’s genius as a coach was unquestioned, his authoritarian streak and inability to evolve sowed the seeds of future dysfunction. He demanded absolute control — from play-calling to player conduct — and resisted change in an NFL that was rapidly modernizing. Players remember the stingy environment vividly: having to buy their own sodas, bring their own towels, and practice at Spinney Field, a facility that some described as “a glorified toxic dump.”
Brown’s belief in loyalty often ran one way — upward. And his refusal to empower others would soon cost the Bengals a dynasty.
In the mid-1970s, Paul Brown had on his staff one of the brightest minds in football history — Bill Walsh, then his offensive coordinator. Walsh’s offensive system, built on timing, precision, and innovation, would later revolutionize the game as the West Coast Offense.
But Brown couldn’t stomach sharing credit. In Walsh’s autobiography, he detailed how Brown subtly undermined him, insisting to the media that he — not Walsh — was designing and calling plays. As Walsh’s reputation grew, Brown’s resentment deepened. When Brown retired after the 1975 season, rather than promote his brilliant assistant, he hired his friend Tiger Johnson, a decision that sent the franchise into a tailspin.
Walsh was blackballed across the NFL. Brown reportedly told multiple teams that Walsh was “too soft” or “unfit” to be a head coach, effectively freezing him out. Years later, when Walsh finally landed at Stanford, he received a newspaper clipping about his hiring — mailed anonymously from Cincinnati, with the words “burnt bridges” scrawled across it. Walsh was certain it came from Paul Brown himself.
That jealousy cost Cincinnati immeasurably. Walsh would go on to win three Super Bowls with the San Francisco 49ers — two of them against Paul Brown’s Bengals.
Brown’s distrust and penny-pinching continued to haunt the Bengals. In 1984, the team negotiated with Steve Young, intending to make him their top draft pick. They offered him a three-year, $3 million contract — a hefty sum at the time. Young declined, openly stating he had no interest in playing for the Bengals and instead joined the USFL. That same year, first-round pick Ricky Hunley refused to report to the team.
Imagine the alternate history: Bill Walsh coaching the Bengals in 1976, developing Ken Anderson into a champion, then handing the reins to Steve Young by the mid-1980s. Instead, Paul Brown clung to outdated philosophies, and the Bengals’ window closed.
Brown was a visionary coach — perhaps the greatest of his era — but as an executive, he was stubborn, frugal, and increasingly out of touch. His son Mike Brown learned those lessons well.
When Paul Brown passed in 1991, his son Mike inherited control — and the franchise quickly collapsed into chaos. Mike Brown’s tenure became a masterclass in how not to run an NFL team. His hallmarks: nepotism, outdated management, and total disregard for modern football operations.
He refused to hire a true general manager, insisted on handling personnel himself, and oversaw one of the worst decades in NFL history during the 1990s. From 1991 to 2002, the Bengals finished last in their division nine times. But Mike Brown wasn’t losing — not financially, at least.
In the late 1990s, Mike Brown strong-armed Hamilton County into one of the most one-sided stadium deals in sports history. Using the threat of relocation to Baltimore as leverage, Brown secured public funding for Paul Brown Stadium (now Paycor Stadium), forcing taxpayers to absorb nearly all costs and future maintenance.
The fallout crippled the county’s budget for years, slashing public services and causing massive debt — all while the Bengals reaped record profits.
Today, thanks to that deal and the windfall of TV revenue, the Brown family’s fortune has ballooned to nearly $4 billion. The people of Cincinnati financed a monument to mediocrity — and got little in return.
Mike Brown’s front office became infamous for its draft disasters. The Bengals routinely reached for the wrong players, ignored glaring needs, and resisted innovation. Among the worst examples:
1992: Drafted David Klingler while Boomer Esiason was still productive.
1999: Rejected the Saints’ offer of their entire draft class for the right to pick Akili Smith — who became one of the biggest busts in league history.
2000s: Fielded rosters littered with players known more for arrests than accomplishments.
By the mid-2000s, the Bengals were dubbed the “Cincinnati Convicts.” Ten players were arrested in just 14 months, and national outlets ridiculed the franchise as a haven for undisciplined athletes.
When Marvin Lewis was hired in 2003, he brought the franchise its first semblance of stability in decades. Lewis led the Bengals to seven playoff appearances — an extraordinary achievement considering the dysfunction above him. But without control over personnel and forced to work within Mike Brown’s outdated structure, Lewis could never push the team past the wild-card round (0–7 in the playoffs).
Simply getting Cincinnati into the postseason under those conditions was, in itself, miraculous.
The Bengals turned to Zac Taylor in 2019, a coach with no prior head coaching experience but plenty of hope. After two rebuilding years, fortune — not management genius — finally smiled on Cincinnati when the team “earned” the top pick in the 2020 NFL Draft.
They drafted Joe Burrow, and for once, they didn’t screw it up. Burrow’s talent masked the organization’s structural flaws, leading the Bengals to an AFC Championship and a Super Bowl appearance. Yet, even now, the same issues linger: an undermanned scouting department (only 4–8 full-time scouts versus 25–45 league average), missed draft picks on offensive linemen, and a frugal front office that let stars like Jessie Bates walk without adequate replacements.
Despite the team’s recent success, the core problem hasn’t changed. The Bengals remain a family business first and a football operation second. Duke Tobin has long served as the de facto general manager, but his true authority is unclear — and Mike Brown’s shadow looms large.
Now, with Katie Blackburn taking a bigger role, the next generation of the Brown dynasty is already pressuring Hamilton County for another sweetheart stadium deal. History suggests they’ll get it — and the fans will once again foot the bill.
The story of the Cincinnati Bengals is not one of failure by accident — it’s failure by design. For more than half a century, the Brown family has valued control over collaboration, profit over progress, and loyalty over leadership.
Their rare moments of success — from Ken Anderson to Boomer Esiason to Joe Burrow — have happened in spite of ownership, not because of it.
And now, as the city braces for another stadium negotiation, Bengals fans can only hope history won’t repeat itself. But if it does, they’ll know exactly why: because the Browns never change.

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