Dear Paul:

"Lebanon is having their annual horse-drawn carriage parade this weekend,'' the e-mail began. "They're looking for volunteers to clean up afterward. That crap couldn't be any worse than what you're seeing'' on Sunday afternoons.

Tough call, Bengals or horse dung.

I'm going on vacation instead. You, the parole board, granted me early release. The only condition is complete Bengals abstinence for the last four compelling games. I think I'll manage.

Last week, I asked if you wanted me to continue covering this third year of the Bengals' Groundhog Century. It's not that I mind the work. In most places, writing about the NFL isn't exactly midnight-to-8 installing truck bumpers. The work is fine. The point is, the Lost Decade of the 1990s has roared into the new millennium greased up and ready for action, and I've run out of things to say. Webster has no more words for me when it comes to the Bengals.

I'm not a slacker. I'm more like an empty beer can.

You sent me 1,475 e-mails. The ones I read were passionate in their arguments. I read about half. I tallied the numbers: 377 said take the last four games off; 260 said go. I'm on Bengal hiatus. Bless you.

It'll be hard, not seeing all that progress being made, but if somebody's got to not do it, it might as well be me. I appreciated the feedback. It fell into two broad categories.

Stay: "Your insight and humor carry me through the week."

Go: "Put a clothespin on your nose and do your job, whiner."

Some suggested I simply create a form column: The Bengals lost to ------ Sunday after failing to score four times from the 1-yard line. Others thought a recycled column from a decade ago would be appropriate. Just change "Klingler" to "Kitna" and "Shula'' to "LeBeau." I thought about that.

Others said if they had to suffer, so should I: "Please don't leave us at the plank by ourselves." A few (OK, more than a few) suggested I wouldn't be missed: "Please stop writing about the Bengals for the rest of your life." (Sure, Mike. But can I still come to your stadium for the high school games?)

A few others:

"Keep covering. It's like new episodes of Gilligan's Island."

"I think you're a saint for sticking it out this long. Come and do my laundry."

"You quit writing football 10 years ago." No, I quit 12 years ago.

"If you quit, it shows apathy has set in." Yeah, I know. But really, who cares?

"You haven't said anything of importance for so long." No argument there.

"I will pick you up at LAX and take you to a local sports bar with beautiful waitresses and 50 TVs." OK. Could we skip the TVs?

"Stay away. The only constants the last 12 years have been you and Mike Brown." Dude's got a point.

"You're at your best when the Bengals suck." Yes, I'm always at the top of my game.

"You're a disgrace."

"When the Bengals go to Carolina, I hope you stay there."

"Stop covering anything."

"Quit now and you're the Carl Pickens of journalism." Carl who?

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. You'll live to be 232."

"Pull up your jockstrap and earn your paycheck." I can't find my jock. I think it's in the Bengals' 1990s trophy case.

"Anyone who suggests you cover the games is an obvious enemy." So that's why Dick LeBeau keeps sending me parking passes.

"You're probably being punished for something bad you did in a previous life." No, God sent me Sam Wyche for that.

"Please don't leave us to suffer alone."

I do feel bad about that. But only a little. I'm taking the last four games off. Think of it as aversion therapy. Maybe Sunday, I'll volunteer in Lebanon.

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