The end of the Bills’ dream season, at the hands of Joe Burrow’s Bengals

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The script, it seemed, had been crafted. This was late-January playoff football in Buffalo. This was snow swirling, traffic jamming, and Bills Mafia out drinking and chanting and jumping through tables. Typical. And, ultimately, not typical at all.

This was at the end of a brutal year, even by the local standards, after the blizzard to end all blizzards and the racist mass shooting at a grocery store and Damar Hamlin’s cardiac arrest. This was the backdrop of this game, which mattered a whole lot less than life-and-death but was relevant, tethered, tied: A franchise with history and Hall of Famers and four-straight Super Bowl appearances but still no NFL championship could end the misery. Maybe. Please?

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