BY PAUL DAUGHERTY
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Gunnar Esiason at 4 ''That's why I'm playing. We win a game, he's all over TV. Whoever watched the game hopefully now knows what cystic fibrosis is. That's all I really give a damn about, to be honest with you.'' - Boomer Esiason

We asked him how he felt. We always ask that. It's the best and worst question. And almost always unanswerable, because the deepest feelings can never properly be expressed.

How did Boomer Esiason feel?

How does a sunrise feel, making its way across an ocean? A crocus in April, a parent in the first few minutes after a child is born? There are no words.

Even for someone as talkative as Esiason. Boomer would be in the sportswriters hall of fame, if there were such a thing. He'd be in the front row, a box seat, 40-yard line. He always has something to say.

But words can fail even him.

''Very fulfilled,'' was what Boomer managed. ''Very satisfied inside.''

Here is what he did, on this glowing day of football, witnessed by 55,158 at Cinergy Field:

Threw for two touchdown passes and 211 yards.

Brought a composure and presence to the Bengals offense. ''A sense of success'' was how guard Scott Brumfield put it.

Created an excitement at Cinergy Field that had been lost, while helping the Bengals beat Jacksonville, 31-26.

Brought again to the public conscience the fight for a cure for cystic fibrosis.

Gunnar has that. CF. Gunnar is Esiason's son, born six Aprils ago. Boomer's very own crocus.

On Sunday, Gunnar watched the game from the enclosed box his dad bought for the season. Cold weather aggravates Gunnar's condition, but inside the box it's no problem.

He saw his dad turn the clock back a decade. Gunnar pronounced the effort ''Really good. It was good to see my dad out there.''

Yes, it was. A town searching for something, anything to cheer for from its mournful football team needed No. 7 to do what he did Sunday. He was a walking reason to believe.

The first time the Bengals had the ball, Esiason moved them 63 yards.

He was quick, he was calm. He was in control. He led. Esiason completed his first five passes on the drive, and even scrambled for a first down. Cinergy Field caught a whiff of 1988, the Super Bowl year, and inhaled deeply.

In the box, Gunnar wanted to know why the fireworks went off. Esiason explained that was what happened when the Bengals scored a touchdown. Gunnar decided that was ''cool.''

Boomer plays now so his son can remember what his dad did for a living. At 6, memories dance in and out like fireflies in the dusk, random and fleeting. Some stick; most don't.

''He's starting to know what's going on,'' Esiason said.

Mostly, Esiason plays to give his work for CF a national voice. He could have retired after last year, but the size of his pulpit would have diminished. Sunday, it only grew.

''That's why I'm playing. We win a game, he's all over TV. Whoever watched the game hopefully now knows what cystic fibrosis is. That's all I really give a damn about, to be honest with you,'' he said.

After a quarter, the Bengals already had 21 points, and Gunnar's gaze had made the broadcast, his face pressed against the glass, hopeful and new.

At halftime, Esiason waved up to the box. When the game ended, he ran through the tunnel to the dressing room, accompanied by shouts of ''Boo-mer! Boo-mer!'' And by Gunnar, whom he scooped up from a family friend standing near the dressing room door.

''If you have a child that's suffering from something like he is, it makes it that much more special. It's an unbelievable feeling to share a moment,'' Esiason said. ''The thing is, you wish it could last a lifetime, but it only lasts 30 minutes or so.

''Some of you are parents,'' he said. ''You know what it's like.'' What is it like? Another question that can't be answered.

To lift our kids up above the hurt and sadness that sometimes comes? To make them immune to that? Yes. We all want that.

Boomer Esiason wants what's best for his child. That's all. It's why he's still playing football, mainly. It's why he lives for days such as this, when the cheers sound like '88, only better, because he has someone new to share them with.

What's that feel like?

Hard to say.

Esiason emerged from the dressing room an hour after the game, after all the questions had been answered, all the unknowables probed, all the mysteries made plain. He summoned Gunnar and Gunnar's sister, 5-year-old Sydney. The three walked out and made a quick left.

''Wanna see the field, guys?'' Esiason said. He was in the middle, Gunnar to his left, Sydney his right. They held hands. The sharp glare of a still-lit spotlight creased the scene. ''There it is,'' Esiason said.

So much to play for.

Enquirer columnist Paul Daugherty welcomes your comments at (513) 768-8454.

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