The first thing Dalton Risner does when he comes into the Bengals locker room he has taken by storm is turn around his chair so he can face his locker mates. The next thing he does is listen.

This is the morning after last Sunday's game in Buffalo, his fifth start at both guards in eight games during a stretch the offensive line has arguably played its best ball of the Zac Taylor Era, and Risner is chopping it up as usual. This time with Jalen Rivers, the rookie and his fellow right guard, and Andrew Coker, the big tackle from TCU.

Coker didn't make the trip, so Risner is telling him he didn't miss much in Western New York ("They had two showers and the warm water shut off after 30 minutes"), and then he asks him what he saw from the O-Line on TV.

"I love Coker. He's been on the practice squad for a couple of years, and he has a big future ahead of him," says Risner, who knows Coker's bio as if he's a media type.

That's because Risner seems to know everyone's story.

At breakfast the other morning, Rivers, and the other rookie guard, Dylan Fairchild, almost fell over when Risner started telling them about themselves.

"I told them the story about how Jalen won the Ibus Award at Miami," Risner says. "Which is an award that best exemplifies what a Miami Hurricane is, and Ibus is their mascot. I told the story that when Dylan was at Georgia, he won the Lunch Pail Award, and how it who best exemplifies bringing your lunch pail to work every day because you're a hard worker."

Rivers and Fairchild, baffled, looked at him. They barely knew all that. Don't you remember? Risner asked. You told me that at breakfast a couple of weeks ago.

"It's about relationships, man, that's what the sport is forged on," Risner says. "If you want to know why our offensive line is playing better each and every week, it's because we're getting to know each other. We love each other. We're playing for each other. We don't want to let each other down. I know these guys. I know their stories. They're starting to get to know me, and that's the special part about this game that you can't really replace."

Risner isn't the only reason, of course, that the O-line is holding up. But since he came off the couch the last week in August, he's been exactly what they needed inside at both guards when the rookies went down.

Since Joe Flacco’s first start in Green Bay on Oct. 12 and through Joe Burrow’s second start in his return in Buffalo, the Bengals have racked up the NFL's fifth most points and third most passing yards. Their 4.8 yards per rush is tied for fourth highest, and 11 sacks allowed are tied for the third fewest.

The numbers also spit out that Risner, 30, in his seventh season, is ranked 38^th among NFL guards by Pro Football Focus, and has a higher run-blocking grade than such veterans as Wyatt Teller and Kevin Zeitler.

But Risner isn't a numbers guy. Never was coming out of Wiggins High School in a patch of Colorado of about 1,000 people, where one year there were 16 guys on the team, and he played Mike Linebacker and special teams as well as anywhere on the offensive line.

"Great vibes guy," Coker says. "He's a guy who always makes sure the vibe is high. Energy. Great energy. When he walks into a room, you feel it.

"He's the best guy I've been around."

Rivers gets the same kind of vibe as they've grown closer.

"Great teammate," Rivers says. "We have heart-to-heart talks about football, about life. He's an open book. You can ask him anything, and he'll ask you anything."

Not too long ago, Coker was telling the guys about how he was recently engaged and how the couple was trying to work through some annoying things in the house.

"He immediately pulled me off to the side for about 20-25 minutes and asked me what I didn't appreciate about it, and he said, 'Well, it might be because you do this.' And I actually do that," Coker said. "And he was able to really relate to me and help me."

Maybe Risner gives because he knows what it's like to be ignored. So he gives notice.

His first memories are of not having much in a trailer in Missouri, where they dropped off Christmas gifts. While his mother stayed home with the five boys, his father Mitch worked three jobs with most days starting at an auto parts store and ending at night washing dishes.

But he was rich in role models. His family turned it around enough to move to Wiggins about the time Risner started school to begin a journey that's charted with tattoos.

The handwriting of his mother and father on the inside of his biceps. His family tree. His last name. A handful of scriptures, one with a picture of a world with one hand reaching for the other. Three wooden crosses.

"Whatever we needed, our parents sacrificed and gave it to us," Risner says. "I think at one time, one of my brothers was dirt biking. One of my brothers was BMX bike riding. I was bull riding. We all were doing something different. I was showing cattle. No matter how many jobs my dad had to work, no matter how much my mom had to stay home and watch us all and take care of our every need. They just made it happen."

No one was driving through or jetting into Wiggins to recruit. So at 12, when he told Mitch he wanted to play Division I football, they started hustling. Ten, maybe 15 camps a summer. On Saturdays, Dalton would scour college football web sites looking for staff directories so he could call head coaches or offensive line coaches or anybody at all.

Sometimes he pretended he already had an appointment in order to get a coach on the phone. He e-mailed tape, he sent videos of dunking a basketball, and when the dust cleared, he had 10 offers on the way to Kansas State and then the hometown Broncos in the second round.

"It's a testament to what all my parents did for me, and it's a testament to what the whole community did for me," Risner says. "Blue collar. Gritty."

So he gives. A day after chopping it up with Rivers and Coker, he spends some of his off-day at Independence Elementary School in Kentucky hanging with special education students. His sprawling foundation hits a number of needs, ranging from kids with cancer to serving on Special Olympics boards in Colorado and Kansas. In Denver, he once put on a free summer camp, "A Precious Child," that supplied programs for low-income families.

He'll spend the holidays in Cincinnati reading to middle school kids.

"I feel like I'm just going to be exactly who I am, even if it's not the cool thing to do," Risner says. "To be kind or to be overly outgoing or loving, talkative, or whatever that is. But I'd rather be myself than fake it and not be who I am."

Who he is is knowing the nameplates around him. Like his left tackle Orlando Brown Jr., an NFL legacy.

"Orlando's story is amazing. What he's overcome, the shoes he had to fill, the leader he is now, the player he is now," Risner says. "Ted Karras’ story is unbelievable. Coming here, rewriting his career, and now to just keep signing deals here. I wish I could do that. That's a goal of mine. Lucas Patrick. A minicamp invite, 10 years in the league, over 50 starts. That's miraculous."

Risner and his dad are still in the miracle game. About 25 years after washing dishes and then breaking into the software business making sales calls, Mitch is a vice president. His son, making league minimum on a one-year, hopes to keep the journey going here for a couple of years.

Until then, he'll be asking questions. Just the other day, he was picking Flacco's brain. The day after Buffalo, Burrow wandered over to his chair, and Risner asked him how he felt in the pocket.

"I want to get to know these guys throughout the week. We're going to war on Sunday," says Risner, who has already been.