The Agony

Certainly no ecstasy. For the first time in a really long time, I felt like a fan watching an NFL game. As I've mentioned before, I'm no longer a fan of professional sports (the big 3, anyway), but it was kind of cool to put that aside and rant and rave at the TV, next to a bunch of "real" Seahawk fans. There won't be too many people who agree with my outlook on the state of pro sports, and when I feel really angry about it, I point the finger at the fans, as if they're enablers or the beaten wife. But watching -- the only way they can be involved -- is their passion. And I forgot all the money stuff (not counting the times I thought how underwhelming the commercials were, considering how much it cost to air them; and how much did it cost to drag the Rolling Stones away from their oxygen tanks to put them on stage? They suuuuuucked) and got caught up in it. I looked around the living room, sitting close to a big screen TV and I saw all these people (guys, wives, even their toddlers) wearing Seahawks gear. And then I thought of my other friends and other Seattle fans in the two weeks prior to the game. All the nostalgia about the former Seahawk greats -- Largent, Warner, Kennedy, Easley, Krieg, etc -- got me thinking bullshit. They had their chances in their day. They're all sitting on their rich, retired asses. This one's for the FANS. All the stuff they put up with over the years -- the mediocre play, spoiled, overpaid players, asshole owners with their stadium costs and politics, the threat of the team leaving town -- the fans deserved this game. Until yesterday, I was pretty ambivalent about the game, great if they win, eh, oh well if they lose. But there I was yesterday, exorcising the demons of Seattle Seahawk fanhood -- fuck you, Ken Behring! -- slapping fives with every great play, screaming at blown calls. After the game, after the tension of the whole thing melted away, I felt sadness. Not because the players lost -- who cares, a lot of them won't be back, and they're paid to play -- I was sad for the fans. Grown men and women, emotionally spent, resigned to loss (the game was all over after the last blown call for holding that nullified a Jerramy Stevens reception inside the five yard line), on the verge of tears. Too bad they weren't rewarded for their devotion.

Before I turn my sport-apathetic face back on, I'll say this. This Super Bowl isn't the last one the Seahawks will play in. Like the 1978 Sonics, they'll be back to win it all next year.