31 seconds left in the game…Seahawks on the 1 yard line. We had 4 downs in front of us. Things were looking REALLY good.
The ball was snapped and as if in slow motion…it was in the hands of the opposing team. An interception. Holy fuckballs.
I stood in silence. My hands on my cheeks. I really wanted to rub my eyes and make what I had just seen go away. But it didn’t. The “terrible awful” had just happened. We lost.
I wandered aimlessly around the home of a friend of my aunt and uncle that we watched the game with. My path uncertain…but I could not stand still or sit still for even one more moment in this house full of people. I think it was my way of working through my grief. Walking in circles. I’m not sure if anyone was following me or making sure I didn’t touch any of their valuables because I feel as though my sense of hearing and peripheral vision had escaped my body somehow. I needed to work through my thoughts in solitude. A few people came up to me and said something…but I have no fucking idea what they said. I mean…their mouths were moving…but my sensory perception was so gone I’d just nod and walk away. Sure…there was profanity being spewed from even the most demure mouths. If I had a dollar for every F-bomb that was dropped in the house where I watched the game? My Maui trip for 2016 would probably be paid for.
As the night wore on, I chugged some Nyquil – for the cough, people…for the cough – as I laid in my bed waiting for the sweet nectar to take over, I began thinking about what this loss meant. What I settled on – before the effects of the Nyquil took me into a drunken stupor – was that I was heartbroken for our team more than myself. Their faith in themselves and the love they have for each other are clearly the reason they made it to the Super Bowl in the first place. Their love for the fans. We truly feel it. Perhaps that is why it was so hard to shake that feeling we all had. It was almost something that couldn’t be put into words. I can tell you it was a sadness. A deep sadness. A sadness that’s almost embarrassing to be feeling because, well, it’s “just a game”. Well, you know what? To some people? It’s not just a game. To me, it’s not just a game. To our team? It’s not just a game.
So today, we were able to get out of bed and head to work. Somehow. We have been asked what we thought of the game yesterday. Somehow we respond as to not appear to be sour – wait…that’s just me. I’m personally attempting to tap into the grace that Russell Wilson and Pete Carroll have displayed since that moment last night. The team is on their way back home – and perhaps other cities experience this as well – but my hope deep down is that we show as much excitement and support as we did one week ago when we lined the streets of our beautiful and hopeful team as they headed towards the airport. Flags waving, arms flailing, faces painted…showing the world what the meaning of The 12th Man really is. And that is a love for your team and it’s players and coaches, not just when they are winning. But when they lose, too.
Our boys fought hard this year. What an amazing year they gave us. I can’t help feel that I owe them something. Something more than my screams at a television can offer. They can have my love. They may not know what that means. But to me it means they have my heart. There isn’t a more precious gift I can give than that. The definition of our fight this year will not boil down to one play. It won’t. I won’t let that happen. I will remember the amazing plays and comebacks that were made. The faith that was shown. The love the players have for each other. The brotherhood that has been created. The love of The 12th Man.
Here’s to Super Bowl 50. Our team will be stronger, wiser and closer than ever when the 2015 season begins. And the 12’s will be there. For every exciting step of the way. In Pete Carroll and Russell Wilson and everyone on our team – we trust.
“Every setback has a major comeback.” ~ Russell Wilson #GreaterIsComing