It's another typical day at 'the office, which in my case is the 'Horman's Best Pickles' stand on the corner of Carmine Street and 6th Avenue. Protestors march through the streets, while my partner and I sit huddled next to an old, rusty propane heater to keep warm through the sub-freezing temperatures. It's a far cry from the dreams of a perfect season ('til next year!), or even last year's magical ride, but it was reality. That reality stung like the bitter cold attacking my partner's face as if it were a thousand doctor's needles, his salt and peppered beard the only thing offering him protection in this world. That, and a van parked on the corner, which he calls home.
Homeless, but never downtrodden, this man is no bum. He's a good hearted man with good intentions, a gentle soul from Aruba who's fallen on tough times who still manages to hold a job and be a functioning member of society. There isn't a harsh bone in his body, and I gladly pass the time at work with him, huddled around that heater sharing the stories that have forged us into the people we are today.
As the protestors continue to march by, my mind shifts back to that with which it is comfortable with, the Seahawks. As I looked around, discouraged at the state the world is in, where getting lucky and striking it big on reality TV was considered success and where hard work and honesty had little to no place, I received a text message from my father. It's in reference to Earl Thomas and the love that he professes. My father thinks Earl is a little intense, but I assure him that #29 is only doing what comes naturally to him. That he's being himself, truly, 100%, and that that's all we can ask of one another in this life.
ET's evolution as player, leader, and person are one of the amazing things that we've all gotten to witness over the past few years. Once quiet, laid back, and reserved, the man was now on an all-or-nothing mission to show the world the power of love and how it relates not only to football, but to life. It's no secret that at this point in the season, having seemingly turned things around against Arizona and at Santa Clara, that Thomas credited that to the love and camaraderie that had returned to the Seahawks sideline after an intense team meeting where Thomas admittedly showed his teammates some tough love.
Conversely, the most fascinating subject on the offensive side of the ball for Seattle, was enigmatic running back Marshawn Lynch. Much like Thomas, Lynch leaves it all on the field, playing with a fire and passion that burns so deep, they might both one day burst into flames and make history as the first pair of teammates to ever spontaneously combust during an NFL game. That's at least the basis for an excellent touchdown dance.
Unlike Thomas, however, Lynch's personality had done a complete 180 since being in the NFL. Once an outgoing, seemingly happy individual unafraid of the media, Applebee's, or a microphone, years of poor treatment from the press had meant that Marshawn had receded into his shell like a cautious, scared turtle. His shell was a safe place where no one could butcher his words or make a joke of him. Still, the love for his teammates never died. In fact, it was always on display and seemingly grew stronger in the face of more intense media scrutiny.
After a visit to my mother and sister's house later in the week, I found myself feeling less and less like Earl, and more and more like Marshawn. I could feel exactly where Marshawn was coming from. Growing up, I was outgoing and wanted to be able to reach the masses at some point in my life. That was apparent from the age of 5, as my mother attempted to embarrass me like mother's often do, by showing my girlfriend and little sister pictures that I had drawn as a little boy. Some of the things that I had written as a child, made me realize that I was destined to be a writer, and no longer destined for the stardom that I sought after when I was a child.
Sitting in that living room with three of the most important people in my life, I realized that stardom and recognition now meant absolutely nothing to me. Like Marshawn, it was all about family and friends first. I mention my friends in the same breathe as my family because we've been so tight throughout life, and they've always been there for me, so they are my extended family.
I thought back for a minute to around the Super Bowl not even 12 months earlier, and realized how much I disliked doing interviews, disliked being on TV, and disliked being championed around as a human-interest story. Having never been down that road before, I respectfully obliged and took the whole process in stride. After turning down a couple of offers to appear on radio or television live at the Super Bowl because I simply wanted to be with my friends and fellow Seahawks fans who had lived last season's entire journey with me, I was an afterthought. The Super Bowl had come and gone, and the media was done with me because I wouldn't play by their rules. I was okay with this. I just wanted things to go back to normal. I just wanted to be myself again.
I simply didn't care though, and never will. The Seahawks were Super Bowl champions and that was what it was all about. That was one of the two things that truly mattered last season. Not the constant hyping of the '12th Man' by some of the '12th Man' themselves (some fans thinking they were larger than life figures so large that they were even bigger than the team), or cashing in on the Seahawks success like many fans were attempting to do in the process. What mattered was winning the Super Bowl and that's what will always be remembered throughout time.
The other thing that truly mattered last season that won't go down in the history books, was the love that it took to make it all possible. I've met some beautiful Seahawks fans along this journey, a lot of whom I call friend and always will for as long as I live. While the bandwagon continued to gain strength in numbers, or maybe just the numbers part, I had found remarkable luck in being able to connect with so many outstanding people. True leaders in this life, who were generous and had compassion for their fellow man and Seahawks fans. These were the people I would always remember through it all, as I attempted to block out the increasingly noisier bandwagon.
My apologies go out to those who might read this, for I've never been one for keeping my mind on track or going back and looking things over. When something feels right, it feels right, and that's the approach I've had over the past year and change. How I write, is how I speak. A series of stories broken up by tangents that often never get back on track to the intended story. I wish I was Rod Serling, speaking with clarity, succinctness, and a beautiful monologue, but I am what I am, and that is what I am. In my mind, I'm the Chris Gray of writers. Not the best, but always there. They say 80 percent of life is just showing up, if that's the case (I hope not, I hope there's more to life than that) than I'm Chris Gray and I'm okay with that.
I'm far from a perfect man. I should probably write things down more, and maybe I wouldn't forget all of the stories that make up my day to day life. However, that's not what life is all about. Life is to be experienced and felt. Lived. Not captured in a series of pictures or words, posted on the internet. I thought about quitting my writing prior to the season, but friends, family, and Seahawks fans alike encouraged me to keep on keepin' on. This same type of support might have been offered to Marshawn by his teammates, who didn't want to see the man retire after 2013's glory run, as he allegedly told teammates close to him that he would.
I thought back to a time where an old friend, Ryan, who was more like an older brother to me, played me a song by Mos Def. 'Umi Says' always left a lasting impression with me, as Ryan told me that it was one of the few songs that had ever made him cry. The song's uplifting message, with the artist's grandmother (Umi) imploring her talented grandson to "shine your light on the rest of the world, shine your light for the world to see", was enough to make one of the toughest men I'd ever met, cry. His candidness about it all made the song stick even more. That song, it's message, and the message from my friends, family, and supporters gave me enough juice to do it all again this season.
Flash-forward to the present, as I sit in Newark airport, waiting on a flight to Ft. Worth. I could have gotten a window seat, but I've always loved Marcus Trufant, so I go with an aisle seat in row 23 instead, naturally. My mind drifts to that word again, love. As the networks pushed their agenda's, the airport complies, three television's that surround me all blasting the same message. Images of protesters and unrest infiltrating everyone's core. Where was the love? I wondered long and hard about that.
As things stood, ours was a nation in turmoil. The good vibrations and feel-good nature of Thanksgiving quickly snuffed out by deaths in shopping malls on Black Friday, and ultimately erased from the people's subconscious by images on the ole' television of riots and protests. During such times, some might look at the Seattle Seahawks and their 2014 season as an afterthought, a mere distraction in the grand scheme of things. Funny enough, since I was a 13 year old boy, the opposite had always been the case for yours truly. The Seattle Seahawks were always one of the few things that I CAN focus on in this life. Call it a case of misplaced priorities, if you'd like.
Yet, the only way I could truly ignore the noise, whether it be Reverend Al Sharpton trotting out for one of his patented press conferences (always making sure that all of the attention is on him of course) or another "friend" (high school acquaintance, former co-worker, you know the type) on 'The Facebook' posting "articles" (this stuff is hardly journalism anymore, journalistic integrity died long ago) supporting his or her case for or against the police, was by escaping to the mythical realm of Seahawk. Only, that realm wasn't so "mythical" anymore. "Reality" was slowly becoming more and more like the land of make-believe portrayed on TV, while the Seahawks were holding true to their highly-set precedent of being one of the greatest, most truest things on this planet.
As I escaped to my Seahawks realm, with the trumpets from 'Spottieottiedopaliscious' ringing victoriously through only my left ear, (sorry babe, I ruined another pair of headphones again, the right earphone is officially finished) I took a page out of Happy Gilmore's book and went to my happy place.
Luckily, I didn't have to think too far back. Like a random internet user posting "throwback" pictures from one month prior, I slipped away to the weekend prior. The work week was finally done, and it was time for another Seattle Seahawks football game. After spanking the crumbling 49ers in their old building on Thanksgiving, it had been over a week since the Seahawks suited up. Momentum was on their side, and now their fatigued bodies had an opportunity to get some rest. Not that they really needed it.
Something amazing was in the midst of happening. The negativity of internet posters everywhere, demanding replacements for Luke Willson, Jordan Hill, and the lot after just 10 games, had been replaced by an amazing upswing in positivity. Suddenly, everyone was a believer again and Pete Carroll and company could do no wrong. Gone were the fabricated and manufactured tales of Marshawn Lynch's unhappiness and unruliness, Russell Wilson's inability to be the type of black man that teammates allegedly wanted, needed, and demanded, and also gone were the whispers among Seahawks fans who believed that Pete Carroll and John Schneider had lost their magic touch after an awful string of draft classes that failed to produce as the quality depth the team needed to step up.
With idiots weaseling their way off of the bandwagon in droves, only the truest of fans remained by the Seahawks side. As Marshawn would say, we found out really quick who's really ready to ride. Luckily, with freezing alive at work now in the rear-view mirror, there were a few brave souls that were ready to ride to Philadelphia. The city of Brotherly Love, which must be an ironic nickname, was next up on the radar.
Making the trip to the land of the cheese steak with me would be Michelle, who had made the trek to DC for the Redskins game earlier in the season, her boyfriend Brian, who's last name is Baldwin, which practically ensured a huge day from Douglas Freshington, and Jeff, who was making his first game of the season. Jeff had wanted to fly out to Seattle for the Giants game earlier in the year, but with his wedding looming in the future, it turned out that flying cross-country WASN'T a good idea. Fate had dictated that his first Seahawks game would be at Lincoln Financial instead of the CLink.
Also making the trip to Rocky Balboa's hometown, was Greg, a 2013 mainstay. Greg made the trip up to Philly to visit a friend over the weekend, and would be meeting us at the game. Like Leif and others, circumstances beyond anyone's control meant that Greg didn't get to check out as many games as he had the year prior. In mapping out the 2014 run at a repete, Kansas City, St. Louis, DC, Carolina, and this Philly game all looked like viable possibilities for Greg to be in attendance. As we all know, things weren't following the script as so often is the case in football and in life. To date, we had only gone to the Chargers game together in San Diego back in week 2. While we had a great time for sure, we both had hoped that things would have turned out differently.
This was the way the cookie was crumbling though, and there was nothing we could do about it except enjoy this week's game (1-0 every week! That championship mindset!) at hand, as well as hoping for more appearances by Greg in the future. We had seen great wins like the NFC Championship together, while also witnessing gut-wrenching losses like the aforementioned Chargers game, as well as the Colts game in Indy last year together. Win or lose, it was always a great time and a great experience when Greg was around. Not only that, but you could count on having some excellent local cuisine, too.
The week's roster was nearly completely, but it was missing a rather large piece. The secret weapon that I had mentioned last week after the Niners game was none other than, Jazz. Jazz and I, along with Greg, grew up rolling with the same circle of friends back in Jackson Heights, Queens. As we grew older, our friendship continued to grow. While we mostly had the same friends at first and hung out through association, through time we realized that we had more in common than mostly anyone else we knew. I wouldn't hesitate to call Jazz my best friend, although I have a catalog of friends whom I all consider excellent friends and people that I will cherish for as long as I live.
What made Jazz the secret weapon was the fact that he had been to four Seahawks games in his life, including the season opener against Green Bay back in September, and he was yet to witness a single loss. During last year's run, people I'd met started to call me the good luck charm. I knew that I wasn't that, and that that cheapened the value of what the players and coaches were doing out there on the field. It also cheapened the value of Jazz. The man was a perfect 4-0 in his lifetime at Seahawks games, and it wasn't just the record that was impressive, although that spoke for itself. No, what was most impressive about Jazz's undefeated streak was the nature of how the Seahawks won those games.
Ironically, it all began in the very same building that we would be standing in a few short hours. Lincoln Financial Field was the scene, some 9 years and 2 days earlier to be exact, and the night ended with an amazing thrashing of the Eagles on their home turf, 42-0! More on that later, but Jazz's streak continued last season as we witnessed the Seahawks demolish the Giants at MetLife, 23-0. Through two games, both dreaded east coast road games, Jazz was 2-0 with a point differential of +65. 65 points scored, 0 allowed, an amazing ratio! Absolutely unheard of, to be quite honest.
Having never witnessed the Seahawks allow a single point, his shutout streak came to an end in September, with the Seahawks allowing 16 points to our buddy Juan's beloved Green Bay Packers. However, the Seahawks still scored more points on the day and kept his undefeated streak alive. 4-0 was a mere formality, as Jazz, Michelle, Cole, and I made the short trip to DC to watch the 'Hawks dispatch the Redskins. Again, the Seahawks had allowed a few points, but still, Jazz was 4-0 with 128 points scored and 33 points allowed. With this type of record in tact, and with a massive tilt with the 9-3, division leading Philadelphia Eagles looming, it was imperative that Jazz be in attendance on this day.
Our crew for this game definitely was a motley one, and it appeared to be a lucky one as well. Jeff, Michelle, and Brian arrived at my place early Sunday morning, and the first order of business was getting tickets. While they were much pricier earlier in the week, starting at $185 just to get in to the joint, I assured everyone that things would look better closer to the game. Gradually, prices dropped to a more reasonable $150, but it wasn't until gameday that they fell off a cliff to $120. We had worried about finding 6 tickets together at an affordable rate, but we thought quickly and decided to split up the group into a group of 4 and a group of 2. As I stood at the Chase bank near my apartment ready to make a deposit, then head home to make the purchase, Greg messaged me from Philly that there was an unbeatable deal on Stubhub. He pulled the trigger and saved everyone a good amount of cash in the process. Greg has a way of coming through in the clutch like that.
With tickets in hand, I insist on snagging a parking pass without doing any research. It comes back to haunt me, as the parking pass is essentially a ripoff. I had been scammed two weeks in a row now, although this week's con had nothing on last week's. Both were my fault, ultimately, although I couldn't be too hard on myself after last week, as my heart was in the right place. I could never fault myself for wanting to trust in humanity, although some might say that I never should have trusted a Niner's fan to begin with. Lesson learned, fo sho.
We were on the road now, a proper Seahawks road trip underway. The trip through Jersey and into Philadelphia is pretty nondescript, quick, and harmless. As we steadily approach Philly, I regale the group with the tale of Jazzy and I's maiden voyage to the city of Brotherly Love from 9 years earlier. It goes something like this.
That night still remains one of the greatest sports nights of my life. Scratch that, one of the best nights of my life, period.
The Seahawks thrashed Philly, my friends and I got harassed and verbally abused by Eagles fans all throughout the buildup to the game in the parking lot and in the 1st quarter and then, everyone went home by halftime. It started snowing like crazy and at the half, they inducted Reggie White into the Eagles Hall of Fame. One of the drunk guys sitting next to our group said, while falling down the stairs as his friend tried helping him walk, "I'm sorry you had to see this Reggie." He pointed to the sky. After that, the 'Hawks rolled, Lofa and Dyson scored TD's, and the few Seahawks fans that used to travel to road games back then gathered to watch the 'Hawks abuse Philly.
I'm not kidding, literally the entire upper deck had cleared out. It's what a football game would feel like during Resident Evil or a zombie apocalypse. At one point, we weren't even watching the action on the field, we were just watching the snow fall all over the stadium, that's how trash the Eagles were on the field on that night. Mike McMahon and Ty Detmer at QB. Unbelievable how much can change in 9 years.
After the game, a woman sitting across from us notices the white T shirts made to look like Seahawks road jersey's that Jazzy had handmade. For some reason, Jazz loved Grant Wistrom, so that's who's name he had on the back. The woman revealed herself to be the mother of Seahawks practice squad running back Marquis Weeks' mother. She and her 2 other sons, Marquis' brothers, chatted us up on the train ride back to catch our Greyhound bus back home to New York City. She loved the shirts so much that she asked if Jazz could make one for Marquis. Our stop was up but I didn't want to leave the conversation, so I told my friends that we'd get off at the next stop. She was telling us about how nice Isaiah Kacyvenski's father was, and other random things. Then, we come to find out that there is no next stop, the train is just booking it to the last stop on the line and calling it quits for the night.
Keep in mind it's a blizzard outside by this point and now we're in the middle of the hood in Philly. One of Weeks' brothers tells us to watch out for a few of the guys on the train, they had a knife, and proceeded to show us his estimate of the size of the knife using his hands. Weeks' mother tried calling Greyhound and having them hold the bus for us, but they made no promises. We never got her that T shirt jersey in honor of her son, a regret that still sticks with me to this day.
Weeks' family had to head home, so now it was just my buddy Jazz, Norbert, and myself, along with a couple that were also somehow stranded. He saw my Seahawks jersey and started asking me a battery of questions ranging from who that woman was, who was the running back before Shaun Alexander, and a host of other questions that I can't remember over 9 years later. It turns out this man was the Seahawks Director of Marketing at the time, Bill Chapin. Bill was a very nice man, even calling two cabs and allowing my friends and I to get in the first one in order to try and catch our bus. Despite the blizzard and frigid conditions, our cab driver drove with the windows down, chain-smoking cigarettes as if his very life depended on it.
We didn't catch that bus, and actually we ended up having to sleep in a Greyhound bus station for the very first time in our lives. Still, I felt it was worth it, and it was the ultimate exclamation point to an epic night.
Flash forward 9 years and while the supporting cast had changed, Jazz and I still remained to brave the rough and tough Philadelphia crowd. We pull into the parking lot across the street from Citizens Bank Park, home of the Philadelphia Phillies and immediately take ourselves and our tailgating goods to lot K2, where we would be meeting an old friend. Two old friends, in fact.
First, we meet up with Bob aka PredatorHawk, who flew in to Newark International Airport earlier in the morning and made the quick drive over to Philly. Bob said that he absolutely knew he had to come to this one after watching the Seahawks lay a whooping on the Niners on Thanksgiving with his family. "They need me!", he says, to his understanding family. They know not to question matters of the heart when it comes to Bob and the Seahawks. If the man says the team needs me, then you bet they need him and you bet he'll be there supporting them loud and proud. His patented face paint still looks fantastic, despite having just applied it to his face a few minutes earlier at a local area McDonald's. Jeff is especially in awe of PredatorHawk, having seen and heard about him through tales of my travels, but never having gotten a chance to meet him in the flesh.
Our group of seven shares stories and swigs of Jameson, while pounding brews, Green Flash Road Warrior IPA being the brew of the day. Green Flash because of the lime green that's so prevalent in the Seahawks uniform, and Road Warrior because it summed up how we were feeling about the whole experience. I thought of it as perfectly fitting, and it was a no-brainer of a purchase as our road trip's unofficial official beer of choice.
With the clock ticking down towards game time, Greg finally made his much anticipated appearance, showing up within a moment's notice. Greg is wearing his Russell Wilson away jersey, complete with Super Bowl patch, that he was gifted by Bart after the NFC Championship game in January. Bart literally handed him a wad of cash, and told Greg to go get himself a real nice jersey. Greg didn't disappoint, and neither does his pristine jersey, a far cry from the t shirt's we wore to Lincoln Financial years earlier. Who knew, 9 years earlier, that the Seahawks would return to Philadelphia, this time as defending Super Bowl champions. Amazing what a little bit of time can do.
With our group now complete, we make our way in to the stadium, not before being heckled and cursed out by eager Eagles fans first, of course. For those who have never been to an Eagles game in Philadelphia, just imagine everything that you've heard about Philadelphia and Oakland as being true, and then some. To give you an indication of the type of vile smack talk that is on display in the resting place of the Liberty Bell, I dare not even utter some of the insults being lobbed in our direction. I can tell that some of the neophytes on this journey are taken a back, while it's standard for the course for rough and tumble New Yorkers like Jazz, Greg, and myself.
Finally, we make it through security. I normally don't talk about trips to the restrooms along this journey, but they bare repeating when there's literally a line for the urinals, as well as a line to urinate in the garbage can that's inside the men's room. A true display of Philadelphia and the persona that it embraces. As sick as it was, I have to admit that it was one of the funniest moments I've ever had on any of these trips. With that behind us, and after being called a bunch of hipsters, we finally make our way to our seats.
The only problem was, Jazz didn't make it to his seat by kickoff. In fact, Greg, Jeff, and I barely made it to our seats in time to catch the game's opening drive. Michelle was rooting for the Eagles, and at that point so was Brian by association, so they were seated elsewhere. Meanwhile, Bob was in his own single seat, surrounded by the enemy. As we waited for Jazz, nothing eventful happened to start the game. The Seahawks would have the ball first, and ultimately couldn't do anything with their possession.
The team's appeared to be sparring in an attempt to feel each other out, as Jon Ryan and Donnie Jones traded punts, while Pete Carroll and Chip Kelly looked to be feeling each other out. The Eagles, with their much talked about up-tempo offense, attempted to disrupt the Seahawks defense's substitutions and overall defensive rhythm. With the Seahawks defense playing at such a high level, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.
Pete Carroll, on the other hand, was rather content with controlling the clock in an effort to keep the ball out of the Philadelphia offenses hands. Through the first few possessions, neither team was able to execute at the level they most definitely wanted to. Still, the Seahawks offense was wearing Philadelphia down, while the home team was stuck relying on Mark Sanchez at quarterback. Perhaps things would have been different with Nick Foles at the helm of the Eagles up-tempo offense, but unfortunately for them his fractured collarbone hadn't healed yet.
With Sanchez at QB, the Seahawks appeared to be daring him to beat them. He was getting nowhere in that earnest effort, until Jon Ryan fumbled a snap on a punt from deep inside Seahawks territory. With Jazz still missing from his seat, the Eagles punch it in for 6 and the extra point on a 1 yard bubble screen from Sanchez to wide receiver Jeremy Maclin. With a 7-0 lead "against the run of play", Eagles fans in our section celebrate by taking out their lives frustrations out on the group of Seahawks fans seated around them. Us.
We take the abuse and realize that we had just gifted them 7 easy points. Luckily for us though, Jassmir came walking up the steps and eventually to his seat. The legend of Jazz, had arrived!
To be fair, I wasn't backing down from the Eagles fans in our section. Aside from one Eagles fan who was a pretty decent dude who knew his stuff, the rest were relentless in their verbal assaults towards my friends and I. Most of the hate was directed towards me, as I was sick and tired of being verbally abused by opposing fans. Hell, even Niners fans treated us better than this!
The beautiful thing about the Seahawks is that we knew the game was nowhere even close to being over at 7-0. Seahawks teams of yesteryear may have crumbled when faced with a similar situation, but not this one. Not this superbly group of men coached by a superb man.
As the first quarter draws to a close, I make my way to the restroom. Jazz comes with me as my bodyguard, as the Eagles fans behind us make sure to heckle this fact, calling Jazz my daddy and being in charge of my well-being. As we proceed to the bathroom, the game is turned on it's head. Jazz and I stop and watch a TV at concessions, as Hustle Wilson takes it in for 6 points from 26 yards out. it's a perfectly executed Read Option, and it's got Jazz and I screaming for joy from the concessions on our way to el bano. The score was now 7-7, and the Seahawks appeared to be accumulating some momentum.
As the Eagles got the ball back, one thing was clearly evident. They were having an absolutely miserable time trying to move the ball on the Seahawks defense. The Eagles fans on the other hand, continued to take out their frustrations on us. A man in a Trent Cole jersey three rows in front of us made sure to give us hell after every good play by the Seahawks defense. The man immediately to Jeff's right also made sure to tell us to "sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up" multiple times. We refused, myself especially, and we started begging Mark Sanchez to do something, anything, that resembled good quarterback play.
Unfortunately for Eagles fans, and the man behind us who told us to never stand because we were in Philadelphia, their offense was stuck in neutral. McCoy found it impossible to gain any sort of momentum against a ferocious Seattle front seven that was swarming to the ball all game long. After the team's traded empty possessions, the Seahawks made the most of their last possession before halftime, as Steven Hauschka drills a field goal from 44 yards out to give the Seahawks a 10-7 lead at the half. It wasn't the prettiest half of Seahawks football, but it didn't need to be, as the team still somehow led despite spotting the Eagles the game's first seven points.
We hit the restrooms as a team once again, to ensure our safety, and as the second half starts up we're once again out of our seats and navigating our way around Lincoln Financial. We look up at the TV's in the concession stands, as fans continue to buy beer and hot dogs in droves, and "Shady" McCoy puts the ball on the turf for a fumble! The Seahawks recover and once again Jazzy and I celebrate on our way back to our seats. Apparently, Jazz' good luck extended to the concessions area, as great things continued to happen for the Seahawks once we left our seats. A touchdown and a fumble recovery on both of our bathroom breaks had us thinking that maybe we should just watch the game from the corridor instead.
We decide against it and head back to our seats in time to witness a beautifully executed play by Seattle, that ends up in 6 points for the away side. With the ball at the Eagles 15 yard line, Hustle Wilson drops back out of Shotgun formation and slowly drifts towards the right side of the field. His eyes continue to stay down field, as the Eagles begin to swarm towards him. Meanwhile, Beast Mode slips out of the backfield on a wheel route and is absolutely unguarded in the flat on the left side of the field. Russell lobs the ball across his body, a perfect rainbow the lands in the waiting hands of #24. The rest is history, as Lynch breezes into the end zone, but not before giving a vicious stare down back at an Eagles defender who weakly attempts to take him down at the 1 yard line. It's a tough blow for the Eagles, as the 'Hawks seize a 17-7 lead with 14:12 to go in the third quarter.
Our group goes as wild as you can in Philadelphia, before the Eagles fans in our area make sure to let us know where we are and that any sort of Seahawksy behavior is strictly prohibited. The threats are now turning more violent in nature, and Jeff implores me to stop being so aggressive, because he wants to make it home in one piece. I ensure him that Eagles fans are all talk, no bite, and that we'll make it out alive in one piece because they'll be streaming for the exits early just like they had 9 years and 2 days earlier. Just like the fans in Santa Clara did just 10 days earlier.
However, it wasn't over just yet. The Eagles put together their best drive of the day, as Mark Sanchez and company actually look like they dangerous, quick-play-big-play offense that they were cracked up to be. I'm ragging on Sanchez especially hard, when all of a sudden he hits Zach Ertz in the left flat for 35 yards and a touchdown. It's a very nice play from Ertz, who hauls in the ball over the long arms of K.J. Wright, rumbling in for 6 despite Wright's efforts to prevent him. Just like that, it was 17-14 Seahawks with 12:16 to go in the third.
I feel bad for a second, because the Eagles fans absolutely torture us after the score. I had been running my mouth in an effort not to back down from the scum, and it had cost us, as they were relentless in their abuse after Ertz' score. I remained confident, however, and assured everyone that the Seahawks had this one in the bag. Luckily, our boys in college navy, action green, and wolf grey made me look like a genius on the ensuing possession.
Hustle continued to make big play after big play when the Seahawks needed him, and he caps off another solid drive with a beautiful throw to Doug Baldwin for 6 points from 23 yards out. Russell sees the blitz coming, stands in as tall as a 5'10" signal-caller can, and releases the ball in perfect stride, finding Douglas Freshington, who beats his man in one-on-one coverage and races under the beautiful throw. Just like that, the air was let out of the Eagles' sails. The Seahawks were becoming very good at answering opponent's scores, whenever opponent's did manage to score, which wasn't much in the past three weeks. Even in Kansas City, they made sure to answer the Chiefs score for score, except for when it mattered most, unfortunately.
Somewhere, Brian Baldwin must have been happy, because it was his first NFL game and the man with the same surname as him scored a pivotal touchdown for the Seattle offense. I had told him that Doug was going to have a good game with him in attendance, and Baldwin's 5 catches for 97 yards and a touchdown meant that he had followed through on my prognostication. Meanwhile, Jeff was delighted that the Seahawks were up 10, this being his first NFL game since a Jets/Giants preseason game at the Meadowlands years prior.
Greg must have loved the rest of the game, because with a 10 point lead and 9 minutes and change to go, the Seahawks dared Mark Sanchez to beat them. The Eagles needed points, so they were forced to run the ball a little less than Chip Kelly would prefer, and that meant bad news for the ex-Jets starting quarterback. Sanchez continued to drop back, only to be absolutely harassed by the Seattle defense. At one point, the "Seafense" punishes Sanchez with consecutive sacks, one of them coming from cornerback Marcus Burley, who blitzes off the edge and drills Sanchez before he can even see the pass rush formulating.
Sanchez' tough day, in which he was limited to 96 yards passing, continues to get worse after a rare fumble from Marshawn that gives the Eagles a bit of life in the 4th quarter. Despite the fumble, I turn to my buddies and ensure them that a Mark Sanchez backbreaking pick was on the way. Something that Greg had become accustomed to during Sanchez' reign of terror with the Jets. I end up looking like Nostradamus, as on the very next play, Sanchez drops back and heaves the ball down the middle of the field for Riley Cooper. It's a wounded duck, though, and Tharold Simon plays the ball better than Cooper does, comes back to it, and leaps to make a fabulous interception to basically seal the game.
We hoot and holler, and mostly laugh at Sanchez' predictable futility. Much like I had predicted, Eagles fans stream for the exits in an effort to not get caught in traffic due to the scheduled "die-in" that was to take place in the parking lot immediately following the game. A reminder that, while this game was taking place and it may have offered a temporary escape, the country was still a mess with nothing but negative energy, turmoil, and divided factions.
That great divide, angst, and insanity, with people forgetting how to act like proper human beings, was what made the Seahawks success not only in this game, but in the 5 years under Pete Carroll, so beautiful to witness. The very elements that had made Seattle the NFL's greatest force, were all the things that this country was solely lacking. Love, camaraderie, perseverance, hard work, passion, commitment, and even more hard work, were what this downtrodden country and it's citizens were so sorely lacking. Players of different races, not letting society influence how they should feel about one another and instead working together as the ultimate team. Sure, it's just a game, and the Seahawks are just one of 32 teams that play said game, but a lot could be learned from the way the Seahawks have gone about becoming the greatest and with the way they've handled the success. Even when things looked bleak after the Kansas City game, and even as erroneous report after erroneous report continued to rip the team apart, they stayed united and saw it through their darkest time in years. That's what I love about the Seahawks, they've earned everything, every step of the way. They were the ultimate positive role model in not just sports, but life in general.
Finally, the clocks hit zero and yet again, the Seahawks were victorious in Philadelphia. This time, the final score read 24-14. It was an absolutely massive win, and by the time we head for the parking lot, hardly anyone remains. All of the threats, all of the abuse, it actually made the victory that much sweeter! It's always great to win in hostile, enemy territory. It's especially great to do so when the game could have potential playoff-seeding implications weeks down the road. The Seahawks had just bruised and battered one of the league's finest units, and in the process had made the Eagles look like paper champions. We make our way to the parking lot and wait for Bob at his rental car so that Greg can retrieve his bag, which he had stored prior to the game.
Thirty minutes pass by and we start to wonder, where the hell is Bob? I mention that he probably got caught up with some player's family and that he'd get there, eventually. The cold is too much for Jeff, Michelle, and Brian to bare, so they head for my Lady's (who let us borrow her car, thanks babe!) vehicle instead. I can't blame them, as 15 minutes pass by until finally Bob emerges from the Lincoln Financial Field exits. He's got someone with him, however, and as they get closer and more into focus, I can make out who the man with him is.
It's Earl Lockette, Ricardo's uncle, whom Bob had met during the Super Bowl week earlier this year. Bob and Earl had developed a really cool friendship since then, often bumping into each other along the way. I remembered Earl from earlier in the season in Charlotte, when Melissa and Steve offered him a beer at the tailgate and he accepted, despite already having another full beer in his other hand. He was an extremely nice man, well-mannered and reserved with a smile about as big as Ricardo's. Bob informs him that this was my 32nd straight Seahawks game, and Earl shakes my hand and commends me for my fandom. It's a really nice moment that puts the perfect exclamation mark on a great day. I shake Earl's hand and say goodbye, and I let him know that Ricardo's contributions to the team are greatly appreciated, and never overlooked. Bob ensures Earl that we'll all get the word out that we need to vote for Ricardo as the NFC's Special Teams player for the Pro Bowl.
We all have a brew after the game, before parting ways until next time. It was an excellent team effort, from the Seahawks, and from all of us who risked our lives to cheer them from the stands. The trip back to Brooklyn is a quick one, as I fall asleep in the trunk, the limited mobility meaning absolutely nothing to me in my slumbering state. Special thanks are in order for Michelle, Brian, Jeff, Jazz, and Greg for a wonderful night that we'll all be sure to never forget. Super special thanks to Greg, who spotted me a ticket, because he knew the intense financial strain that I was under from all of the traveling in an attempt to chase my dream. Not only that, but he wanted me to be able to buy Christmas gifts for my family. That's what true friendship, love, and teamwork are all about.
The Seahawks were now standing tall at 9-4, and Jazz' Seahawks winning streak now reached 5-0 with 152 points scored and just 47 allowed. A plus 105 point differential, absolutely unheard of! Having just dispatched the Niners in Santa Clara, then pounding Mark Sanchez and the Eagles into the turf. Their early season woes now behind them, it was time to look ahead to their next opponent, those same hapless 49ers who had just finished up losing to the Oakland Raiders at the Coliseum in the Bay. At 7-6, their playoff hopes hinged on getting a victory in Seattle, which seemed highly improbable given their woes and the turmoil that they faced.
It was time to break out the caskets, because this might be the unofficial, official funeral of the 49ers season. A loss in Seattle would mean the ultimate implosion, with Jim Harbaugh likely getting canned at season's end, and the future of Colin Kaepernick then looking very uncertain. All because of a little tip back in January. This truly was, the greatest time to be a Seattle Seahawks fan in the history of life! It was time to ignore all the noise in life, and keep the focus on what it's always been, bringing home a second straight Super Bowl championship to the VMac in Renton.
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