Finding Beast Mode II: Beast Mode Activated

'Du schaffst das schon!'

(You will make it!)

These words, given to me in the form of a note on a small piece of paper by a German man named Andre, on my way back from the Chiefs game, could not have come at a better time. It's funny how sometimes all we need are just a few simple words of encouragement. It doesn't even have to be anything groundbreaking, sometimes all you need to hear is that you're on the right track. Looking back at it, that Chiefs experience was full of people telling me to keep on going, and not to doubt what I had believed so steadfastly in for all this time.

Things had changed since then, dramatically. All for the better of course, much to the chagrin of those who can't wait to see the Seahawks fail. Just 4 weeks later, the team was now 10-4 and appeared to be primed for another legendary stretch run that defied logic and convention.

However, despite officially ending the 49ers season (and perhaps Jim Harbaugh's tenure with the team) and bumping into Beast Mode at Sea-Tac, there were still dark days ahead. All was well within the Seahawks bubble, of course. However, back home in New York City, things were about to go from bad to worse.

December 20th, 2014 was a day that New Yorkers will remember for as long as we're around. I won't forget where I was. LaGuardia Airport was the scene, as I sat watching some unexpected Saturday night football in the form of an Eagles/Redskins game.  I sat there awaiting my flight to Philadelphia, when Greg sent me a link containing the news. 2 NYPD officers gunned down in broad daylight, not too far from my home in Brooklyn. Things had already been ugly for weeks, and this was just going to escalate things even further.

Upon hearing the news, my thoughts immediately shifted towards Luis, Greg and I's friend from back in the day who had since started working for the NYPD. Luis is one of the biggest Giants fans on this planet, and had made the trek out to Seattle for the game earlier in the season. Luis is a generous man, a great friend, and an excellent father who is always there for someone when they need it. I tried to imagine the thoughts racing through his mind, but decided against it when I saw myself getting too worked up thinking about the subject.

Luckily, Greg and I were leaving the strife and misery behind, if only for a little while. The desert awaited. It called to us like wolves howling at the moon. Of the road games over the past two seasons, Arizona still remained one of my favorite places that I had visited. Somehow, you just seemed to feel more connected to the earth in Arizona. 

The road we traveled was quite an interesting one. We both arrived at Sky Harbor at around 11 PM, except Greg had a stop in Chicago, while my connecting flight was in Philadelphia. I must admit, it was pretty fun watching the Eagles game at the Philly airport. Eagles fans, known for their boisterousness and intensity, were yelling at the television, as Jay Gruden's squad continued along with their upset bid. Airport workers, TSA agents, it didn't matter what their position was, Philly fans were livid and not afraid to let everyone hear about it.

Despite some pre-flight concerns, everything worked out smoothly, as they so often have on this amazing journey. We were now both in Phoenix, the cold, pain, and suffering now in our rear view mirror's. We can both tell that this is going to be a great weekend, as our airport shuttle driver is a pretty cool dude who engages us about where we were coming from and what we were up to in Phoenix. We tell him that we came from New York City to watch the Seahawks play the Cardinals, which usually gets some interesting responses. Most people are usually pretty taken aback when they find out the road Greg and I travel to watch the Seahawks play live.

I guess it does sound pretty crazy on the surface. Two dudes from Queens in New York City, who flock to American cities near and far for a chance to witness a tale of Seahawk greatness. Two weeks ago we were in Philadelphia, and now we were in Phoenix, distance was no obstacle for either of us. Every game, every play, is another chance to bear witness to a legendary moment. A moment etched both in time and Seahawks lore. Having witnessed last season's magical Super Bowl run, we were now playing with Hausch Money. 

Like Lazarus, the Seahawks had risen from the dead. Despite having been 6-4, there were still incredible moments and rare feats of Seahawks greatness crammed into each and every game. Whether it be the historic team rushing performance against the New York Giants or the all-time historic performances by Russell Wilson in St. Louis and Washington DC, this team has still been amazing to behold. Earlier in the season, the ball seemed incapable of bouncing the Seahawks way. There was Maxwell's dropped pick six against Dallas and the fumble no-call at St. Louis, among a host of others. Somewhere along the way though, balance had been restored to the universe. Perhaps Kam Chancellor literally provides balance to the universe, with his bare hands, and him being injured earlier in the year had knocked the planet out of alignment.

Whatever it was, be it the football god's or just pure chance, things had turned around. It started in Seattle against these same pesky Cardinals. Back then, which feels like an eternity ago but was less than a month ago, the Cardinals were the hot team in the West and had jumped out to an early lead in the division, surprising many as they continued to pull out tough, gritty win after tough, gritty win. They were now being dubbed "the best coached team in the league", as it gave media pundits and homer fans alike a chance to validate their belief that Pete Carroll isn't the best coach in the league.  After all, it was Bruce Arians, not Pete Carroll, who seemed the odds on favorite to win Coach of the Year honors. However, it was Carroll's Seahawks who now seemed more likely to win the game's ultimate crown, the Lombardi Trophy.

I'm sure Pete would be content with that trade off every year for as long as he coached, but success hadn't come easy this season, it was being earned. The truth is, Pete Carroll had done a masterful job of coaching his players and coaches alike, and helping reach a common goal. With the team sitting at 6-4 after a tough road trip to the Midwest, it would have been very easy for this team to have a mini-implosion ala the Niners. Having gotten fat after winning the Super Bowl, it would have been excusable to mail it in the rest of the way. That's how most teams would operate, however, not this resilient bunch. That's just not in their DNA and that all stems back to Pete Carroll and John Schneider. 

Not many coaches would have been able to get a group of individuals to rally the way Pete Carroll has with the Seattle Seahawks this season, but it's clear that Pete Carroll isn't like most of the rest and is instead part of the elite group of history's greatest sideline minders. John Schneider, for his troubles, has never won an Executive of the Year award, despite having helped build one of the greatest success stories in NFL history. All of these oversights would have had me seething as a kid, but now, they didn't matter anymore. Life was too short, and opportunities like these were too rare, to get caught up in the slights.

Those slights tend to inspire you and drive you though. Part of what keeps me going is knowing that no one would be surprised if I couldn't continue or if I failed. Just like Richard Sherman wanting to prove that he was better than a 5th Rounder, I wanted to prove that I would not quit. I could not quit. I was physically incapable of it. Being back in Arizona was good for the soul. The hustle and bustle of the city was nowhere to be found, and less than 24 hours remained before the Seahawks would take back their division crown.

Greg and I listen to Mike Francesca rant about Jets GM John Idzik for a while before calling it a night. As per usual, I couldn't get much sleep the night before the game. It was 5:45 AM and I was already awake and ready to go to the stadium. Something about game day gets me psyched up straight to my soul. Sleeping is impossible, I'm like the opposite of Russell Wilson, who gets most of his sleep on the night before games.

Once Greg rose, we took a quick walk around Phoenix to check things out. Much like in Atlanta and Houston, downtown is deserted. A ghost town, the only thing missing being the customary tumbleweeds flying around in the distance. Greg and I were always amazed at city's where downtown is shutdown. The thought of that, coming from New York City, is absolutely preposterous. It was an interesting change of pace and I was definitely down with having the city to ourselves, something that could never happen downtown in New York City. Only at 4 AM, when chances are you don't want the place to yourself.

We get back to the hotel, watch a little bit of the Lions/Bears and Chiefs/Steelers games, and then make our way to the first of what would eventually be three pizza places that we visited in Phoenix. It was a pizza adventure hidden inside of a Seahawks adventure. Every Seahawks adventure should be a pizza adventure, I am sure of this now.

After filling up with a couple of delicious pies, we bought our tickets and waited for a cab to take us to the game. This was one of the few games all season where ticket prices didn't plummet just prior to game time. We waited and waited, but ticket prices never dropped. We would later find out that this was probably due to the fact that there were so many Seahawks fans in town, so there was an extremely high demand for tickets. Either way, no regrets, Greg and I were just considering ourselves lucky to make it to the game.

Our driver, Alex, is a laid back dude from Tuscon. He gets us over to the stadium in no time, and before we know it, we are walking around in a red sea of humanity. Glendale is another one of those places where they just do tailgating right. Last season, Steve and his family and I had tailgated with Jay, a big time Cardinals fan who was super hospitable and friendly.  Unfortunately, Steve wasn't able to make it down to Arizona this year, with the hopes that he'll be able to make it down in February for the Super Bowl instead! Despite being disappointed about Steve's absence, Greg and I knew that it was for good reason and that Steve's prophecy would be fulfilled in February.

As we wade our way from tent to tent, one thing is clear. People are ready to party, just as their teams are prepared to battle under the lights in just a few short hours. Greg and I continue wading, until we finally decide to make our way over to Jay and his group in the furthest recesses of the stadium's parking lot. A few cordial words and we were on our way. We wish each other the best of luck, may the best team win, and all that jazz. Jay's a good dude and a great de facto ambassador for the Cardinals as well.

Greg and I decide to make our way to the stadium early, a marked difference from games in San Diego and Philadelphia where we made it to our seats after a few plays had already been ran. We figured that now was a good time to beat the eventual swarms of people, which would no doubt be a nightmare. As we say our temporary goodbyes to the desert abyss around us, with it's red, fiery sunset, we enter one of the league's finest stadiums, in my humble opinion.

University of Phoenix Stadium is both a marvel to look at from outside of the stadium, as well as a technological one for it's rolling grass turf which gets wheeled into and out of the stadium before and after each game. Football on grass is football at it's purest, most beautiful form. I wished that Seattle were able to somehow, someday implement grass, but the odds of that happening were virtually slim to none. With the Sounders also sharing CenturyLink, it was a near certainty that this would never happen.

We walk around the lower deck of the stadium for a while, before bumping into Jay and his crew. We talk about the upcoming game and what we expect to see once things get underway. Jay is confident in his Arizona team that has stunned many this season, however, he does note that Seattle is playing extremely well heading into the game. Another big issue is the injuries to Cardinals QB's Carson Palmer and backup Drew Stanton. Carson was hardly one of the league's elite signal callers, but he was a steady hand whom the Cardinals could rely upon. Stanton was capable of being solid, but not much else, and even he had struggled mightily when the Cardinals got thrashed 19-3 up in Seattle a few weeks prior.

Arizona was turning to Ryan Lindley, who had yet to throw a touchdown in his career in 181 previous passing attempts. Greg and I remembered him well, for his part in the Jets legendary 7-6 win over the Lindley-led Cardinals back in 2012. Greg McElroy was the quarterback for the Jets, and both quarterbacks had equally horrendous performances in a dreary game that few would ever want to remember.

After saying farewell to our friends in enemy colors, we make our way to our seats. For the third time this season, I'm sitting within 2 rows of the back of the stadium. Much like at FedEx Field for the Redskins game, all that separated us from non-existence was a hopefully-sturdy chain link fence. In St. Louis it was at least a concrete wall. Either way, in all 3 instances, our view of the field was actually pretty good and the high altitude made it easier to watch plays develop. It was a stark difference from Section 124 in CenturyLink, which is right there in the heat of battle.

While not taking rally towels upon entrance like the rest of the raucous, blood-thirsty crowd, we did take notice of the amount of Seahawks fans around us. It seemed that everywhere you walked, there were just as many Seahawks fans as Cardinals fans. In the end, I'd say that we were outnumbered, as you should be at an away game. It wasn't quite the record turnout of last season's Thursday night game, but with the Cardinals actually fielding a great team this year, that just meant that more Cardinals fans would actually want to watch this game.

The rally towels are waving and the game is about to get underway. Greg and I are ready, ready to watch the Seahawks take back their division! Luckily, there's two Seahawks fans sitting directly in front of us, wearing Seahawk foam hats, who would be joining us in rooting on the away team. A few seats over, there's a guy wearing a Seahawks fire helmet and 12th Man Flag as a cape, while a young lady a few rows in front of us has a home made set of lime green and blue wings. The stage was set for an excellent football game, as if it were destined or pre-ordained by the cosmos, or the stars in the sky.

My heart sinks as a man wearing a Cardinals jersey, flocked by his lady and their young son, both wearing Cardinals jersey's as well, make their way to their seats. "Wow, I guess I couldn't have done any worse", the man proclaims. For he had gotten him and his family the last seats in the joint. They were directly up against that chain link fence that boisterously marked that you had reached the stadium's last row. He gives his son a hug, and his lady shoots him a scowl, as if to say that this was not the type of gritty experience she were hoping for on a Sunday night at the Cards game. Still, to his credit, the kid was absolutely loving the game and had more heart than 99 percent of the people sitting around us. Most Cardinals fans are laid back and aren't as loud and wild as their rival fans from the Pacific Northwest. They are excellent, polite people who are a blast to tailgate with, but it takes a lot for them to get excited, generally.

The kid continues to bring it as the game starts off with the Seahawks offense stalling out at around midfield. That was the modus operandi for the early part of this game. Outside of Hustle Wilson's career-best 55 yard scamper to end the first quarter, things were looking pretty bleak on offense. To make matters worse, Marshawn had apparently come down with a stomach bug and was working through it on the sidelines. Our buddy Norbert shoots me a text to let me know that all seemed to be alright, as Marshawn was now being seen chomping on some Skittles in an attempt to appease the desert spirits with his own homemade elixir. At one point, I looked to Greg after another Seahawks offensive failure and proclaimed that they might not score a single point on this night. Oh, how I was wrong.

Almost seconds after that proclamation, which was only minutes after Chandler Catanzaro's opening field goal put the Cards up 3-0, the Seahawks opened up my eyes and the eyes of many with a quick, 80 yard strike from Wilson to Willson! Greg, who to his credit never flinched at the sight of the Cardinals defense and remained steadfast in his belief that they could be beat deep, goes nuts as Luke hauls in the pass and takes it the rest of the way for the distance. We wonder aloud where Mike Willson, Luke's father, is and keep on celebrating with the folks in front of us, who were from Yakima, Washington. We botch the high five's and the man lets us know that we're going to have to continue to work on that.

Luckily, we continued to get the chance. It wasn't too much longer before Marshawn re-emerged and further restored balance in the Seahawks universe. His touchdown run to close out the first half was very reminiscent of a similar touchdown he scored against the Giants last season. In fact, this game was starting to look and feel a lot like that game last year, except with an apparent offensive explosion lying in wait. It was the final road game of the season, just like that Giants game last year, and it was at the location of the Super Bowl. A dress rehearsal of sorts. We saw the Seahawks dominate the dress rehearsal last season, were we witnessing history repeating itself?

It certainly felt that way, and with the Seahawks leading 14-3 at the half, we couldn't help but notice the similarities. Still, there was a lot of game left to be played and despite having suffocated Ryan Lindley and the Cardinals offense early, Bruce Arians was well-noted for his halftime adjustments as head coach of the Cardinals. Much like the Super Bowl, we miss the halftime show, as we wander around the stadium, taking in as much as we can. Seahawks fans are everywhere, and they are growing louder and louder. They can feel that victory is within their reach. Their pilgrimage to the desert to pay homage to their living football god's will not all be for naught.

The Cardinals refuse to go away in the third quarter, which is even complete with more rare missed field goals from Hausch Money, who was normally as reliable as they come. One miss was weird enough, but after his second miss Greg and I shoot each other a look as if to say, what the hell's going on here? The Cardinals were hanging around, but to the credit of the Seahawks defense, Ryan Lindley couldn't even begin to attempt to get things on track. He wasn't taking a bunch of sacks, or getting intercepted, but his rushed delivery and release were resulting in inaccurate passes and erratic play in general. Bruce Arians kept dialing up the deep passes, but the Seahawks Legion of Boom were ready for it, taking Cardinals receivers Larry Fitzgerald, John Brown, and Michael Floyd out of the game completely.

However, Floyd finally makes a play for his quarterback, and after another field goal from Chandler Catanzaro, it was just a 14-6 game and the Cardinals were not dead yet.

That wouldn't be true for long. Once again, the Seahawks respond. After an excellent blitz pickup and throw from Hustle to the Willverine, Hustle once again looks to his Canadian tight end and former Toronto Blue Jay, and this time finds Luke for his second touchdown of the game! Greg and I can't believe our eyes, Luke Willson was absolutely going off. Our cheering section goes nuts, and the crowd silences as the fourth quarter gets off to a horrendous start for the folks dubbed the 'Red Sea.'

Lindley was again no match for the Seahawks defense, and not long after, the Seahawks found themselves with possession yet again. Wilson hands off to Lynch in what appears to be your basic Marshawn Lynch style run. He patiently hits the hole before meandering around defenders with the lateral quickness of a crab on sand. Soon, he bursts down the right sideline, as everyone rises from their seats to see the dramatic conclusion of an already great run. As if in a video game, Beast Mode activates and plows through Cardinals defenders Patrick Peterson and Rashad Johnson, before accelerating through another arm tackle at his feet. Now having thrashed nearly the entire defense, he turns his back to the end zone, flies through the air, and pulls his best MJ imitation to cap it off.

The Seahawks fans in attendance are going absolutely insane. We can not believe what we had just witnessed. I had seen the BeastQuake on TV, but to see something similar in person was something that you almost never expected. Once again, something utterly amazing had happened and we had been lucky enough to witness it. Much like New Yorkers will never forget December 20th, 2014, I will never forget December 21st, 2014, either. Minutes later, the stadium is still abuzz. The ensuing challenge due to it being a scoring play and trying to deduce whether or not Marshawn had stepped out of bounds on the play, meant more of an opportunity for Seahawks fans and the Seahawks themselves to revel in the glory of Marshawn Lynch.

Just one week earlier, I had met him in the airport. He seemed so calm, reserved, and focused. Now, one week later, he had laid waste to his opponent with a run so magnificent, that it was sure to be hailed as one of the greatest runs of all-time, instantly. Yet again, Marshawn Lynch, the young man from Oakland, had defied all odds and just kept going when there didn't seem to be a way forward. He would not take no for an answer. He seldom, if ever, does.

With the Cardinals and their fans' spirits broken, the Seahawks cruised to victory. Richard Sherman was the next Seahawk to dazzle with his ability to navigate the sidelines, showing that the Seahawks have an immense understanding of where they are on the field at all times. That type of awareness is often the difference between a few yards here or there and a few inches here or there. In the ultimate game of inches, the value of such understanding of the game and it's field in it's simplest form can not be understated.

Hustle Wilson puts the finishing touches on the flaming dumpster that is the Arizona Cardinals on this evening, as he freezes Alex Okafor with a nasty stutter step, stiff arms him to the turf with ease, and jelly legs Antonio Cromartie on his way in for six. Eli immediately dubs this touchdown, "Frozen", hopefully it sticks. My little sister would finally have a reason to cheer for the Seahawks.

The Seahawks had just released an onslaught. The fourth quarter was Seattle's, 21-0, and all of the air had been let out of the building. Fans head for the exits in droves, down trodden and dejected after what ended up being a humiliating loss. Blown out by 29, at home, in the biggest game of the season. Afterwards, there was only one way to celebrate.

I had remembered that after last season's game, Steve had taken us to an In N Out somewhere around the stadium. We look it up, and decide to make the 2 mile trek just for some quality burgers. We don't have In N Out in New York City, so any chance we get to consume mass amounts of burgers must be seized.

Our walk is an interesting one but along the way we talk about Marshawn's greatness, Pete Carroll's greatness, and everything else that was great about the Seahawks, which at that moment in time was everything. Our quest ends with those heavenly burgers, before we catch a ride with a cabbie named Ryan who believes in enjoy the experiences in life. He tells us that he's from Philly and that he used to go to Eagles games all over the country back when they had McNabb and they were still good. He mentions that you don't know how long your team is going to be good for, so you have to enjoy those experiences when they are good. Greg and I had just been talking about that hours earlier when reminiscing over the NFC Championship Game 11 months earlier.

We hit the sack, like Jordan Hill, with the sounds of the NFL Network ignoring the Seahawks game as if it hadn't happened. I drift away into unconsciousness to proclamations of the greatness of Tony Romo, hardly hearing a word about Hustle Wilson, who had just played arguably the greatest regular season game of his career. Good, I thought, as I faded away into the abyss.

The next morning, Greg and I continued our pizza adventure, before capping it off with the godfather of Phoenix pizza, Pizzeria Bianco. Known as one of the top pizzeria's in the entire country, Pizzeria Bianco lived up to it's immense hype and delivered with a delicious margherita pie, as well as an outstanding pistachio rosemary pie known as the 'Rosa.' Having tasted Phoenix's best pizza, witnessed the Seahawks signature 35-6 win, and having found Beast Mode, our mission was complete. We made our way back to Sky Harbor for our now-delayed flight.

Once we hit the skies, it was lights out, and before we knew it were back in New York City. It was wet outside, and a stark contrast to the desert weather that had been so kind to us for the past few days. Despite it being colder than expected at night time in Arizona, it was still a pleasant sight for sore eyes to see high 60's and 70's on those daily forecasts. We had become accustomed to the low 40's being a beautiful day in New York, and this was a mild winter it seemed.

Greg and I finally parted ways, but not before another outstanding trip was in the books. Good food, good laughs, good times, and a great game. That's the way we draw it up, every time. Rarely does life follow the script, but this time, it seemed to. In truth, we're only saying goodbye to the desert for a little while. It is not farewell. With the Seahawks marching forward, now 11-4 and with full control of their own destiny, home field advantage now even appears to be in sight. It was an amazing turn of events that could hardly be explained. Why waste the words? It needed no explaining.

It was the universe, and she still called the Seattle Seahawks her team of destiny.

Finding Beast Mode

Sometimes, events in life happen that foreshadow other events. That's definitely been the case on this wild two year journey spent following the Seahawks on their quest for glory, and it was definitely the case this past week. And sometimes in life, it's the smallest of messages that can mean so much. Finding the meaning in these things is one of life's greatest mysteries. Even when we think we've got it all figured out, we don't. It's impossible for us to completely figure out something as complex as life. We can try though.

After a resounding road victory in Philadelphia where our beloved Seahawks set a new franchise record for time of possession, it was time to keep that championship mindset and focus on the next opponent at hand. Seahawks players, coaches, and fans were salivating at the chance to end the 49ers season early, as well as potentially end the reign of terror of 49ers Head Coach Jim Harbaugh. 

This was Harbaugh's fourth season with San Francisco, and despite having at least made it to the NFC Championship his first three years by the bay, including 1 Super Bowl appearance, the word was that the 49ers organization was growing tired of his act. The childish tantrums on the sidelines, his constant attempts at working over the officials, his whole act had worn thin. He was in the opposite position of his nemesis, Pete Carroll. Carroll had already won a Super Bowl, was adored by throngs of Seahawks fans, and especially by the man who signs his paychecks, owner Paul Allen.

All of this had hinged on one play from earlier in the 2014 calender year. "The Tip", as it has become known as, set both teams in separate directions. It sent the Seahawks to the Super Bowl, where they would eventually crush Peyton Manning and the Broncos en route to their first ever Super Bowl, and it sent the 49ers tail spinning into disarray. Their downfall was now nearly complete, some 11 months later, just short of two whole years following an appearance in the Super Bowl. Not For Long (NFL) indeed.

Still, nothing could save a season like beating your rivals in their house while preserving your playoff hopes and potentially dashing their's. The Seahawks must remain on high alert, because the 49ers were a wounded animal with their back's up against the wall. There is nothing more dangerous, in football, and in life.

This was the match up that awaited me. The light at the end of the tunnel. A chance to bury the 49ers season. What could be better? 

I plowed through the work week. Suddenly, standing in the cold for 12 hours didn't seem as bad as it once did. I don't know if it was the propane heater keeping me warm, or if my body had genuinely adapted to being in the cold weather for long periods at a time. Either way, I was "doing what ya gotta do" when you really want something in life. For me, it was continuing to make it to every game and witnessing this 2014 version of the Seahawks do what the 2013 Seahawks had done 10 months prior.

All the days seem to blend together when I'm at work. You meet new, interesting people every day when you're working in the West Village in Manhattan at a pickle stand, but at the end of the day, the routine of serving the pickles becomes exactly that, a routine. It's not an increasingly difficult job either, other than withstanding the elements, so it can become quite routine and days do tend to blend.

One day did stand out among the others though, for a change. It was Friday, and my flight was scheduled to depart out of Newark the following day. Jazz had fronted me the cash to buy my flights earlier in the week, when tickets were at their cheapest. I was extremely grateful for that and looked forward to seeing him on Friday night so that I could pay him back what I owed him. I had our hangout on my mind throughout the day at work, until I walked up to the IFC Theater on the Avenue of the America's. IFC is right down the block from the pickle stand, and they let us use their restrooms in exchange for free pickles. Pickle bartering at it's finest.

I had done this a million times, and I'd do it a million times in the future. This time was different. As I walked to the door, I noticed a man who looked familiar standing outside. I continue past him, open the door, and ask the employee manning the entrance if I could use the restrooms. He obliges, and as I walk past, I mention to him and his partner that the man standing outside of the theater looks exactly like actor John Turturro. "That is John Turturro", the doorman replies, an obvious glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "I knew it!", I exclaimed, as I head down the stairs and into the bathroom.

When I came back upstairs, I thanked them for allowing me to use the restroom, and made my way back outside after offering them free pickles whenever they wanted for their services. It's back to the stinging cold weather, but Turturro is still standing in the same spot as I had left him a few minutes earlier. Being a fan of Turturro's since watching his performance in the film 'Quiz Show', I felt that I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to offer him some kind words.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Turturro. I'm a big fan of your work." I extended my hand for a handshake and Turturro's right hand meets me half way. He smiles, shaking my hand, and offers a simple thank you. I could tell, by the look in his eyes, that he appreciated the gesture and that he especially appreciated me keeping it brief, as I walked away immediately after. This wouldn't be the last person that I'd meet on the weekend who's work I had a deep appreciation for. In fact, the next person I'd meet would make John Turturro look like Pete Metzelaars if he were standing next to Tom Brady.

Meeting John Turturro was a thrill, and I felt that I handled it well and wasn't starstruck. I was proud of that fact, as I boarded my American Airlines flight to Dallas Fort Worth. I had never been to this airport before, and had never flown with American Airlines before either. It was a weekend of first's when it came to my flying "career", and this was only the beginning of it.

Soon, my layover was complete and I boarded my second flight of the day, from Dallas to Seattle. Gate A21 was littered with people wearing Seahawks jerseys, shirts, hats, and everything in between. The Seahawks were looking good again, and that meant that the entire state of Washington was behind them once again as well.

We make it to Seattle much earlier than expected, and as we are landing, the pilot instructs everyone to turn off all of their electronic devices. As we descend, we cut through an incredible layer of fog that doesn't end until our wheels touch the ground. We make a safe landing, which seemed nearly impossible with the conditions outside, we makes me appreciate the job that these pilots do. You almost take their expertise fore granted, but it's a thankless job that I would never be able to do.

Once in Seattle, I contact my host for the weekend, Bart. I first met Bart in Seattle last season before the second game of the season against the 'Niners. Fate had brought us together once again, or was it nostalgia? I decided to stay with Bart because of that first encounter, and wanted to honor it by hanging out with him again during "Niner week." Bart was a generous man, upon first meeting me and finding out about me attempting to go to every game he handed me 50 dollars and told me to hold on to it, because I was going to need it at some point. That gesture was the first of many that showed the true character of the legend of Bart. A retired medic from the Army, Bart would later give me a Marshawn Lynch home jersey for free, as well as giving my buddy Greg 100 dollars to go and by a Seahawks jersey. Greg ended up getting the Russell Wilson away jersey complete with Super Bowl patch.

I meet Bart and his sister, April, in the lobby of their hotel, the Alexis. Bart hands me a Rainier, while April hands me an apple. I let them know that this is the most Washingtonian thing I've ever done in my life. We head upstairs, I drop off my stuff, April heads to bed, and Bart and I make our way to the Owl N Thistle, Bart's preferred local watering hole of choice. I had been to "The Thistle" before, after the NFC Championship Game, and remember a man serving free hot dogs outside wearing a 'Barcade' T-shirt. Barcade was a bar in Brooklyn, with tons of old school arcade games to play, and I was taken aback by the fact that this man in Seattle was wearing such a shirt.

After a couple of drinks to take off the edge from flying, Bart and I decide to call it a night and head back to the hotel. We didn't want to overdo it the night before such a big game. Bart was particularly excited about the potential demise of Harbaugh's Niners, even suggesting that we purchase a casket and act as Pallbearer's after the game, hauling a casket filled with khaki's, a headset, and Niners memorabilia from the 80's and 90's out of CenturyLink once the game was complete. I was kicking myself for not thinking of such an idea earlier, but knew that odds were stadium security wouldn't let us follow through with such a vision anyway.

I woke up especially early to finish my chapter about the Eagles game, having never missed a write up before the next week's game. My streak stayed in tact, as I was able to complete it and post it before we head out at around 10 AM to get the day's festivities started. However, it starts off where we left off, as it's back to the Thistle for breakfast. As if by some sort of magic or sorcery, the game immediately changes from the Dolphins/Patriots matchup that no one is watching, to the Packers/Bills encounter that means so much to the Seattle Seahawks. With home field advantage still a legitimate possibility for Seattle, a loss by one of their rivals for the top spot, Green Bay, would mean that the Seahawks odds would increase exponentially. The crowd, still shaking off the cobwebs from their slumber, live and die with every play. With every Eddie Lacy scamper, the crowd moans, imploring the boys from Orchard Park to simply do better.

A major breakthrough comes as the group I'm with, Bart and April's friends, are finishing up their meals. As only fries on their plates remain, Marcus Thigpen returns a punt the distance, 75 yards, and the Bills go on top 7-3 in the first quarter. You've never seen Seahawks fans show the Bills so much love before, as the entire pub is showing Buffalo their support as Thigpen zooms down the sideline before cutting back across field and waltzing in for the score. A good feeling is in the air, and I turn to one of Bart's friends beside me, a Niners fan, to let him know that this doesn't bode well for the 49ers chances on the day.

The two games couldn't be more far apart, not only the thousands of miles separating the two cities but one game being a fierce division rivalry with the other being a rare non-conference meeting. Still, there was some sort of Seahawks magic, some form of energy, present in both cities. That could not be denied. It was beginning to feel a bit like last season. Not only were the Seahawks firing on all cylinders and dominating on defense like last season, but that magical, inescapable feeling that everything would turn up Seahawks was back as well.

From there, our group disbands until it's just Bart and I making our way towards Temple Billiards. It had become a ritual, much like the Inuits praying to the spirits of the animal's they had just killed, to descend upon Temple on game day. It was there that I met Bart over a year earlier, and it was there that we would be meeting Jordan, Todd, Dom, Eli and a host of other Seahawk diehards. Our weeks may have all been different, filled with unique experiences, but on Sunday's we were all the same.

You can tell right away that belief in this year's team are at an all-time high. Comparisons to last season are being thrown around like footballs during warm ups just a few short blocks away at CenturyLink Field. Meanwhile, in the background, the Buffalo Bills are continuing to do away with the Packers. People hoot and holler, and damn near lose their minds, as the Bills defense comes away with another interception of Rodgers. Bacarri Rambo, a candidate for the greatest name in life ever, could run for mayor of Seattle on this day, after getting his second interception helps secure a Buffalo upset. 

Enthusiasm is in the air, as is celebration. You can tell that this day is going to be special. Even more special than it already has been. Eli arrives, and we toast to our customary pregame ritual of a shot of Jameson. I'd be sitting with Eli in Section 124, this marking my third game in his seats. We met when Eli reached out to gift me a ticket to the season finale against the Rams last season. Then, I sat there for the game against the Broncos and actually ended up in an amazing photo of Kam Chancellor leaping to intercept a Peyton Manning pass intended for Wes Welker. Make no mistake about it, these were excellent seats!

We rush to our seats and before long, it's time for the raising of the 12th Man flag. As if the football gods were trying to appease me and only me, one of my all-time favorite athletes gets the call to raise the flag. It's John Olerud, and I absolutely lose my mind. "Johnny Ole" was and still is, my favorite baseball player of all-time. It stems back to when my father and I attended a Blue Jays/Yankees game at Yankee Stadium back in the '90's. I still remember my state of amazement, as I asked my father why the first basemen for Toronto was wearing a helmet on the field. He seemed to be just as amazed as I was, and had no answer for my probing question.

That moment made me a Blue Jays fan for life, and a John Olerud fan especially. He would end up playing not only for the local Seattle Mariners, but with the New York Mets as well, and he continued wearing that helmet out on to the field. I eventually learned the truth, that Olerud had had an aneurysm and he wore the helmet for protection. I'll always remember that helmet, his sweet stroke from the left side, and his vacuum cleaner of a glove that made every infielder he every played with look better than they probably were on defense. Oh, and did I mention that Olerud was a Coug, having played for Washington State University during his college days? Yet another reason for him to be my favorite baseball player of all-time. I'm sorry, Mickey Tettleton.

My state of pandemonium continues, as the raising of the 12th Man flag segues perfectly into the opening kickoff. The time we had all waited for was here. The CLink was in rare voice, and ready to witness the end of the 49ers reign of terror under Jim Harbaugh. Section 124, and the rest of the South End Zone, is a mad house, as Steven Hauschka kicks to a waiting Bruce Ellington, and the game is under way.

The rest, as they say, is history. It was yet another special day for the Seahawks in their home under the stewardship of Pete Carroll. Sure, the first half may not have been pretty, especially the horrendous play with 8 seconds left before the end of the first half, but in the end the Seahawks got the job done and that was all that mattered.

While the offense may not have put on a clinic by any stretch of the imagination, the defense certainly did. With 6 sacks on the day, it's pretty safe to say that Colin Kaepernick is glad he doesn't have to visit his personal house of horrors for at least a few months. Us Seahawks fans will miss the game, as he is still yet to help lead the Niners to victory in Seattle. He wasn't awful, not by his normal standard of play at the CLink, but he certainly wasn't good, under any stretch of the imagination. With every key stop on defense, the crowd loses it's collective mind even more. This is a moment that Seahawks were going to savor. It seemed like the Seahawks/49ers rivalry, the best rivalry in the game just a season prior, might already be banned from the shelves for being past it's sell date.

You know the rest. No need to pore over every single detail. Things got kind of hazy and the Seahawks took care of business and posted a 17-7 on the back of second half touchdowns from Marshawn and Paul Richardson aka PRich, who's touchdown was the first of his career! The defense continued it's amazing level of play, and the 12th Man in attendance got to go home happy. The feeling of celebration was in the air, along with other things, as we head to the exits. Before heading out, I see Leif, who also happened to be sitting in the South End Zone with his buddy, Kilt Man. It's back to Temple after the game, before heading to the airport for my flight home. 

Only a funny thing happened for the first time on this entire journey. I couldn't get my flight home! I'd have to wait another day, with Bart hooking it up with an amazing act of selflessness and generosity. Yet again, when things were looking bad, a good friend came through for me in the end. Unfortunately, I had left my iPad behind in Seattle as well, a gift from my lady, so my spirits were pretty low. Still, as I waited for flight home, which was now delayed, I couldn't help but think of all the positives from the weekend and yesterday especially. Just when I had come to acceptance with my lot in life, a familiar figure appeared in the Sea-Tac waiting area near my gate. 

Once I saw him, I immediately knew who it was. His face is one that I could pick out of a lineup, anywhere. I'm talking about Beast Mode, of course, Marshawn Lynch! He's wearing a blue hoodie, complete with blue sweat pants and a slick looking pair of silver headphones. Having met John Turturro earlier in the week and having not been starstruck, I must admit that this feeling was quite different. I tried to muster up something to say to the living legend, while still reminding myself not to blow up his spot because he's a private man who doesn't necessarily want the added attention. 

I approached him from his right, and worried for fear that he might think of me as an oncoming defender and stiff-arm like he did Tarell Brown just a day earlier. Luckily, he realizes my slight of frame in comparison to an NFL defender's, and doesn't take the opportunity to light me up like a pinata. 

"Marshawn, you're a living legend", is what I decide to go with as my intro to this chance encounter. "Thanks", is his simple reply. "I've been going to every game since last season, and I just know that you guys are going to win it all again!" He replies this time with a short "I hope so", as he continues forward behind his entourage of friends. Finally, I end it with "thank you for everything that you do", to which he replies "your welcome" and gives me a dap.

I decide that I don't want to bother him any more, and walk away in the other direction. I had mentioned earlier in the weekend to Todd that I one day wanted to have enough credibility to write a book about Marshawn, or Russell, and that I took encounters like my one with Russell Wilson on Huffington Post Live earlier in the season as a sign that I was on the right track. They may have been small, brief meetings, but they happened for a reason. Despite the missed flight and delays, this was most definitely the silver lining. I took this as a definite sign from the universe that I had to keep going on my mission, no matter how bleak things got. 

Through the struggles of this season, I had never let it break me down, and I had never let it make me quit. I wasn't about to start now. I was still here, still standing, perhaps not tall or proudly, but I was still standing like Spider Rico in the early rounds of a match that no one saw or cared about against Rocky Balboa. The more I thought about it, my story had a lot in common with Balboa's, except that the hero's, in this case the Seahawks, win it all the first time around.

I finally made it home, a day late and a bit downtrodden, despite the banner win. My lady saw me in the state I was in, and couldn't stand to see me so down, so she had an idea! She had remembered that after the Kansas City game, I had met a German man named Andre. Andre was doing some travelling of his own and it was clear to see that he was a wise man by way of life experiences. As we sat in a rundown Greyhound station in Cleveland, I told him of my travels around the country in chase of a Seahawks repete, and eventual threepete. As I told him how things stood, at 6-4 after a tough loss in Kansas City where I had traveled 66 hours by way of the bus just to watch the team lose, he told me not to give up and that the Seahawks sounded a lot like the 1995 Houston Rockets. The Rockets were expected to dominate on their way to a repeat of their 1994 championship over the Knicks, but they had failed to accomplish that all season long. However, they got hot late, made it to the playoffs as a 6 seed, and proceeded to steamroll Shaquille O'Neal and the Orlando Magic in the NBA Finals for their second consecutive NBA championship.

Not only did Andre leave me with hope as I left that beat up bus stop in the middle of Ohio, but he left me with a message. He handed me a note that a woman from Germany had written for him to read when he was at his absolute lowest point. He didn't want the message, so she told him to pass it along to someone who looked like they might one day need it. He chose me, and I carried that note home proudly back to New York City, all the while wondering what it could possibly say.

Now, standing on the A train on our way to work, Laura had remembered placing the note in my jacket pocket after I told her of it's origins. She told me to open it, so I removed the hair tie that was keeping it in tact and read what it said. 

'Du schaffst das schon!'
(You will make it!)

I look at Laura and smile. We share a natural laugh that emanates from our spirits. It's the type of laugh you have when you can't comprehend something, but simply know that whatever it is, it's pretty amazing. We continued on our way to work and I stopped worrying about the future and stopped worrying about the past. Like it said in 'Umi Says', "I ain't no perfect man, I'm just trying to do the best that I can, with what it is I have." What truly mattered was that the Seahawks were 10-4 and looked like the team we had all seen in MetLife Stadium 10 months earlier. Something special was brewing in Seattle, and it felt a little bit like deja vu.

To be continued...

Streets of Philadelphia

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.