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...
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