Well... shame on me. Here I am in Clearwater, Florida, thousands of miles away from my beloved Seahawks, acting like a crazy 12th (wo)Man fan. I am convinced, although I have not explored the hypothesis in grave scientific depth, that failure to act crazy in the circumstances surrounding the forty eighth Superbowl would violate an important and fundamental natural law.
All the press prior to the big game emphasized, with highly believable credibility, how close the score would be, a tense competition between the best offense (Denver) and the best defense (Seattle) in the league. Peyton Manning, America's sweetheart, trumped the Seahawks in the national press coverage prior to the game, assisted of course, by a few boo-boo's involving drugs, ranting, and police with some of our Seahawks guys over the 2013 season.
As I sat down to watch the game, amidst a strong Bronco bias rampant among my friends, I tried rather hard to hide my nervousness. What if, after all the fabulous football the Hawks played this season, they were to choke and fail miserably, getting run over by Peyton Manning, play after play after play? What if Russell Wilson couldn't return to his old self, after a rather rattling bout of playoff jitters? What if, the Seattle defense looked laughable against the Denver offense? On and on in my head, the thoughts turned, creating anxiety and chaos out of what was, after all, just a football game. Everyone else gazing at the television seemed calm and unruffled.
What fate would my ruffled feathers bear on this memorable Feb. 2 Sunday? I received a clue or two about the answer to this profound question shortly after the failed snap to Peyton Manning (and subsequent safety for the Seahwaks) 12 seconds into the first half. Thereafter, my jaw dropped to the floor and stayed there for much of the game. 12 seconds into the second half, delighted shock set in as Percy Harvin (former Gator -- yeah!) carried the football a long ways down the field to my very favorite place ... the Broncos end zone. Touchdown!
By the way, anyone who has watched the Hawks more than once NEVER gets excited when those chartreuse feet first hit the end zone. Nope. Instead, the seasoned Hawks fans must hold his breath for ten seconds, hoping that yet ANOTHER penalty flag will not spoil another beautiful moment in Hawks football.
By the way, anyone who has watched the Hawks more than once NEVER gets excited when those chartreuse feet first hit the end zone. Nope. Instead, the seasoned Hawks fans must hold his breath for ten seconds, hoping that yet ANOTHER penalty flag will not spoil another beautiful moment in Hawks football.
The yellow flags did their usual dance during around the players during Superbowl forty eight, but nothing, not even the game officials, could stop the Hawks defense from rendering Peyton Manning ineffective and the Broncos offense helpless. A few dashes to the end zone by Hawks defense and offense alike complemented the record-breaking show of defense during this joyfully lopsided game.
The final score from a game that was expected to be close, tense, and up in the air was: 43-8 Seahawks .... This is a mind boggling score for a team that one journalist said, played ball in a city that many people thought was in Canada.
Really? Seattle? in Canada? Right.
That's about as believable as any Pacific Northwest resident remaining calm and disinterested during the aftermath of one of the best Superbowl games ever.
Yeah Hawks!
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