ACT ONE:
A FLIMSY FOOTBALL FANTASY
3rd & goal, one yard to go. One yard to vindication, to Super Bowl infamy, notoriety, eminence, celebrity, renown. Seconds were no longer seconds, but instead book-ends; marking disparate paths to myth, legend, eternal glory and unshakable fame.
There were only two: Two heartbeats to victory, two steps to triumph. Two blinks of an eye before the curtain of conquest came crashing down. And in those slender, dangling instants, Marshawn Lynch rolled on, legs churning - those famous, gargantuan, animalistic appendages. Brawn sent him surging while the whole Seahawks tide behind him propelled him on.
His feet flew, fleet across those 36 inches of sweet green grass. There was a gasp – an angst-fueled, fury-defined measure which was all that divided desolation and despair from unutterable joy. Super Bowl XLIX was waiting; an exalted victory that, once earned, could never be rescinded.
One hand-off, one man, one yard, one play, one touchdown, one score, one win that counted beyond comprehensible measure.
It was going to happen. Seahawks Nation was poised to do it again.
Until they didn't.
3rd & goal, one yard to go. One yard to vindication, to Super Bowl infamy, notoriety, eminence, celebrity, renown. Seconds were no longer seconds, but instead book-ends; marking disparate paths to myth, legend, eternal glory and unshakable fame.
There were only two: Two heartbeats to victory, two steps to triumph. Two blinks of an eye before the curtain of conquest came crashing down. And in those slender, dangling instants, Marshawn Lynch rolled on, legs churning - those famous, gargantuan, animalistic appendages. Brawn sent him surging while the whole Seahawks tide behind him propelled him on.
His feet flew, fleet across those 36 inches of sweet green grass. There was a gasp – an angst-fueled, fury-defined measure which was all that divided desolation and despair from unutterable joy. Super Bowl XLIX was waiting; an exalted victory that, once earned, could never be rescinded.
One hand-off, one man, one yard, one play, one touchdown, one score, one win that counted beyond comprehensible measure.
It was going to happen. Seahawks Nation was poised to do it again.
Until they didn't.
ACT TWO: WISHING DON'T MAKE IT SO
If you’re feeling like you just got punched in the gut; join the club. I had already written that story in my head as I watched the last few seconds of the Super Bowl unfold. I’m not just an author – but also an impassioned fan of our NFL. When teams I don’t really root for are playing, I scream, throw things, jump out of my chair, rail at the refs, shriek in disbelief at busted plays, missed calls, flunked opportunities. And when my teams are playing (Carolina Panthers, Miami Dolphins), I go off the chain.
I can’t say this Super Bowl mattered too much – I do like Russell Wilson because at some point in our lives, we both attended N.C. State (a perpetual underdog). I also like his fortitude, his presence of being, his poise, his grace under pressure. And Tom Brandy’s smarmy, privileged, frat-boy expressions make me want to smack that smugness off his face*. DeflateGate didn’t help.
*I am totally against violence of any kind - and so any reference to such herein is rooted in fantasy only, and would never be an actual consideration for this author's potential actions.*
So I did have an obvious choice here; a horse in the race, a fan-fave. And that means I was exhilarated at that wild, bobbled catch that got the Seahawks down in the Red Zone in time to win the game. I’m not a fan of Pete Carroll or his voracious chomping (like a methed-up horse) against those endless pieces of gum. But I can stand him better than “The Hooded Menace”. And that’s one small reason why I felt it was worth my time to write this blog. The others...
Seahawks owners, managers, CEO's: What the heck just happened? What did I just see here in glaring and unavoidable intrusiveness on my big 'ol HD-TV? Did I really see what I think I just did? Really?
Oh. Oh, wow.
It’s time for most of America to get a little clarity. Some answers. Some definitions. Some insight into the machinations behind the scenes (I mean, we are the kind of country to have about a thousand hours' worth of commentary - and an untold investment in hard-core investigative journalism - over a handful of limp footballs, right?).
I don’t know what everyone else is thinking or feeling or asking right now. But this is where I stand...
Seattle Seahawks: Why did you NOT use your priceless tool (as evidenced by the physicality, determination, and strength of Marshawn Lynch) to finish off the last play? He’s not just talented; he was functioning under "Beast Mode" momentum.
If you’re feeling like you just got punched in the gut; join the club. I had already written that story in my head as I watched the last few seconds of the Super Bowl unfold. I’m not just an author – but also an impassioned fan of our NFL. When teams I don’t really root for are playing, I scream, throw things, jump out of my chair, rail at the refs, shriek in disbelief at busted plays, missed calls, flunked opportunities. And when my teams are playing (Carolina Panthers, Miami Dolphins), I go off the chain.
I can’t say this Super Bowl mattered too much – I do like Russell Wilson because at some point in our lives, we both attended N.C. State (a perpetual underdog). I also like his fortitude, his presence of being, his poise, his grace under pressure. And Tom Brandy’s smarmy, privileged, frat-boy expressions make me want to smack that smugness off his face*. DeflateGate didn’t help.
*I am totally against violence of any kind - and so any reference to such herein is rooted in fantasy only, and would never be an actual consideration for this author's potential actions.*
So I did have an obvious choice here; a horse in the race, a fan-fave. And that means I was exhilarated at that wild, bobbled catch that got the Seahawks down in the Red Zone in time to win the game. I’m not a fan of Pete Carroll or his voracious chomping (like a methed-up horse) against those endless pieces of gum. But I can stand him better than “The Hooded Menace”. And that’s one small reason why I felt it was worth my time to write this blog. The others...
Seahawks owners, managers, CEO's: What the heck just happened? What did I just see here in glaring and unavoidable intrusiveness on my big 'ol HD-TV? Did I really see what I think I just did? Really?
Oh. Oh, wow.
It’s time for most of America to get a little clarity. Some answers. Some definitions. Some insight into the machinations behind the scenes (I mean, we are the kind of country to have about a thousand hours' worth of commentary - and an untold investment in hard-core investigative journalism - over a handful of limp footballs, right?).
I don’t know what everyone else is thinking or feeling or asking right now. But this is where I stand...
Seattle Seahawks: Why did you NOT use your priceless tool (as evidenced by the physicality, determination, and strength of Marshawn Lynch) to finish off the last play? He’s not just talented; he was functioning under "Beast Mode" momentum.
So, why?
And why, rather than handing off the ball to Lynch (& rushing rather than passing so as to run enough time off the clock to where Brady could NOT answer a 'Hawks final score), rather than giving the HONOR of the last and winning rushing TD to your veteran player, your team's hero, the man who'd gritted his teeth and used raw beef and brawn to ram himself down the throats of every single member of the Pat's talented Defensive Line…WHY, rather than assuring a TD score, ensuring victory, counting on your two remaining plays (and twenty remaining seconds) to get that last, final yard DONE…WHY DID YOU DIAL UP THAT ATROCIOUS “PASS”?
Now, rather than raising the Lombardi Trophy yet again, taking home the victory, riding the crest of determination and glory...your season is simply over. And someone, somewhere in the 'Hawks' management team, is responsible. Someone called in a play so pitiful, idiotic and bizarre, that it left players on both teams, both sides, both on and off the field (most notably, Tom Brady himself) - scratching their heads in utter disbelief. I honestly thought I’d dozed off and was dreaming when I first saw it. Had Russell Wilson really, actually, unimaginably…truly THROWN the ball?
(I'm too sick at heart to research it, but from what I recall seeing, the Seahawks were at third and goal, right on the one yard line, with Lynch having already effectively punched it up to the precipice after the stunning and breath-taking catch by newby Matthews a few moments earlier…but if I make mistakes in recalling the exact details, cut me some slack. I’m still reeling here.).
One yard to go, third and goal - third and WIN - third and SUPER BOWL RINGS FOR EVERYONE...(and if Lynch didn't carry it over the line on 3rd down, he had a final down to spare). Keep it in the hands, on the ground, keep the clock running, keep the offense's motor running. Keep moving. And there was no one better suited to the task, better qualified, better able, better deserving - than the star RB who had launched the Hawk's incredible success after an abysmal first 25 mins of play.
But they didn't do that. They didn't even let Russell Wilson fully drop back to look around for open receivers (and check for eager, opportunistic coverage by defenders just waiting to pick off the ball) . It appeared to me that his orders were to get the snap, drop back half-way, and immediately fire it off to ONE pre-selected receiver. Problem was, that receiver had two Patriots guys between him and Russell Wilson. Problem is, the Patriots were better suited to play that ball than whoever the sad sack was that the Seahawk's management team (or whomever) had selected to receive it. I was in too much shock to take notice of the intended receiver’s name, or the Pat’s player who intercepted it, or just about anything else beyond the stunningly-stupid call and the gut-wrenching outcome.
And the aftermath was unbearable. I turned the channel before Wilson left the field.
ACT THREE: JUDGMENT DAY
Heads should ROLL there in the Seahawks organization tonight. Whoever was responsible for directing Wilson to take a quick snap and then fire it off to just the ONE guy (without first stopping and checking to make sure he was open, without looking for other eligible receivers who might be better poised to catch a pass, without evaluating for even ONE second the option of possibly using his own quick-silver moves for a quarterback sneak). No. There is no excuse.
*I don't care if the 'Hawks felt like the Patriots "knew" Lynch would be getting the ball, and so they were all going to pile on him (thus a pass play would be more effective b/c it would be unexpected...that's crap pure and simple - the 'Hawks had been telegraphing their intended plays basically all night, and still been unimaginably effective with executing them).
*I also don't care who thought passing in that situation (a yard away from the goal line where offense and defense were mashed up so close together there was hardly room to breathe) - was better than running the ball (and also taking more time off the clock in so doing).
*I don't care about the jerk who didn't give a second's thought to letting Lynch, out of respect, bang out the winning TD (as a "thank you" for his valiant efforts all night).
*And I don't care WHO told Wilson to barely drop back before firing off the pass - thus being unable to take the time to make sure his receiver was open.
No. I care about any of that. I don't care about ANY ONE THING.
I care about ALL OF IT. Every issue, every problem, every mistake; every single one.
Seahawks Nation ought to be outraged.
And, Mr. Carroll, as far as I’m concerned…you got some serious splainin' to do.
***This blog is entirely the poster's own opinion - just me - based solely upon my own views regarding the game/the plays/and the final outcome. Sorry for any errors - they're entirely my own.
No game "analysts" were studied, watched, or quoted/paraphrased here. In fact, I don't know or care what the "experts" are saying - I turned the TV OFF when I saw Russell Wilson's face as he began to leave the field. I love football. But I am disgusted with stupidity. And you can quote me on that.
Now, rather than raising the Lombardi Trophy yet again, taking home the victory, riding the crest of determination and glory...your season is simply over. And someone, somewhere in the 'Hawks' management team, is responsible. Someone called in a play so pitiful, idiotic and bizarre, that it left players on both teams, both sides, both on and off the field (most notably, Tom Brady himself) - scratching their heads in utter disbelief. I honestly thought I’d dozed off and was dreaming when I first saw it. Had Russell Wilson really, actually, unimaginably…truly THROWN the ball?
(I'm too sick at heart to research it, but from what I recall seeing, the Seahawks were at third and goal, right on the one yard line, with Lynch having already effectively punched it up to the precipice after the stunning and breath-taking catch by newby Matthews a few moments earlier…but if I make mistakes in recalling the exact details, cut me some slack. I’m still reeling here.).
One yard to go, third and goal - third and WIN - third and SUPER BOWL RINGS FOR EVERYONE...(and if Lynch didn't carry it over the line on 3rd down, he had a final down to spare). Keep it in the hands, on the ground, keep the clock running, keep the offense's motor running. Keep moving. And there was no one better suited to the task, better qualified, better able, better deserving - than the star RB who had launched the Hawk's incredible success after an abysmal first 25 mins of play.
But they didn't do that. They didn't even let Russell Wilson fully drop back to look around for open receivers (and check for eager, opportunistic coverage by defenders just waiting to pick off the ball) . It appeared to me that his orders were to get the snap, drop back half-way, and immediately fire it off to ONE pre-selected receiver. Problem was, that receiver had two Patriots guys between him and Russell Wilson. Problem is, the Patriots were better suited to play that ball than whoever the sad sack was that the Seahawk's management team (or whomever) had selected to receive it. I was in too much shock to take notice of the intended receiver’s name, or the Pat’s player who intercepted it, or just about anything else beyond the stunningly-stupid call and the gut-wrenching outcome.
And the aftermath was unbearable. I turned the channel before Wilson left the field.
ACT THREE: JUDGMENT DAY
Heads should ROLL there in the Seahawks organization tonight. Whoever was responsible for directing Wilson to take a quick snap and then fire it off to just the ONE guy (without first stopping and checking to make sure he was open, without looking for other eligible receivers who might be better poised to catch a pass, without evaluating for even ONE second the option of possibly using his own quick-silver moves for a quarterback sneak). No. There is no excuse.
*I don't care if the 'Hawks felt like the Patriots "knew" Lynch would be getting the ball, and so they were all going to pile on him (thus a pass play would be more effective b/c it would be unexpected...that's crap pure and simple - the 'Hawks had been telegraphing their intended plays basically all night, and still been unimaginably effective with executing them).
*I also don't care who thought passing in that situation (a yard away from the goal line where offense and defense were mashed up so close together there was hardly room to breathe) - was better than running the ball (and also taking more time off the clock in so doing).
*I don't care about the jerk who didn't give a second's thought to letting Lynch, out of respect, bang out the winning TD (as a "thank you" for his valiant efforts all night).
*And I don't care WHO told Wilson to barely drop back before firing off the pass - thus being unable to take the time to make sure his receiver was open.
No. I care about any of that. I don't care about ANY ONE THING.
I care about ALL OF IT. Every issue, every problem, every mistake; every single one.
Seahawks Nation ought to be outraged.
And, Mr. Carroll, as far as I’m concerned…you got some serious splainin' to do.
***This blog is entirely the poster's own opinion - just me - based solely upon my own views regarding the game/the plays/and the final outcome. Sorry for any errors - they're entirely my own.
No game "analysts" were studied, watched, or quoted/paraphrased here. In fact, I don't know or care what the "experts" are saying - I turned the TV OFF when I saw Russell Wilson's face as he began to leave the field. I love football. But I am disgusted with stupidity. And you can quote me on that.
