I am the first to admit that I do not necessarily understand the finer points of the game of football, but I do get enough of the rules to recognize a stunning play like the 95-yard kickoff return touchdown by Rasheed Shaheed, the one that triggered the seismograph in Seattle last night: the “Shaheed Shockwave.”  I have a hard time keeping up with the roster – they tend to blur – instead I am drawn to personalities.  But there are things I love about the game. 

The first thing I love is legacy.  I was raised in football culture.  It is a language spoken by the Finches.  I can still picture those sunny Alaska afternoons sitting with my siblings and my dad watching football.  There was shouting, cheering, and screaming as well as  endless game analysis. I honestly only paid half attention, and as I have noted before, my focus was primarily on personalities. But those afternoons – the shouting, cheering, game analysis,  shushing (“Nevermind Beth”) continued on my Dad’s entire life. And it actually came from my Grandpa Finch, a true PNWer who was home-based in the desert of New Mexico.  He loved his sports and his Seahawks. Football was the connection to my cousins with whom trash talk flies, “Hey Uncle Don, Gonna watch my Rams spank the Sea Chickens.”   

In 1997 my dad married a woman he met through his cousin.  His friends teased him, insisting that he only married her because she had Seahawks season tickets – which was only partly true. Just kidding.  I didn’t realize until maybe twenty years later, after the tickets were passed down to Scott and me, that they were not just any tickets.  They were charter tickets.  Tickets purchased the inaugural year of the Seahawks – their very first season.  She and her husband held onto them for years, and when her husband, Ray, passed away she continued to hold onto them.  And when she married my dad, they went to games together.

There is this movie I just love – Fever Pitch.  In the movie Jimmy Fallon has season tickets to the Boston Red Sox.  He inherited them from his uncle who had taken him since he was a little boy.  And when he attends games?  He is surrounded by folks who also had season tickets and they formed an eclectic little fan fraternity.

I think of that scene when I attend live games because the group that sits around us are the original Charter members, we are in the Charter section.  Our names are on the seats.  We wear commemorative Charter gear with “50 Years” on the arm and “Original Season Ticket Holder” on the back. So we sit there with that group, of which only two of the “old guys” still go to games.  Chris and Lisa sit on one side of us; like us, they inherited his father’s seats.  The old guy directly below us always goes with his 50 year old son, and is still pretty spry, hopping up to high five us when there is a good play.  There is a young guy who must have four seats because he and his good natured buddies are there, cheering as well.  The seats next to us are not charter and say “Pacific Pride-” some company owned seats and it is pretty random who sits there, once or twice the grandson of Clint Eastwood (!) and last night two drunk 49ers fans (Double!)  

The second thing I love about football is rarer, and only happens when I attend live games.  It is a magical feeling. I looked it up in order to give it a name and this seemed closest: Collective effervescenceis about a feeling of unity and joy that arises when people come together. Maybe a moment during a sports event, like the united gasp at a goal, or how people sing
together at a concert.

It is not only with that small group of regular Charter Members that we have shared electricity with – the high fives, the cheers, the fist bumps, the catching up with each other when we first see each other after a season, it is with the entire crowd of 70,000 people, and, yes, that includes the opposing team’s fans.  It starts lonnng before you step into the arena.  In our case it generally starts in the ferry terminal on Bainbridge Island which is our point of departure.  The boat itself fills up and is a sea of green.  Jerseys, green wigs, face paint, wings… yesterday I saw a group of women in full costumes “Seahawk Peacocks.”

Streaming off the ferry, this sea of green mixes in with others who are making the three-quarter mile trek, it is a boisterous and bubbly crowd, occasionally someone will yell “SEA” and most will echo with “HAWKS,” this call and response begins on the way there and continues until the game is over and you get in your car to drive home.  Yes, even on the ferry there are rounds of this cheer. 

You can hear the cheering, the drumming, the music, (the occasional evangelizer) long before you see the stadium.  

I love the ritual that comes with the game.  Nothing like baseball of course, but football does have its traditions.  Personal rituals include potty break, snacks purchase, soda in the cupholder all lined up before kickoff.  I will never forget the time I was standing in the longest beer line when I heard the roaring of the crowd followed by the “flyover.”  Pure panic.  FOMO.  

I love the beginning of the game, the fireworks, the player introductions, the big name guests who raise the 12th man flag, the National Anthem, recognitions, the flyover. All of it.   Halftimes are usually an opportunity to refill snack and visit the ladies room, but apparently there is  one game each season that hosts “halftime corgi races.”   Last night was the first time I watched a half time show – Lil’ Jon, who I had never heard of who sang surprisingly familiar songs.  

People watching on the jumbotrons brings me utter delight, The stadium announcer, not unlike a cruise ship director guides fans of when to “show some noise or wave your complimentary towels or poms or at last nights game when everyone turned on their phone flashlights and the stadium was a sea of sparkly stars.”

It wasn’t until I sat down on the ferry ride home last night, and as we pulled away from the Seattle Skyline that I felt the adrenaline drain.  I was exhausted, my feet hurt from the walk and from standing for most of the game on hard cement.  The ferry purser congratulated the passengers and led us on a few more SEA – HAWKS cheers, but I almost couldn’t do it.  My throat was so sore – I had never lost my energy, joining the loud 12’s as they drowned out the 49ers offence – and now I was feeling it.  

And it might be corny, but there were a few moments that I felt a little teary as I sat there in my dad’s seat.  Teary as I stood right where he stood, wearing his stadium jacket against the cold night  I imagined them there and it just made me feel peaceful.  And happy.  And close.  And oh!  How they would have loved being there- seeing that game, watching their beloved Seahawks. There are friends who would tell me they were there.  That they were there, seeing it all. 

The Seahawks are having a good year.  We went to a great game. I still didn’t catch some sophisticated plays, I still don’t know all the rules, but I know this, I am grounded in the Finch legacy of a love for The Game.  And it might sound strange, but I am grateful for the hoarse voice – for having been a part of the ritual and collective magic that come from being a Seahawks fan.