It was all
fun and light hearted in the weeks before the big kick off.
This team that I
had loved for most of my life was finally headed for the Super Bowl. This team
that never seemed to make the papers. This team that no one ever paid attention
to. This team that just kept plugging away, season after season, even when they
mostly had marginal seasons. I loved them anyway and was the loyal fan, wearing
the jersey, and snatching up any Seahawk trinket I found on sale (Seahawks
stuff is generally found on the clearance racks). Now they were finally headed
to the big game and I could not have been more excited.
In a
terrible twist of fates, the team we were facing in this important game
happened to be the home team of my friends and neighbors. Just two years ago we
moved to the sunny state of Colorado, where the Broncos fans had closets full
of orange garb. They didn't take much notice to the new girl, who preferred to
wear green and blue.
Until the season unfolded and suddenly we were facing each
other at the Super Bowl. Then the ribbing started.
I started to
wear my team gear to work, as I sat at the front desk of our local Recreation
Center. As the Orange streamed through the doors on the way to basketball
practice or swim meets, they would make comments and pretend to be insulted
when they noticed my not-orange.
They were all very confident that I was the
one that would be wiping tears from my cheeks when February 2nd rolled around.
They seemed to think it was 'cute' that there was a Seahawks fan in the midst.
One little
boy was downright confused. After seeing my Shaun Alexander jersey he did a
double take and said, "...but that's not our team." It had never occurred
to him that those Hawks might have fans too. Fans who lived in Colorado.
Bets were
made. Not bets involving money. Bets involving wearing the winning team's
jersey and gift cards to Qdoba. I have been a Payton Manning fan for many years. To say I wasn't a bit nervous about
the guy who'd set many records in his fifteenth season of being an iconic
quarterback would be a lie. But I was just proud that my guys earned their own
way to the dance and knew they had a decent shot of holding that Manning guy
back for a bit.
Then the
game happened. My team won. No, my team didn't just win. We played the best
game we've played all year. We ran on all cylinders. We held back a team that
is filled with talented, top shelf players. And by the middle of the first half
it was pretty apparent that we might have a shot at that trophy.
I was pretty
much out of my mind. I kept turning to my boys and saying, "Is this
happening? Is this really happening?" I couldn't believe we were not just
winning, we were dominating.
And then I could hardly comprehend that we'd WON.
It didn't
take long to realize my new dilemma. My Seahawks had just won the Super Bowl, a
game that the Broncos were pretty confident they'd take. And a game that my
local friends were very confident they'd take. I was now the local enemy. While
I saw the celebrations in Seattle, thousands of fans in green and blue high
fiving, and screaming, and congratulating each other, I realized I'd feel safer
in my Colorado home if the doors were immediately locked.
I knew my
days of wearing my Seahawks gear into work were over. I was the one to hate. It
just made it more tricky that my prosthetic leg was covered in Seahawks logos.
I'd never be able to wear shorts again. Super Bowl losses this big are not
forgotten in weeks, or even months. People in Colorado will never forget that
they lost the Super Bowl of 2014. And they'd never forget who took it from
them. I had instantly become a closeted Seahawks fan.
As the week
wore on it started to make me kind of mad. I'd waited for over 30 years, never
knowing if my team would ever win this game and now that it had happened I
couldn't celebrate. I couldn't be loud and proud and wear out the gear that
hung in my closet. If we lived anywhere besides Colorado I'd be congratulated
every time I ran into someone I knew.
But now I had to just hang my head and
pretend it had never happened, or risk angering the people around me. I
couldn't put a Seahawks sticker on my car and not risk vandalism. I couldn't
hang my 12th man flag in front of my house without fearing retribution. I was
not a Broncos hater. I was just a crazy Seahawks lover. It wasn't personal. But
I knew they'd forever hate me anyway. It just didn't seem fair.
My work week
starts on Wednesday. I put on my standard issue Rec Center shirt and headed in.
My plan was to just keep my mouth shut and scrape whatever joy I could from the
online celebrations I kept seeing on my Seattle related facebook feeds.
Then a
surprising thing happened. The Broncos fans started showing up and asking why I
didn't wear my gear. They high fived me and told me congratulations. Some of
them pretended to be mad but would then break out in a grin and say, "Your
team played awesome..."
I was a bit
confused until one of the orange-est of them all said to me, "We're not
mad at you. Your team played great. Our team didn't. You didn't rob us from a
win. We didn't play well enough to take it from you."
I was blown
away. They didn't hate me. They
recognized that the better team that day had taken home the rings. The fans of
the Orange showed as much class and grace as their quarterback, Manning.
So on Friday
I wore my green shirt to work. It has a big Seahawks logo across the front. All
day long I got more high fives and a couple of 'we're with you's from a few
other closeted Seahawks fans in our area. I kept waiting for the anger, the hostility
and the rudeness, and it never came.
I
underestimated the fans in Orange. They love their guys, they love their team.
They fill that stadium with joy and energy every single time a home game is
played. They had an amazing season, watching their 'new' quarterback show the
world that a true champion can come back from a huge medical issue and be
better than ever.
They get
geared up for big games. They bring out the jerseys, bumper stickers, stocking
caps and t-shirts. Their kids are all in, wearing the gear to school and
volleyball practice at the Rec Center. They are a motivated bunch.
But they are
also a classy bunch. They recognize good football and get frustrated when
things don't go their way. And when the scoreboard is not their friend they do
the right thing. They pound their fist on the arm rest of the couch and storm
up to the kitchen for a consoling snack.
But, lucky for me, they know where to
place their frustration. And they don't hold it against the girl in blue and
green who sits at the front desk of the Rec Center and helps them sign their
kid up for dance class.
I'm proud of
my Bronco loving neighbors. I really am.
But I'm still not risking the bumper
sticker on the back of my Suburban.
At least not until the Broncos win a Super
Bowl of their own.
