Seattle Seahawks Parade

Who doesn't love a parade? After today's Seahawks Super Bowl celebration down Fourth Avenue it is hard to say that I love a parade. I'm glad I went and showed my love and appreciation for the team. When I got home I promptly checked Google Weather; at 1 PM it said 31°F. With the windchill, standing out of the sunshine, it felt like the low 20s. I was wearing cloth gloves, but I was starting to lose sensation in both hands. My throat was hoarse from the cold and hooting and whooping it up for the players, who I had difficulty making out from where I stood on Blanchard, a good 20 yards off Fourth Avenue. I recognized Russell Wilson and Richard Sherman and Kam Chancellor (I think). The players were transported in big construction trucks or troop personnel carriers, I couldn't tell which; the coaching staff and front office executives and Sea Gals and also some players were conveyed by Duck -- amphibious tourist vehicles. I suspected Marshawn Lynch was on the hood of the Duck carrying the Sea Gals, and I cheered accordingly; but I wasn't sure until reading the AP story just now.

I burned a vacation day to attend the parade. My thirty-year-old coworker browbeat me into doing it. She said it would an all-time historic event and that I would hate myself if I didn't go. I acknowledged that she was undoubtedly correct, but still held off turning in a time-off request. I must have been operating on some deeper knowledge gleaned from five decades of plodding the Earth's surface among my fellow man. Deep down I had the foreknowledge that hours spent outdoors with large groups of screaming people in freezing weather does not for a good time make.

But I succumbed to her entreaties and put in for and got the day off on short notice. We tentatively planned to meet on the steps of city hall. She said that she was going to get there early, before 10 AM, with her two sons. I told her that I would try to hook up with them; but given the large number of people likely to have the same plans, I told her chances were we wouldn't see each other.

And sure enough we didn't. Walking down from Capitol Hill at 10 AM there were only a few fans at first. But once I got to Olive and Denny the trickle became a throng. By the time I reached the intersection of Boren and Pine, the dividing line between downtown and Capitol Hill, the throng was a solid mass of Seahawks supporters. It reminded me of the first morning of Seattle WTO. (Crossing Boren on Pine east of Paramount Theater on my way downtown that's when I knew that the WTO protests were going to be a big deal. Pine was locked down with protesters. A young person was perched atop a large teepee-like tripod structure.)

On the way down to Fourth Avenue I talked to a woman who had given her office the day off. She said that she was fair-weather fan; that, like me, she had been cajoled into attending because of the historic nature of the event. She said that she couldn't get cell service on her phone. Too many people overloading the circuits.

I said goodbye at Sixth Avenue and scooted up the hill. I worked my way south until I got to city hall where, as I have mentioned, I could not locate my coworker and her two boys. I then settled in next to a black family -- I prefer the company of black people to whites; black people are generally kinder and more open -- and prepared to wait in a good spot in the sun that had fine sight lines to the street.

After a half-hour of standing in the same spot, I decided to take off and work my way back up the parade route to its origin. This way, I'd be closer to the action once the parade got started and I could hightail it home quicker and thereby enjoy some of my vacation day in rest and relaxation

For the next 45 minutes I struggled through the mass of humanity on Fourth Avenue. I noticed several different parents with small children, younger than five years of age, struggling mightily to keep it together. It was too cold to be outdoors any length of time with children that young.

Bottlenecks developed on the sidewalk. Several spots were impassable. A different trail had to be blazed. Finally, tired of the crush and pushing against people who were in various stages of upset, I left Fourth Avenue and started moving via the alley between Fourth and Fifth. There, more of a Mardi Gras atmosphere dominated. A young guy had scaled a fire escape, people were smoking blunts, the thumping dance music from Westlake Mall could be heard.

After trying and then giving up on accessing Fourth Avenue from Westlake Mall, I walked north up Fifth Avenue. Finally, based on the location of a helicopter hovering high above in the same spot for a long time, I decided to position myself on Blanchard Street and wait. I was in a small pool of sunshine that made me feel a bit warmer.

At first several motor coaches with tinted windows rolled past. I joked with a woman next to me, "You think that's it?" Then Pete Carroll rolled passed in the back of a truck, and I let out a cheer. The players followed. It was all over quickly. The folks closest to Fourth immediately started a bums rush east up Blanchard. Everyone was bitterly cold and wanted to get off the street as soon as possible.

The police estimate of the crowd currently being reported is 700,000. I can't say if that's accurate. There were a lot of people. The most popular jerseys were Marshawn Lynch's number 24 and Russell Wilson's number 3; then Richard Sherman's number 25 and Earl Thomas' number 29. There was a lot of the 12th Man number 12; some Kam Chancellor number 31 and Percy Harvin number 11. I did see a couple of Bobby Wagner's number 54 and Bruce Irvin's number 51, also Golden Tate's number 81 (but only one Doug Baldwin number 89).

In any event, more people turned out for this football team than would ever show up for a politician. Our heroes are professional athletes. No question about it. It has something to do with honesty. People trust the effort of these football players. That is why Marshawn Lynch's "Beast Mode" is so enormously popular. In this age when the super-rich rule seemingly every aspect of life and deceit is the coin of the realm, a tackle-breaking run by Marshawn Lynch personifies our aspirations. I love Marshawn Lynch.

So let us -- aging men tucked in Seahawks gear next to women wagging ass in tight pants -- mark the championship moment. Because -- look! -- it has already passed.