NFL Week 5: Let's Get Caught Up

The National Football League season is already in its fifth week. The season, entering its second quarter, has been a strange one, particularly if you are Seahawks fan. At this point last year, the hard times were ahead for Seattle; now, Seahawks fans have essentially dodged a season-ending bullet with Kam Chancellor's ball punch of a paydirt-bound Megatron on Monday night.

At 2-2, things could be worse, though it is a long shot to think that the situation will improve going into Cincinnati this Sunday. Marshawn Lynch is out again with a strained hamstring. Seattle is going to have to find a way to run the ball; otherwise, Russell Wilson will be eaten alive by the Bengals front seven. It will be a good test of the Seahawks defense. I can't think of a more complete offense right now than Andy Dalton's. A.J. Green is awesome, and the Cinci running-back combo of Jeremy Hill and Giovani Bernard is potent.

Let's get caught up on the season so far. First, two general comments. A guy, a labor politico of sorts, who survives by peddling seminars to unions, came into the office recently. He sat in the little reception area in front of my work station and waited for the head of the labor council to get off the phone and come out of her office and greet him. While he was waiting I took the opportunity to ask him, "Are you a Seahawks fan?"

This is my litmus test, a type of loyalty oath. Most people, believe it or not, say yes and then proceed to break down with acuity recent action. There are a few who beg off and say, "Well, yeah, but I don't really watch the games." This labor politico, which was surprising to me, admitted up front that he didn't follow the Seahawks, quite a liability for someone whose business is telling labor leaders how to connect with their membership.

I said to the guy, "Imagine if there was just one-quarter the interest in our political process as there was in the National Football League."

He stared back at me in a perturbed, confused manner. He didn't get it. The fact is that right now the athletes of the National Football League -- Kam Chancellor, Russell Wilson, Aaron Rodgers, A.J. Green, et al. -- are in the cultural vanguard. When I wore my Beast Mode hoodie on Friday, young people turned their heads as I passed by.

The music industry has been debased along with film. Neither can lead the masses as they used to. It is a dystopian world in which we live. But the gridiron is an idealized space where the heroes are untarnished (except for the New England Patriots). I can't remember a time -- and I've been following the NFL since 1975, when I was in sixth grade -- when the cultural cache of professional football athletes was this full.

Prior to last Monday night's Detroit-vs.-Seattle match-up I was in the grocery store. I live close to downtown in what many would describe as a hipster neighborhood. Never before have I seen so many young hipsters decked out in NFL jerseys. In the past, allegiance to the NFL home team was the provenance of the white, suburban working class. No longer. After Seattle's overtime Week 1 loss to St. Louis I went out for a run and was surprised to see the number of young people in Seahawks regalia glumly streaming out of house parties. Something different is happening here.

That's the first point. The National Football League is of enormous cultural importance now in the United States. I take it as proof that our political system is almost entirely bankrupt; the rapturous allegiance to the NFL is the observe of this bankruptcy, a hunger to believe in something that is authentic. And what is more real than a physical contest? Until our political system becomes more democratic and begins to address the many concerns of working people, I'm sure the NFL will continue its meteoric rise.

If the first point is that the NFL represents the cutting edge culturally in this country, then the second point is that it is simultaneously able to tap into an amazingly nourishing pool of nostalgia for a time when things were stable and prosperous, when every man was safely ensconced in his castle (and securely positioned in front of his television, usually in the fortress of the suburbs). I speak here of Thursday Night Football, at least the first nine weeks that are televised on CBS before retreating behind the paywall of NFL Network.

There is something about being a bachelor alone in his apartment at the end of the work week watching a primetime professional football game as the sun goes down and the room goes dark, particularly when the contests are close, as they have been the last two Thursdays -- Ravens vs. Steelers; Colts vs. Texans; it is a feeling of contentment, order, and tranquility, a lifeline back to previous generations of bachelors alone in t-shirts bathed in the phosphorescent glow from the TV screen, like a fictional Paul Drake watching a nighttime telecast of Norm Van Brocklin's Los Angeles Rams. One sleeps well after a night like that.

But this Sunday the story is about the unbeaten teams that remain. Let's hope the Seahawks knock off the Bengals; the loathsome Cowboys wallop the villainous Patriots; the Falcons keep rolling; the Raiders whip the Broncos; and the Packers best the Rams. This would leave three teams undefeated: Green Bay, Atlanta and Carolina (because of a bye).

Oh, and I wouldn't mind seeing the Lions give the Cardinals another loss.

Pay Him!

A friend sent me a link to the video above. The outcome of two games of this new season can be directly attributable to Kam Chancellor: the opening loss to the Rams when Kam's replacement Dion Bailey fell down and the Rams scored a TD in the final quarter to tie the game; then Monday night when Kam single-handedly saved the win over Detroit. Like Michael Bennett says "Pay him! Paul Allen is the 17th richest man in the world. Pay him!"

NFL Week Seven: Sunset of a Short-Lived (Ten Months) Seahawks Era

The handy man employed by the property management company that maintains the building where I work is a sullen young man in his 30s. Prematurely bald with dark rings beneath his eyes he is a Seattle Seahawks season-ticket owner. There are a number of people who I come in contact with who are season-ticket holders. What makes this guy unique is his undisguised disapproval of Russell Wilson.

Prior to last year's Super Bowl playoff run, the young sullen balding handy man with black eyes dismissed Seattle's chances by saying, "We have a quarterback who is so short he can't see over his own linemen." This is something that is just not uttered in Seattle where Russell Wilson is a holy figure, an avatar of positive thinking who transformed the Seahawks into world champions.

Though the balding, black-eyed young handy man proved to be wrong about Seattle's playoff chances, there is some truth to what he said. Russell Wilson, shorter than even Drew Brees, has trouble seeing down the field when he is lined up behind center. Defenses that have success against the Seahawks load the box with eight men and play man-to-man coverage; they'll blitz frequently, daring Russell Wilson to beat them.

This is the way Denver played in the Super Bowl, and Russell Wilson beat them. Well, the Seattle defense beat the Broncos. But Russell Wilson played well connecting with Doug Baldwin and Jermaine Kearse; his passing was of critical importance because Denver was concentrating all its effort on shutting down Marshawn Lynch.

The idea going into this year was that any erosion in the league-leading Seattle defense could be compensated by an increase in the passing potency of the offense. Percy Harvin fully restored to health and lined up in an array of formations was going to be the calling card of a supercharged pass-happy attack. If Red Bryant has taken his D-line anchoring physical dominance and his leadership skills to Jacksonville, not to worry. A West Coast offense for the 21st Century will score so many points even if the defense turns out to be truly mediocre the Seahawks will still have no trouble beating any team they end up matched against in the NFC Championship Game.

After NFL Week Seven it is apparent that Seattle is dealing with the worst-case scenario. Harvin, dealt to the Jets for a conditional draft pick, is gone, as are hopes for a high-powered offense that can mechanically put up 35 points a game, while the once historic defense is clearly -- no bullshit here -- mediocre. Seattle generates no pass rush; besides Richard Sherman, it has no lock-down defensive backs; and without Bobby Wagner, who has turf toe, it has no run-stopping middle linebacker. The entire vibe of the defense radiates lethargy and a fallen state. Earl Thomas looks nothing like his former self; it's like he has the flu. Kam Chancellor is obviously still not 100% from his off-season hip surgery. Byron Maxwell who played so well last season looked entirely beatable prior to his injury.

Can Seattle turn it around? 

It is possible but highly unlikely. The offense got on track in the second half in St. Louis, but that was because the Rams defense got tuckered out chasing Russell Wilson around. A better-conditioned team would not have broken down so badly. The Seahawks need to keep a lot of motion formations; they need to bring back the read-option play.

The Panthers are a wounded team, a good opponent for a similarly disappointing Seahawks. It is a coin toss as to who wins.

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.

One Last Thought on the Super Bowl

The speed with which the Seahawks defense -- Kam Chancellor! -- closed on the Broncos was remarkable. Manning would complete a pass and immediately there be three Seahawks defenders battering the Broncos receivers with big hits. Case in point is that wide receiver screen to Demaryius Thomas that Manning loves to run. It was immediately blown up by the Seahawks time after time. To be honest, Wes Welker looked physically intimidated. And Eric Decker and Julius Thomas never even figured into the game.

This Seahawks defense, after the show they put on last night, has to be ranked up there with Buddy Ryan's 1985 Chicago Bears.

Sunday Night's Seahawks Blow Out of the 49ers

Every day is a chore to make some meager meaning.  And often we are wrong, as I was in a previous post when I stated that being a fan is at best a break-even proposition.  Last Sunday night's Seahawk game was a rich surprise, an unexpected gift, particularly after San Francisco's drubbing of the Patriots in Foxboro the previous week.  I savored this Seahawk win for days.  Doug Baldwin's virile TD grabs.  Red Bryant's field goal block and Richard Sherman's return of it for paydirt.  Marshawn Lynch's power running and Russell Wilson's channeling of Fran Tarkenton.  To take my mind off a migraine during a delayed flight home yesterday I contemplated the play calling of Darrell Bevell: his use of the tight ends; how he incorporates everyone into the game plan.  Brilliant.

This isn't the first time that I've savored Sunday Seahawk victories.  Walking home along 12th Avenue I have replayed in my mind the Russell Wilson long bomb to Sidney Rice that stunned the Patriots in Week 6 and the read-option overtime demolition of Urlacher's Bear defense at Soldier Field in Week 13.  Those two games alone have put me in surplus for the season.  And now that Seattle is in the playoffs, regardless of whether we end up division champs or a wild card entrant, I am far past the break-even point.  Anything is possible for this team, even a super bowl victory. 

Thank you Richard Sherman.  Thank you Kam Chancellor.  Thank you Doug Baldwin.  Thank you Sidney Rice.  Thank you Golden Tate.  Thank you Russell Wilson.  Thank you Marshawn Lynch.  Thank you for this feeling of bounty, this loss of self.  What does one call it?  Don't we call it love?

Great thanks to my coworker and union sister who attended last Sunday's Seahawk-49er game and provided the photos.  (Note the urinating 'Hawk tailgaters.)