I would like to sincerely apologize to my neighbours, particularly those with young children, for the loud and inappropriate noises coming out of my house last Sunday evening.
I am truly sorry. Surely they thought something very wrong was happening inside our home, or at the very least, something very naughty.
In our defense, the Seattle Seahawks were in the National Football League’s NFC Championship game against the San Francisco 49ers.
It’s a big deal here.
You’ve heard of the 12th Man theory in Seattle; that the crowd is the 12th player on the field. They are the loudest fans in the NFL – so loud they spook the competition. Well, I am married to the 13th Man.
The Carpenter, typically a calm, quiet, laid-back fellow, has been nothing short of fanatical as the race to Super Bowl XLVIII has seen his team rise to the challenge. If he’s said it once, he’s said it a thousand times: “All roads to the Super Bowl go through Seattle.”
To make the game a family affair we received a dinner invitation to watch the big game on the big screen with my favourite San Francisco 49ers fan, my father, Grampa Gary. The email invite read as follows: “You and the kids are fine to come, but I don’t know about that Seattle fan. I will have to think about that.”
Everybody knows the Carpenter is my parents’ favourite child (because he isn’t theirs), so the sudden rivalry between my two leading men was sure to be entertaining. Grampa Gary was in his full San Francisco 49ers attire. The Carpenter arrived in his Seattle jersey, with a matching ball cap under his Seattle toque. The battle lines were drawn.
The tension was palpable through the first quarter. Grampa Gary did not engage in smack talk, despite an early lead. It was still anybody’s game. But the doubt had crept in. At half time, the Carpenter, ever vigil in his belief in his team, began to repeat, “Seattle is a second half team.”
Half time also meant home time. The kids were yawning, there were lunches to pack, homework to gather, the usual Sunday night routine. All roads to the Super Bowl might go through Seattle, but all roads to Monday morning go through our kitchen. I have never seen the Carpenter move so fast to run up the street to his own television, but this was life and death, apparently.
While the kids settled into bed, the Carpenter began what I can only explain as a vocal and dramatic display of fandom that was both amusing and unsettling. Forget about the 12th Man breaking the sound barrier. The 13th Man was causing a disturbance of his own. Shouts of, “Oh yeah, baby,” and hollers of “Yes, yes, yes…” complete with floor pounding and screams of “Oh yeah, do it again,” rattled the house. The 13th Man was losing his mind and everyone else was losing sleep. I can only imagine what people thought we were up too over here (Sigh. Not even close).
All roads to the Super Bowl may go through Seattle, but I firmly believe all the momentum to win will come from the 13th Man living in an otherwise quiet neighbourhood in Wellington County.
Again, sorry neighbours.
Writing has been my passion since I learned how to hold a pencil (which I still cannot do properly). Despite my father’s insistence that I would starve to death in this career, I remain well fed and eager to write more. They say you should do what you love: I love to write.