You heard him, didn’t you? The Carpenter? Last Sunday, during Super Bowl XLVIII the decibels of screaming fandom were off the charts. That wasn’t a polar vortex shaking the ground beneath Wellington County.  That was the Carpenter (also known forever more as the 13th Man) losing his ever-loving mind as his Seattle Seahawks thumped the dirt out of the Denver Broncos.

Christmas came late for my Seahawks fan, but thank goodness it arrived. And much like Christmas, the night before the big event was filled with the anguish of excitement and anticipation for my giant man-child. At 6pm on Saturday night he declared that he should go to bed, immediately. Usually, I would be alarmed and inquire as to his state of health, but I turned to look into the wide-eyed, goofy grin of the man I love who, when seeing my momentary concern explained, “If I go to bed now then tomorrow will come faster and tomorrow is Super Bowl, and I just really need it to come.” He was whining like a little girl who really wants a kitten.

I knew he wasn’t kidding. It was pathetic, really, except he has big brown eyes and a fabulous pout. I am a sucker. However, I reminded him that I had rented a guy movie and he had promised me chips and dip. The Carpenter knows better than to renege on my junk food addiction. To occupy him, I suggested he push out the anguish a little longer and help with the dishes (that’s the secret to keeping your love life hot, kids – ignore the possibility of an early bedtime in favour of chores and cholesterol).

We plugged the kids into wireless devices and hit the couch to catch the last half of the lacrosse game (because I love to watch lacrosse) before we put on a movie about race cars, (because I love race cars). Most guys would appreciate this night. Dudes smashing each other with sticks to catch a ball, occasionally slamming one another into the boards, followed by loud, fast Formula One cars with crash scenes and even a few adult-content scenes (because he loves those scenes). Can you guess what happened? Yep. He fell asleep. In his mind, he had to save all that energy for football. Sunday was no different. He slept late and then had a nap to push the clock ahead. Unreal.

In the hours leading up to the big game, the air in the house got thinner. Tension was mounting. Then I heard the sound that signaled it was game time: a package of Skittles being ripped open and poured into a bowl, (the snack of Seahawk Marshawn Lynch). He chased them down with a can of soda pop.

This was going to get crazy. The dog hid in her crate. The cat took off. The teenager put her headphones on while our son mimicked his father’s insanity. And me? I went upstairs and kept working. Somehow I knew I could see the game without actually seeing the game. The first bellow at 12 seconds in was followed by guffaws and play-by-plays shouted before the crescendo of “oh yeahs,” or “go baby,” and the all important “the beast!”

As blue and green confetti filled the stadium air and the Seahawks claimed their prize, the 13th Man fell silent in his misty-eyed glory. Adorable. It was worth the wait.