Being born and raised in Colorado Springs, Co has been quite painless up to this point. Before the holy triumphant has been bestowed upon us again. Bronco fans would almost feel a faint sympathy for myself as a Seahawks fan, not anymore. Being a reader of this blog for quite some time I figure I would add some insight from a enemy's territory point of view. It all started when i was about 8 years old. Having a father who wasn't around very much due to owning his own business and being as young as I was. I did what any angry boy would do to spite his sports loving dad. I rooted against his beloved Broncos.
The easiest way for me to do that was to pick a team in said division and hope for the best. That is what I intended to do. But the way I chose obviously had no logic behind it so I went with the teams logo I liked the best. Boy am I glad that I somehow could give two shits about pirates, or giant arrowheads, or ugly horses and decided to go with the logo and color scheme that a drunken toddler sketched up on its free time. lets just say the beginning wasn't shaved taint pretty. It was more like a free loving 70s taint waiting to be groomed. Just like Russellmainia's golden locks.
To not bore you with things already known lets fast forward. The broncos win two super bowls. John Elway becomes a top 3 code word to start a circle jerk in these neck of the woods. Divisions re-align and we get a hawk who takes no shit. Nobody falls for it though as we are still labeled a "finesse" team. Superb owl XL happens forever making me hate even numbers and my shirt size as a never ending reminder. I balled my eyes out as a teenager giving my all to the team i loved for so long. They were all I had and all I could understand and relate to at the time. And that was the payoff, fuck my life(and the stealers).
But I am a quite stubborn fellow being a Scorpio and all. I was bitter for a while but it just made the ultimate goal that much sweeter in the long run. This journey is much more complicated than any other fan of another team can fathom. It's an emotional attachment that is as unexplainable as it is glorious and somber. Being a 12 to me isn't just a hobby or a random underwear spackling. It is a life style. A forboden trek down the rabbit hole of booze filled nights and an infinite stretching of the word hope. It will always be impossible for me to explain why I care so much about something that I am so called not a part of. That I am crazy for loving so deeply. Every time this topic arises though I am brought back to the number 12, and its immortal retiring for all of us who wear our hearts on our sleeves. And who in hand in mother fucking hand will rejoice after we get that sweet, sweet taste of the stoic big eyed bird that waits on the apex of sugar candy mountain.
Broncos fans are a very dedicated bunch. With my experiences these past 2 weeks I came to exact conclusions on why and how they are so disastrously over confident. In my opinion most bronco fans are just that. They watch the broncos on Sunday with an intense fervor. But that's it. This is not an insult to them but they are not "football" fans like we are. They do not pay attention to all the fine details of all the teams in the league like we do. They focus on the linear path at hand and there is nothing wrong with that. My point is that most of them have hardly caught a glimpse of a Seahawks game let alone really have a knowledgeable grip on how good we are. They have been taking what the terrible talking heads on the big networks have been feeding them. Then tried to piece it all together in a shit sandwich of conflicting ideals. So its easy for me to see why the picture they end up painting keeps ending with some sort of we have Peyton Manning statement.
I always knew that it would come down to this. I knew as soon as the playoffs began that the road to the promise land would be though my dads, and this states beloved team. We all we got we all we need sums up our beautiful chance at what we have been craving for so long. Not from a team rallying stand point. But a collective togetherness that this team we so luckily share takes our souls and fuses them together in a process that forms a earthquake inducing sound. A sound louder than Mike McCready ripping a face melting solo behind his head on top of a fighter jet. A feeling that we will hopefully get to remember for the rest of our lives. The fork in the road has arrived once more. This is how it has to be. The ending of a legendary career. The beginning of a glorious franchise. The universes ultimate plan will play out tomorrow on the biggest of stages(I do not believe Bruno Mars was a apart of the plan though. So the universe threw us some chilli peppers). We have tattooed our mark on the media as well as all the disbelievers that couldn't swallow the ferocious intensity that our team plays with. The galaxy will crown tomorrow as the greatest defense to play in a super bowl graces the gridiron(sorry 85 bears). A moment in our lives to forever cherish.
A few more tid bits. John Morgan will always be one of my favorite sports writers. And the reason I showed up so late to the party is because I am a horrible procrastinator. I'm sure there is grammar flaws all over the place. Sorry for that I hope you bared through it. Oh yea and one more thing, Go Hawks!