Come six-o'clock this evening, in stifling southern Florida, my girlfriend will be whisked away to her parents house for four or five hours. I will be alone in my domain, all lights will be extinguished, all curtains drawn. My bed chamber will be alight with unscented candles, and the television set to FOX. The sound will be muted, and Hans Zimmer's discography of theatrical backing tracks will blare majestically from my laptop speakers. Clad only in a College Navy Blue robe, I will behold the game I've longed for for the entirety of my mere 22 years. For now, forever, for always, Go Hawks.
If I could give a message to one player before the game, it would be to you, Chris Clemons. For a bevy of reasons, there is an extremely large chance that this will be your last game in a Seahawks uniform. There is an even larger chance that this will be your only ever opportunity at a Super Bowl. You aren't getting any younger, and your production this season illustrates that. I, however, remember a time not all that long ago when you posted three consecutive double-digit sack seasons. A time where you sacked one Aaron Rodgers four times in a single half of football. I realize that you've remained stout against the run, and I appreciate that, I promise I do. But for just one more game, for just one more glorious game, I challenge you to be the Chris Clemons of only a season ago. Be unblock-able off the edge and force Mr. Manning up the center of the pocket and into the waiting arms of Clinton McDonald or Michael Bennett. Do this, Chris and establish your legacy towards Seahawks immortality.
I love you all, Go Hawks.