Being a writer, I have grown to really dislike hyperbole. Be it positive or negative. Nothing's ever so great it can't be thwarted, and nothing's ever so bad that it can't be transcended. Being older than I used to be, I now measure success in terms of exhilaration and exhaustion.
I don't know how bad things are supposed to get for the Seahawks. However bad that level is supposed to be, it apparently hadn't gotten there before the 4th quarter of tonight's season-defining loss to the San Francisco 49ers. Who, trust me, are not that good.
Of course, neither are the Seahawks. Not now.
I don't mean to get all sky-is-falling on you guys. For one thing, it's too late. Sky done fell, baby. Probably last week against the Cardinals.
I don't even know what to say about it. The minute we stepped out of the parking garage near Qwest, Kate and I were hit with a freak mini-monsoon that showered us in five minutes of massive rain blasts and tempestuous winds we haven't experienced in quite awhile. It was so startling, I glanced around to see if Anderson Cooper was standing around somewhere with a microphone.
That was sort of how the fourth quarter of this game was. At some point in these types of games this year, the Seahawks just quit. I don't know if they're doing it consciously, or whether Steve Hutchinson is sitting at home with the biggest voodoo contraption in the world, causing them to feel faint, or what.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. These are not the types of games Super Bowl teams lose. But tonight's loss was even more galling. This is not the type of game division winners lose.
The Seahawks are about to back into a division title. I've made fun of that phrase before, when used against other teams. You make the playoffs or you don't. Scoreboard, as Rome would say.
Now I get it. I don't know whether it's that the Seahawks are just temperamental, or just prematurely cocky, or what. But they're about to back into the playoffs. And even if they do regain their strut by wild-card weekend and win a game, that'll be about it.
I'm just really exhausted. Annoyed, and exhausted.
The last thing I'll bring up is seeing Mike Holmgren's press conference a couple minutes ago on the TV. Physically, he looked worse than I've ever seen him. Dark, sullen eyes. Obviously grim demeanor. He was barely able to keep his composure.
If the Seahawks want to pretend to leave this season with any dignity, Holmy's going to just let loose on his team tonight. Explode. Screw the comfort zone. Screw it. It's done. Figure out how Lovie Smith and Sean Payton have kicked their teams' asses into playing well this season. And next week. And the week after.
This was just bad, kids. It was so bad, I don't even want to figure out how it was bad. Because it's that type of bad that, if we figure out why it's bad, we'll just keep making it worse and worse.
I'm going to sleep. I urge you to read Dinosco's rather well-put diary entry, which puts things in much more readable perspective than I can at the moment.
This was just stupid.
Crap, now I'm using one-sentence paragraphs, just like Steve Kelley.
That's how bad teh suck iz.