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In Which the Author Summons His Inner Motivational Speaker (or at least Chris Farley)

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You may have realized, now that Field Gulls has been around for 56 years, that although it's eternally devoted to the Seattle Seahawks and will do everything to promote the continued ascendence of our team into the ranks of the NFL elite, that it's not exactly what you'd call a "homer" blog.

None of the other SB Nation NFL blogs are by-the-book homer blogs either, but us, even less so. It's Seattle. You know what we do up here? We drink coffee and beer in alternating hands, we trudge through rain-swamped streets listening to Alice In Chains on our iPods (although I trust you're saving up for a Zune), and when we feel the need to imbue our pasty selves with the warrior spirit we head over to Ballard for some S&M sessions with 30-foot totems representing various gods from Norse mythology.

And when those Viking gods are done lashing us with their icy whips, we go back to looking bored and depressed. Sometimes we don't even wait for the lashings to stop. Just the other night Váli the God of Revenge was tarring my ass and it felt like I was just watching an episode of According to Jim.

The point is, sometimes we get a little -- well, I don't wanna say "realistic," because the Dallas game absolutely was not that -- but let's say, docious about our pro sports teams' chances at the championship level. I am one of those people. We don't even kvetch all that much. We just wait for miracles to happen, like Edgar knocking in Griffey to win the series from the Yankees, or for Jay Feely to miss three times, or for Josh Brown to... well, basically all Josh has to do is put his helmet on, but you get the point. We never expect it.

Others might say that's not being a true fan. That's not correct in the least, but I do call it being an honest fan.

I'm uncomfortable being the sucker who refused to see the signs that pointed towards disappointment, who just sallied forth while the skyscrapers were tumbling on top of him and the ground beneath his feet was disintegrating into sand, while everybody who really knew what was going on but were too protective of their safety to tell him just stood by the side of the road, pointing and laughing at his sad, lame march towards impotence, falsehood and truncated aspirations. But hey, enough about my first marriage.

Seriously, I get annoyed with myself too. I wish I had the balls to face-paint myself, but I support those who do. In every family you got people who are the doers, the planners, the ones that won't be silenced. And you have the others who worry, I guess -- who sort through the plans, the obstacles, and who go into situations thinking that, even if the doers come back not having done what they set out to do, they still got a home.

I'll be honest with you. You don't pay me $100 each in monthly subscription fees to lie to you. (That figure's an estimate.)

The Chicago Bears scare me. They loom. They hover over this weekend. They hover so much, in the last three days we've had Chicago's weather take over this town. In a way, they've always scared me. Just over two decades ago they were one of the most dominant Super Bowl champions of all time. Whenever I transgressed I often felt my punishment would be by the hands of the '85 Bears -- something really scary, like Mike Singletary burning holes in my flesh with his eyes, or Refrigerator Perry stomping over my spine, or Jim McMahon trying to make a rap record.

Maybe they're not quite as Olympian as 21 years ago, but the 2006 Bears scare me too. Well, they manhandled us in October, that may have something to do with it. And although some pundits have made rational statements about how the Seahawks could pull this thing out, I'm heading into this weekend with an acknowledgement that there's an air of inevitability. I'm trying not to let it in the house, but I know it's there.

This isn't disbelief so much as it is a safety net for later. I fully believe it's possible for the Seahawks to win this game.

Now, from where I sit, which is the corner table in Shrug's International House of Rationalism, it will probably take some miracles. Remember the Romo miracle Saturday night? I'm thinking three of those, we could win this one. Five of 'em, we could win going away. Ten of them and Holmgren becomes Pope.

I think every knowledgeable, intelligent Seahawks fan -- of which, on this site, we have quite a few -- knows what we're up against here. Yeah, maybe I'm overstating some stuff, but that's half for dramatic effect, and also in hopes that I can increase the ad rates. Deep down you know this isn't going to be easy.

But you have to have faith that the right thing's going to happen this time. And you have to appreciate what has happened this year, even if it doesn't result in the brass ring, or whatever that thing's made of. Otherwise it'll just knock the spirit out of you for next year.

Great sports towns -- and there aren't any greater sports towns than that of our opponents this weekend -- always "believe" in their teams, whether they've won a championship or finished last. We do not have a big history of doing that. Sure, there are some pockets of true believers out here in the Great Northwest, but just as many fair-weather, foul-tempered fans. On paper you can see why, historically, that's the case.

What I'm here to tell you is that the Seahawks have shown us something over the past four or five years that we can believe in, and after this season I believe in it even more than last year. Whether that belief will beat the Bears, I don't know. I ain't gonna lie to ya. I'm just not gonna say anything.

But that belief will pay off, if don't get all hipster on me and wave your hand at it. The story of this season -- given that we don't win the championship -- might read like a disappointment. In a lot of ways, maybe it was. It's never easy for a Super Bowl loser, or hasn't been lately. It's looked positively sickening for us this year at points. The most symbolic gesture of our frustration of this season was Matt Hasselbeck, pounding the turf in anger when he couldn't get up to finish off the Vikings. That's an example of how badly they want this.

It got 'em to 9-7. It got 'em to a first-round victory that could very well be the most symbolic gesture of our shocking success this year. (Refs permitting.) Super Bowl losers have had a problem with that.

I was exhausted after the Cowboys game. I knew we were probably going to get the Bears next, and I wasn't looking forward to it. But at least, for me, as a fan in Section 328, I got to see an honest-to-Josh miracle. And if it turns out the season ends Sunday, at least I'd known that this year the Seahawks gave me something to really believe in long-term. That is so much better than getting reamed by the Patriots in the Super Bowl and fading into irrelevance next September.

"We want the ball and we're gonna score" -- foolish and impetuous as history has portrayed it -- proved the intent of the Seahawks' character. Last year proved the integrity of that character. This season, above all else, proved the determination of that character.

You know, I'm good with that. That's the whole arc right there -- except for strength of character, which I believe is next. Maybe Sunday, maybe not, but it's next.

So there you have it, Greater Cascadia. We all know what we hope. I'm tellin' you we have something to believe in too. And it might work again this weekend, but even if it doesn't, it will soon.

And if you're into that whole faith business, well, good thing this game's on Sunday morning. Can't beat that with a Norse god totem pole. With or without whips.