By Sage Bitter
This is the first year I have ever actually cared about the Super Bowl. Before the infamous Sunday, I referred to the ‘Twelfth Man’ as the thirteenth man, could name roughly four Seahawks players (on a good day), and had absolutely no idea who the Seahawks were playing against or why it should matter to me in the slightest. But as I pre-gamed with my family and friends and became bloated with the weight of too many chips and dips, I started to become involved.
Suddenly, I thought Marshawn Lynch’s interviews were revolutionary, the controversy over “Deflategate” was completely warranted, Russell Wilson might in fact be the greatest quarterback in the NFL and naively, that the Seattle Seahawks would annihilate the New England Patriots and bring home a second Lombardi trophy. My spirits were high throughout the relatively matched game, and from my inexperienced yet dedicated sports perspective, the Patriots would score some points and then one of the Seahawks lesser known members, like wide receiver Chris Matthews—who caught his first NFL catch and scored his first NFL touchdown during the Bowl—would score our team some points and even it back out.
From where I sat on my couch for several hours (boy are those things long), the Seahawks seemed to have not only intelligent plays but also luck on their side. Then a series of events that would lead to an earthshattering (or Seattle shattering) outcome began to transpire. The Seahawks had a 24-14 lead entering the fourth quarter, which was quickly withdrawn when Tom Brady scored two touchdowns and took the lead. At this point, time was running out for the Seahawks, but then we were graced with a miracle catch by wider receiver Jermaine Kearse that pushed the Seahawks to the 5 yard line. Marshawn Lynch did what he does best and got the ball to the 1 yard line.
Then came what has been described as the “worst-play call in Super Bowl history” courtesy of offensive coordinator Darrell Bevell.
It’s a scenario that will be burned into the minds of Seahawks fans for eternity. The Seahawks are at the 1 yard line, there are roughly twenty seconds left in the game, Beast Mode, Marshawn Lynch is on our team and Russell Wilson throws a pass that is immediately intercepted by Patriots cornerback Malcolm Butler.
With that throw, cries of anguish and confusion could be heard ’round Seattle, but I just sat there in shock. I had thought the Seahawks, which in those six or so hours I had come to think of as my team, were going to pull through. And they didn’t. My disappointment and sadness were more crushing than I could have ever imagined a bunch of guys running around in tight pants tossing around something originally derived from a pig could make me feel. At least now I can soundly say even in spite of their painful loss, the Seahawks have gained another twelfth man.
