So how about them Seahawks? Great game today, if you are from the real Washington.
Off topic: why do television announcer types say "Washington" when they mean Washington, D.C., a place with a perfectly easily pronounceable, um, suffix, let's call it, and "Washington State" when they mean Washington, the only state in the union that is saddled with the need for a clarifier, just because eastern television news and sports commentators are too lazy to say "Washington, D.C." correctly? East coastism, is what I call it.
Back to football. I have enjoyed watching football since fifth grade. I can remember the day when I started liking football. It was the day I read the cover story of Sports Illustrated about Sonny Sixkiller, the then University of Washington quarterback, a sort-of local star, as we were living in Northwest Oregon.
Did I normally read Sports Illustrated? No, I did not. My dad certainly didn't subscribe to it. But fifth grade was boring, and the magazine was on hand, probably a year old by then and probably tossed in a pile of random reading material by Mr. Batty, our insane former 'Nam vet drill instructor teacher to coax the lazy boys to read.
One look at Sonny Sixkiller was enough to convince me that football was a good game to learn about. He was so, I don't know, so native, and smart, and dark and handsome. And kind of dangerous. And in his football uniform, he looked a lot better than the boys in my fifth grade class.
From that day on, I sat down with my mom on Sundays and watched her favorite pro team, the Green Bay Packers, and my favorite teams, the Oakland Raiders and the San Fransisco Forty-Niners (a budding west coastist) play.
Now that we both live in Washington (state, you east coastist, elitist pig!) and the Seattle Seahawks now exist, we have a common team. Dad still doesn't care much for football. Of course, he doesn't exactly watch with the same objective.
After all, we are red-blooded American women.