On losing the Superbowl

At 3 p.m. yesterday, Nick and I were at the tail end of our afternoon bike ride around Issaquah and Bellevue. The streets were eerily empty even for a Sunday. The few folks that were still on the road drove recklessly (running red lights and squealing tires as they rounded corners) to make it to their appointed television in time for the kickoff.

After 30 years of football mediocrity, the Seahawks were finally going head to head with the Pittsburg Steelers in the Superbowl. Weird.

Being an almost lifetime resident of the Seattle suburbs, I thought it was my duty to at least have the TV turned on to the game. Nick was noticably determined not to watch the game, so he retired to the front porch with a cup of coffee and a copy of VeloNews.

At half-time, it was clear that I wasn’t watching the game very closely, so Nick contrived to get me turn off the TV by offering to help install my new heated motorcycle gloves. (They represent cold weather riding nirvana, but that’s another post.)

I’m not much of a football fan. And I care even less for the Seahawks. I am proud to work in Seattle and live just across the lake from this beautiful city, though, which is why I was tickled by David Horsey’s cartoon in the P.I. today. Of all the commentary I’ve heard and read so far, I think he said it best:

“Sadly, it was not to be. Final score: Pittsburg 21, Seattle 10. Still, Seahawks players and fans walked out of Ford Field with something incredibly valuable: a seat for a return flight to Seattle, that fantastic city on Puget Sound. The Steelers? They had to go back to plain old Pittsburg.”

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