I’m a Die-Hard Seahawks Fan. Here’s How It Felt to Watch the Super Bowl IRL

There’s always a few instances in a lopsided football game where it gets kind of scary. In a blowout, the more artful elements of the sport give way to something much uglier and more upsetting on a human level. Football has more potential for carnage than any other major sport, and when the stakes are raised and adrenaline hits the danger zone, it can be giddy for some and terrifying for others.

I think Drake Maye was a little terrified on Sunday.

In his first Super Bowl appearance, the 23-year-old showed a greenness we hadn’t seen at all throughout his sophomore season, a campaign that saw him finish second in MVP voting and lead his team to the brink of a championship. It was a tough day at the office for Maye in pretty much every respect, but what was he really supposed to do against Seattle’s swarming, generationally talented defense? The Dark Side, as the fearsome unit is known, provided the toughest test of Maye’s career thus far, and it drove the final dagger into New England with the third play that is now forever seared on my temporal lobe.

As the Pats crossed midfield in a last-ditch effort to make things interesting, they set up for a dropback pass on first down. Incomprehensibly, nobody in a New England jersey seemed to notice that Devon Witherspoon was blitzing from his slot corner position, despite the fact that Witherspoon—one of the league’s true defensive demons—had been doing so all day. Perhaps his most demonic effort yet led to a Uchenna Nwosu pick-six: Witherspoon got home just as Maye was uncorking a pass, popping the ball into the air for Nwosu, who broke away to earn the Dark Side a well-deserved touchdown.

That deep, physical roar strained my vocal chords once more. I knew then that the Seahawks had given me another unforgettable experience, the kind that makes all the heartache of rooting for your hometown teams so worth it. The kind that can make sportswriting feel so romantic—especially when you’re doing it late at night, in a hotel room overlooking a sleeping city, highlights of the game running in the background.

If you’re wondering what it’s like to watch your team lift a trophy in person, it’s even better than you can imagine. To do it in the stadium of your team’s most hated rival, after spending the lead-up to the Super Bowl enjoying the spoils of San Francisco—a true American gem that sparkled even more because of exclusively pleasant interactions with 49ers fans—was a dream.

And now—older, wiser, less full of Coors Light—I get to relive all those new memories whenever I want. Hopefully it won’t take another dozen years for me to make a few more.