Worse than a fair-weather fan, I really only care about sports teams if they’re somehow linked to people I love.
With me, it’s never a game that matters. It’s always the people who love that sport or are playing that game. They are what matter to me.
Sorry, Seahawks, but the team I’m most keen on these days is an Everett Boys &Girls Club basketball team, the Cobras.
They’re first-graders, a bunch of little boys (one is mine) and one gutsy girl. Sometimes they remember to dribble the ball.
Longtime readers may remember when I ruffled feathers in 1993 with a column about faking a zeal for sports to impress a guy.
Here’s a bit of what I wrote:
“Remember back in your dating years when a boy would talk on and on about rock climbing or obscure jazz or cultural anthropology or, heaven forbid, baseball? Remember how you used to pretend to be interested?”
I went on to say that in 1981 I received a ballpark marriage proposal after cheerily sitting through a Mariners game in the Kingdome that lasted until 11:30 p.m. when I had to be at work at 6 a.m.
I was interested all right, but in the guy, not the ballgame.
He loved all sports, all the time. Before and after we were married, I was a good sport about that.
A Californian, my husband loved the Dodgers. He loved the Lakers. In time, he came to love the Mariners. You’ve heard of baseball or football widows, whose spouses devote all their time to sports? I am – literally – a softball widow.
I can’t help but think how my late husband would have loved this day, with the Seattle Seahawks in the NFC championship game against the Carolina Panthers at Qwest Field.
I know for sure he would never be where I’ll be this afternoon. I’m taking my first-grader to Chuck E. Cheese’s for another child’s birthday party.
That’s fine with me. I have nothing better planned. Oh, the game? I forgot all about it, and I never did plan to watch it. You couldn’t even call me a fair-weather fan, one who only climbs aboard when they’re winning.
All that said, I sure do want those Hawks to win today. Why?
Because those aren’t just any Seahawks. Those are, to quote my mother, “your father’s Seahawks” – as in, “I don’t want to call your father to the phone right now, he’s watching his Seahawks.”
Since the days of coach Jack Patera and quarterback Jim Zorn, my father has been there, on his couch in the family room in Spokane, a loyal fan out there in Eastern Washington, watching his Seahawks.
Since 1976, I’ve had to remember not to call him on certain Sunday afternoons. I’ll remember not to call today.
One time, my father, my husband, my brother-in-law, my older son and my nephew went together to a Seahawks game in the Kingdome. My mother and I went shopping. My son, who was about 8 at the time, only remembers the rowdy Green Bay Packers fans sitting behind them. My father couldn’t believe the crowd noise.
Another time, I went to a Seahawks game.
It was 1994, the year the Kingdome was falling to pieces. The NFL team played several home games in Husky Stadium at the University of Washington. Seahawks tickets were easy to get that season because they weren’t selling beer on campus. All I remember is that it wasn’t as much fun as a Husky game – no Husky band.
Today, though, because of my dad, I’m the Seahawks’ biggest fan. I hope the team goes all the way to Detroit and wins the Super Bowl. If I remember, I’ll even tune in Feb. 5. I want to hear Aaron Neville sing the national anthem and see the Rolling Stones at the halftime show.
Ask me if I care who wins. Sure I care, because I love people who truly care. Go Seahawks!
My father is 82 years old. It’s about time.
Columnist Julie Muhlstein: 425-339-3460 or muhlstein julie@heraldnet.com.
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