We lost, but Seattle and I have made up. So at least there's that.

I really can't even begin to tell you how much I hate the NFL right now. So very, very much.

It is the richest professional sports organization in the country, and is the only one that doesn't pay for full-time referees. What is that about? And how many more terrible calls do we have to watch before something changes?

I'm not blaming the referees for Seattle's loss. I recognize that the Hawks just didn't play their game tonight, and that "Butterfingers" Stevens better hope I don't run into him on the street, and that Pittsburgh had some big plays, and that Seattle got first down after first down but couldn't seem to convert that into points. But the emotional highs and lows of this particular Superbowl were brutally emphasized by the crappy, crappy calls. Every time we'd make a big play, there was laundry on the field, indicating a massively bad call was about to be made by some official, not only undoing whatever good we just did, but probably also penalizing us something like 17 million yards and completely fucking up our momentum.

It was intense:

I yelled, pre-bowl, along to "Paradise City" and the whole original (12 minute long) "Rapper's Delight", to which I know all the words.
I drank many Nut Brown Ales from the keg in my entry way.
I made a shirt, in keeping with the theme of our Superbowl partay.
I ate my weight in guacamole, snap peas and deviled eggs.
I yelled about the game starting.
I yelled at the referees.
I watched Fabio make an ass of himself yet again, and wondered why GoDaddy, the clear leader in domain name sales wasted millions prostrating itself to 22 year old silicone-loving males.
I refereed the Halftime Parking Lot Bowl, as 12 people hurled a football around our parking lot, hitting at least two neighbors' cars.
I picked the PLB MVP.
I yelled about our a key interception and that beautiful, record-breaking run.
I yelled more at/about bad calls.
I yelled at/about my team.
I yelled at/about those around me.
I drank another beer.
Then I yelled some more.
Then I lost my voice, lost all hope, and lost any remaining shred of respect for Jessica Simpson.

And then we lost. And our party guests suddenly realized we would not be going out and fulfilling our lifelong fantasies of looting in Pioneer Square, and mourned for a bit before finally settling in for a huge game of Scrabble instead.

Key Superbowl party quotes:

"Brown and bubbly? That was my nickname in college."

"Ref!! Your mom gave me herpes!!"

"I'm a big fan of beards. Huge. In fact, most women I date have them."

"Your balls don't have any hair on them!" (seriously, this made sense and wasn't even gross at the time.)

"I HATE zebras. I wish I was a lion."

"Fuck. Jesus. Mary Magdeline?"

"I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. No... wait. Yep, I did."

More on the game, the 12th man, and ceasing and desisting.


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The silver lining? Somewhere between the yelling and the losing, I fell back in love with Seattle. Look, I will most likely yell random cuss words at anyone wearing black and white stripes for the next 2 weeks, but even in spite of this and the solid month of rain and that one time I got a ticket for jaywalking, I love this city. I think I just forgot that for a few days while I was busy worrying that I might drown on my walk to and from the bus every day.

So Seattle, here's to you. With or without the sun and the Superbowl, and even after your fourth double tall skinny latte, you are a sweet and complex, if difficult, lady. And in the end, you've got class. Style. And you know Superbowl rings are really, really gaudy.

And I love that about you.
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