Rob12
New member
Over the years, I had watched a countless number of games with my dad. On a late fall day in 1989, I watched Dave Krieg sling a pass to Steve Largent and my dad leaped off of the couch. It was Largent's 100th career touchdown reception, in an otherwise meaningless game. I was 7, and from that moment, I was hooked.
That Atlanta game was rough. When it was 27-7, my dad simply looked at me and winked. Now, there's one thing that I should explain about my dad - he loves Russell Wilson. Being from Nebraska, he was the biggest Cornhuskers football fan that I have ever known. This man lived and died by what those boys did on Saturdays in Lincoln in the fall. The last Nebraska game that I physically watched with him started well. Nebraska went up on early on the Wisconsin Badgers, and by the end of it, the Cornhuskers had been blown out. I remember looking over at my dad, and rather than being dejected, he simply said how the quarterback for Wisconsin - No. 16 he called him - was the best damn player on the field and he didn't mind losing to him. That struck me as odd, but he told me that he didn't care how big the kid was, whoever drafted him in the draft was getting a winner.
I got off work late on the night after the draft, and I had a voice mail waiting from my dad. All it said was this:
"Love you, buddy. Well, the Hawks drafted their starting quarterback. Bright days ahead for our Hawks. Have a good night."
Before Gruden said Russ would make it, my dad did.
When Matt Bryant's kick went through the uprights to dagger us, my dad simply got up from the couch, walked over to me, and swatted my shoulder.
"No. 3 will have them back."
That was the last game that I ever watched with him, as he unexpectedly passed away on March 25 at the age of 64.
Less than a year later, I was still heavily grieving the loss of my dad. I watched Russ' interview before the game when he talked about his dad, and how he always believed in him, and the tears began rolling. My oldest son looked at me, smiling. He said, "Daddy, the Seahawks are going to win, and Papa will be happy."
And they did. Did they ever.
And here we are again. I'll watch this game with my wife and three boys, ages 4, 2, and 1, and they'll be decked out in their Hawks gear. They're not capable of grasping what these moments really mean to me. But I'll be with them, and they'll be a part of it.
I was going to write more, but nothing more needs to be said. We're back, when so many said it couldn't be done.
And we're going to repeat.
That Atlanta game was rough. When it was 27-7, my dad simply looked at me and winked. Now, there's one thing that I should explain about my dad - he loves Russell Wilson. Being from Nebraska, he was the biggest Cornhuskers football fan that I have ever known. This man lived and died by what those boys did on Saturdays in Lincoln in the fall. The last Nebraska game that I physically watched with him started well. Nebraska went up on early on the Wisconsin Badgers, and by the end of it, the Cornhuskers had been blown out. I remember looking over at my dad, and rather than being dejected, he simply said how the quarterback for Wisconsin - No. 16 he called him - was the best damn player on the field and he didn't mind losing to him. That struck me as odd, but he told me that he didn't care how big the kid was, whoever drafted him in the draft was getting a winner.
I got off work late on the night after the draft, and I had a voice mail waiting from my dad. All it said was this:
"Love you, buddy. Well, the Hawks drafted their starting quarterback. Bright days ahead for our Hawks. Have a good night."
Before Gruden said Russ would make it, my dad did.
When Matt Bryant's kick went through the uprights to dagger us, my dad simply got up from the couch, walked over to me, and swatted my shoulder.
"No. 3 will have them back."
That was the last game that I ever watched with him, as he unexpectedly passed away on March 25 at the age of 64.
Less than a year later, I was still heavily grieving the loss of my dad. I watched Russ' interview before the game when he talked about his dad, and how he always believed in him, and the tears began rolling. My oldest son looked at me, smiling. He said, "Daddy, the Seahawks are going to win, and Papa will be happy."
And they did. Did they ever.
And here we are again. I'll watch this game with my wife and three boys, ages 4, 2, and 1, and they'll be decked out in their Hawks gear. They're not capable of grasping what these moments really mean to me. But I'll be with them, and they'll be a part of it.
I was going to write more, but nothing more needs to be said. We're back, when so many said it couldn't be done.
And we're going to repeat.
