This'll be long. I'm bored.
It's past 3AM here for me on the east coast. Weather got a bit cooler over here, which is rare for early September, so I'm basking in the glory of the crisp low-50s air that I yearn for constantly between June and usually into October.
It's like the world is right again and the cool air, albeit brief, is the lighting of the torch for another year of ball.
It's a reflective moment for me. Equally somber as it is exciting to me, because I won't see Pete on the sidelines and I won't be rooting for Pete's club. Pete's still my desktop background, phone background, and my favorite figure in football history. My personal admiration for his ethos transcended simple fandom for me. Pete's the reason I love the sport. Every once in a while, you get to observe a figure who has energy akin to the Mandate of Heaven behind him in motion. Watch as they manifest miracles through the purity of their belief and the magnitude of their charisma.
The magic behind Seattle's 2010s stretch of dominance was not mere chance or luck. Carroll's culture created miracles. For a while, it felt as if we'd never lose again when the chips were down. We couldn't be buried. No matter how bleak things looked, you knew that the will Carroll instilled in his teams would catalyze results that felt like divine intervention.
He made a cynic believe in magic, because he proved that magic is replicable. It's just belief.
Carroll's story is an inspiration. He grinded out his early success with energy and tireless work ethic as he rose the ranks in defensive coaching. His first stops, although moderately successful, were ultimately failures. He shut himself in and went to work doing something that many of us never do - he sought to understand his life force. He wrote obsessively about his thoughts, motivations, tendencies, and philosophies until he understood the traits and values that made him who he was - competition being the main one. He realized that competition was the aspect of life from which the opportunities to seize greatness were born.
Once he understood himself, he decided he'd never permit himself to stray from being unfailingly authentic to the traits that made him tick, and he'd bring that to his teams. He went on to force destiny into his service at USC, and then to do the same here. He believed in his guys, believed in giving them any chance he could to taste greatness, believed in protecting them to keep them on an ascendant trajectory.
He made me realize that radical belief (followed by the opportunity that competition creates) is the recipe for people to transcend what they thought possible for themselves. Sometimes, all a person needs is someone in their corner before they'll be able to realize their potential. See my profile picture for one of the biggest examples of that in modern NFL history.
Given what I knew of his journey, his spirit, and his outlook - I was able to root for the Seahawks in a way I never would've been able to otherwise. I was able to root for my favorite team while knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were led by my favorite leader, based solely on his attributes as a person. I wasn't just rooting for a team, I was rooting for a message and philosophy that the world could truly benefit from. I was rooting for a team that was coached according to a philosophy on football that was more pure and exciting than any other - run head-first into the high-leverage moments. Yearn for the big moment. Be grateful for the big moment. LIVE for the big moment.
When you were a kid and you were imagining yourself winning the Super Bowl or some other huge game... did you imagine a blowout? I don't think most do. I think most think of themselves heading up a clutch drive down field and winning on the last play, or hitting a walk-off home run.
There's a story I read like a decade ago that I still can't find anywhere. We were playing the Rams on national TV in the LOB years and it came down to a 4-down goal line stand. Seattle holds and they win. On the sideline, Carroll wasn't nervous. He wasn't jittery. He wasn't rattled. He wasn't keeping cool, though. He was *elated* and he let his guys know it. Most guys would lock in, their adrenaline would start pumping, they'd get stressed... Carroll, though, when speaking to his team during I believe a TV timeout IIRC, said something that sticks with me to this day.
"How frickin' cool is this?"
I still repeat that to myself in high-stress situations, personal or not. Work emergencies happen? "How frickin' cool is this?" I'm watching an absolutely gut-wrenching close Seahawks game, and it comes down to a do-or-die last play for all the marbles? "How frickin' cool is this?" That paradigm shift rocked my life. You don't run, you don't panic, you don't even acknowledge the fight-or-flight response. You thank the world for presenting you the opportunity to really feel *alive* and like you're living that opportunity that every kid in their back yard dreams of. The opportunity to have to fight and claw for glory. Craving adversity turns hardship into pleasure. I'll always crave the crazy Pete Carroll Special games for the rest of my life, like the Eagles and Cowboys games last year. The high stakes raising your heart rate. No boredom. Pure excitement.
I like Macdonald. I am beyond excited especially to see our offense. I'm excited to see Geno with such a great match for his skillset. While I can't help but feel shitty that this isn't Carroll's show anymore, I recognize the opportunity the Seahawks and the leaders of the organization have tomorrow. John's first go as a head exec. Mike's first game as a head coach. Teams first game in a new era.
You know what I have to say about that opportunity and the huge stakes that come with it?
How frickin' cool is this?
