I don't recall what year it was. If I had to guess, it was post Championship. Maybe 2016 or something like that. Before I got divorced. I was living next door to a diehard Broncos fan. We both loved to tease each other about our teams. During that time, if I recall, we were still a pretty formidable team in the NFC. Now mind you, this was a person that would revel in the slightest of misery from yours truly. We lived in track housing so his family room side window was within 8 feet of my family room side window. In other words, I could see him sitting on his couch watching the games as he could see me doing the same.
Let me tell you, there were a lot of shutting each other's blinds during those times. After all, there can only be so many times you can put up with your neighbor flipping you the bird, laughing in the face of your very misery when your team was losing.
I won't lie. There were some moments I wasn't proud of. I would stop short of kicking the proverbial dog or cat. Even though I really wanted to kick my cat, which is an asshole. A story for another day.
One thing I couldn't disguise was my loud voice. Sometimes, I would SCREAM VERY LOUDLY if the Seahawks had a terrible play in the worst moments, and especially if they lost the game on some final play that I felt they should have won (cough, cough, last Sunday). Ohhhhh, my. If that wasn't the source of my neighbor's food I don't know what was. It became a thing between us. I became aware that he felt more pleasure listening to my misery than he did seeing his Broncos win.
And trust me when I say, even during those years, I was nothing, NOTHING like I used to be years before that. I was tame by comparison.
Somewhere, I would say around 2021 or so, I just stopped flipping out over the Seahawks games. Perhaps it was the fact I take blood pressure medication now, let's just say I am no longer my fighting weight, and the fact that I finally realized the whole damn point of this is supposed to be entertainment.
Imagine that. Entertainment.
Years ago, I remember saying you win some, you lose some. Like that was supposed to be some magic pacifier that would eradicate your emotional investment in the team you love.
Please.
For us diehards, it's not that simple. Nor will it ever be. However, I can tell you, in my 54th trip around the Sun, I think I have found this special, unimaginable, inconceivable place where I no longer suffer 7 days worth of depression after a loss. In its place, a sort of aloofness that defies all the decades before where that reality was quite simply not possible.
Without trying, I finally found peace with the ebb and flow of my Seattle Seahawks. While I may still crave and enjoy the dopamine-driven highs after a mid-season win, I simply no longer suffer the monoamine enzyme release after a loss.
In other words, I have finally found my Zen.
You win some, you lose some.
