Gonna be a little long, but you really need to read this to see just what strange ways, some of us have come to love the Hawks.
Born and raised on a small ranch in central Nevada. 210 miles northwest of Las Vegas, 240 miles southeast of Reno. We lived 30 miles out of the nearest small town (1200 people). Dirt road for 20 miles of our ride to school every day. Not a tree in sight for 8 miles, that being in the nearest mountain range.
I remember being young enough that we had no television service out there. We shared one telephone line with 3 neighboring ranches. The number of rings dictated to each family who gets to answer. Too far from the Reno and Vegas markets to pick up tv signals with rabbit ears.
We lived in a low lying valley between 10,000' mountain ranges, so even getting radio stations were hard. My dad would load us little ones up in the 4 wheel drive pick up and head for the hills on game day to gain altitude. We would turn on the radio and search AM stations. Almost always too scratchy to follow the games closely as the reception was terrible. But for many years when I was between 3 and 8, unlike a lot of other fans, I fell in love with HEARING "caught by (garble..garble) Largent!!".... "touchdown Seahakws". And things like "and another devistat....bzzzzzzzzzzz.. by Easley".
We would sit for hours, up in truck, often in the snow with the truck aiming downhill to be sure not to get snowed in while trying ever so hard to focus on the fuzzy and scratchy sounds coming over the air waves deciphering what just happened on the play, and who was involved. Each game we get a few minutes here and there of clear reception, followed by some random station out of Mexico playing mariachi music. I grew to hate that sound lol. Im 37 now, and mariachi music still pierces my ears like and ice pick and interrupts my train of thought.
The night games were the best. Dad, and 2 of his older boys, a thermos filled with hot chocolate, dressed like Eskimos heading on a hour long drive up to our "radio spot". Engine running for heat, 45 miles from the nearest human, and screaming for excitement as we imagined how every play must have looked. From the outside, you would usually see a snow covered truck, frosted over windows and generally a light wind moving over carrying off the tail pipe exhaust. Then in an instant, we would hear air wave gold, "touchdown!!!! Steve Largent does it again", and like every fan in the stadium these days, we would rock that beast! Screaming, hooting and stopping our feet. The truck would rock, hot chocolate everywhere, and 3 ecstatic people that envied every living person that got to actually see it on tv. And idolized those who were there to see it.
We were very poor. My parents wages were spent on fuel and food to feed a large family (as mormons usually are

lol) We lived on deer meet from the near by hills, cut our own wood for heat, and sifted weevils from our wheat flour storage to make breads and pan cakes. A lot of work on the ranch, even for little boys everyday after we got back from school at sundown after sports practices.
Tuesdays were just as big of a day for us as game days. That was the day that the Las Vegas Sun was delivered in town (Tonopah, NV), and we would rush to get the paper, blow through the world news like it was covered in hepatitis just find the sports section. Rarely was there ever any pictures of the game, or the players, but often a short one paragraph article on the game and the stats. It was a weekly prized possession shared throughout the household. It would sit on the few SI magazines or Espn mags that dad would get at the beginning of each year, that we would refer to hundreds of times throughout a season studying teams, and players.
Eventually, in the early '80's, my parents had installed one of those giant 14' satellite dishes that oscillated at your preferred orbiting satellite at a cost of a whoping $6500. Didnt take but the 1st hour after installation to find the real reason Dad thought we NEEDED it. The satellite that carried Seattle news stations was steadily found, locked, and its coordinates were black magic markered right on the front of the dish receiver box. 3 days later, the whole family raised the ranch dust from the carpet as we watched the Seahawks beat the Bears at home 38-9. This is my 1st memory ever of watching a real game. Just an epic memory for me. At half times of every game from there out, we would be out in the yard. All in our Largent jerseys, while dad threw out routes, fades and quick slants to us boys so competitive that and brawl was usual during one of these half time events.
As time moved on, we all began setting our goals and dreams as most people do. But for me, the blue and green blood in my veins ruled my dreams. Unlike many people who dream to travel the world, Spain, Fance, cruise the seas, I only had 2 things on my bucket list. Fly on a plane, and go to Hawks game. I was 19 before I could afford to do this. My dad, and my brother and I all booked our 1st plane ticket, and flew to San Diego (closest game that year) to watch the game.
We were blown away by the plane flight lol. Like nothing you experience in the dry desert valleys of Nevada where tractors and horses dominate the transportation. And when we arrived at the stadium, about 4 hours early, we were shocked to see other hawk fans. A small group there, a group there, some tailgaters over there. My Dad was so excited he hugged a bunch of them, hi fived hundreds of them and took pictures with every group of hawk fans he could find. Growing up were we did, there was not a single hawk fan we knew, anywhere. We have no family from the NW. We lost 7-29, and honestly could care less. We met Sam Adams after the game and a couple other players visiting their familys. So awesome.
My bro and I became exceptional wrestlers, as this was the only sport for youth in my hometown at the time. Even made the junior olympics team that wrestled in Gillete Wy when we were 16 and 15 yrs old. We weren't bullies by any stretch of the imagination, but quite the opposite. We were well respected in our small town, and looked up to by a lot of youngsters. This was our Seahawks fan recruiting technique. The kids that wanted to be the best, the toughest, and most dedicated to their sport, started asking their parents for Seahawks gear.
There was no youth league or pop warner football as our town was too small and desolate at the time, so my bro and I would hold after school football games at a small park. 15-20 kids would show up. All in their favorite team gear, with mail ordered shoulder pads and plastic helmets, one size fits all style. And we played. And we played, and we dreamed. High School was our real 1st taste of the game. It was heaven. It was painful. It was perfect.
I went to work right out of school, bypassing college or anything that meant spending a dime that I could be saving to go to my 1st game. My brother graduated, and went to Idaho State on a football and wrestling scholarship. His best friend Ben was their punter, and their hang out buddy was a half psychotic ranch kid named Jared. My bros junior and senior year were marred with injuries (played strong safety). Broken collar bones, chronic high ankle sprains, and his senior year, a career ending crushed vertebrae in his lower back on a preseason scrimmage kick off coverage play. Before the surgery, he told the Dr. to save any blood that came out blue or green lol. That draft season,
his buddy Ben Simpson was called by the Seattle staff prior to draft, telling him they were targeting him for round 7 or a free agent signing to replace the aging Feagles. They had a draft party, full of family and friends, including my bro. After the draft was over, within minutes, his phone rang. It was the Seahawks. The whole house jumped for joy. But sadly, it was to tell him they decided to go in a different direction and signed undrafted free agent Brian Moorman. He was subsequently released to become a pro bowl punter for another team (a Seahawk tendancy I think). A couple years later, their psychotic buddy Jared, whom they both pressured to get Seattle's attention, was drafted by the Chiefs, and became the Jared Allen we all know today.
I would imagine that the big question here is "how the hell did a misplaced mormon family with no ties to Seattle what-so-ever become chaotic life long, blue flame breathing, ground stomping, ear shattering Hawk fans from 793 miles away as a crow flies (I checked when I was young in case I had to walk it, I was 10 so it seemed plausible)"?
The answer: My Dad was born and raised in Manassa, Colorado, just south of Denver. My extended family are all just as passionate for the Broncos. He had many older family members that donned the ugly orange. But my dad, as a kid, was no fan of any sport. He was a cowboy. He rodeo'd, and it was everything to him. In the late 60's, my grandfather headed to Nevada during part of the silver rush days, in search for a bi-product from many of the silver mines in the Nevada area, Turquoise. With him, came my Dad, a high school rodeo stud. Beer drinkin', tobacco chewin', 10 gallon hat wearin' jack mormon. He had been bullied (he was a small framed guy) buy his siblings for years for showing no interest in the Broncos. He always said "I dont want to WATCH the broncos, I want RIDE 'em!" He was poked and picked at for not loving Americas true game.
While in high school, he met my mom (she recently passed at the too early age of 52 from breast cancer, and many of you sent me your condolences, I consider all of you my family outside of my family). Just months after his graduation, Aug 30 1976, 13 days before our Hawks played their 1st every football game against the St Louis Cardinals, I was born. As though it was meant to be. After years of being picked on and prodded to pick a team to call his own, he chose the Hawks. A perennial under dog, treated like the outcast, teased and misplaced. My Dad. My Hawks. My life

Wouldn't have it any other way.
Now I rep from Cardinal territory. Im not teased anymore. Im veered. Growled at, and whined to. We have came a long ways since sitting in a cold truck, on a snowy mountainside listening to long wave radio. Last weekend, my wife and I spent $2480 on 2 tickets, sat in Sec 133, row H (about 8 rows up) and I enjoyed the greatest experience of my life. The Clink, The Fans, The Noise, The Cheers, The Moans, The Fear, The Despair, The Anger, The Hope, The Heart beating fast, The heart stopping, hold your breath, and suddenly it happens. I am one of those fans that during the kneel downs to end the game, that was jumping, screaming, hugging and high fiving everyone in reach, and crying. Full on tears. Still tear up writing this. Hair on my arms raised, and the background noise from my household of 4 kids is muted with a feeling and a memory of how it all came to be, and the moment it WAS. Love my Hawks. Eat, sleep, drink, and dream my Hawks.
I moved to Mesa, Az 4 years ago from that tiny Nevada town, to marry my beautiful wife. She lost her 1st husband the prior year at the early age of 32 to cancer, leaving her with a 4 yr old boy, and a 20 month old daughter. I have adopted them both, we added 2 more of our own, and I do my best to teach them what made me who I am. Strength, determination, to lead not follow, humility, winning some, losing some and always shooting for the moon. This is my family, they are my Hawks. Once the older 2 are raised and out of the house, we will head to the great NW. I don't have the heart to do it right now, as the older boy and daughter's grandparents are all they have left of their late son. It would break hearts that have unimaginable, and unhealed holes in them already.
And you know they are being raised right when my 3 year old little girl hugs and kisses me before getting on the flight to the game last weekend and tells me all teary eyed, "if you please take me, I will always wear my Seahawks dress daddy". I smiled at her, wiped my tear away and said "next year baby, you will come". Her response, "ok, will you just get me a prize from there?". "Of course sweetie", "um...daddy, can you bring Russell Wilson back?"
"I'll give it a hell of a go honey bear!".
I would have too, had they lost. The full on kid napping scene from the movies. But since we won.....well, you know the rest
Peace and Sanity for one more week friends. Win, lose or draw, this man is floating on a rock steady cloud 9. And I still see clouds to climb in front of us all. Never a better time in this teams history to be a fan. And to those young and old, that rode the ride from the beginning, oh what a sweet feeling of serenity. We deserve it
