posted by Joe Anaya on September 12th, 2011

I always get my heart broken, and yet I come back. Years of unfulfilled promises to do better, and yet I still believe it will be better. I know it’s unhealthy, but I can’t help it. I love the Seattle Seahawks. Always have; always will.

I can’t let go of my loyalty to my favorite NFL team, no matter how much they disappoint me. Each season, I look at the team needs, evaluate the college draft and study the free agent signings. And despite all evidence to the contrary and any historical perspective, I convince myself, they could be good this year. And of course, with a few exceptions, they aren’t. And yet I still love my team.

I’m sure some Freudian therapist would explain the devotion to something that continually hurts me. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. I was just starting to become aware of sports when Seattle was awarded an NFL expansion franchise. I watched as they struggled to put together a team. I remember the thrill of Zorn to Largent, the first playoff appearance with Ground Chuck. Wallowed for years in the malaise of the Ken Behring era. Rejuvenated hope with the resurrection of the franchise in the Holmgren era. Those were the salad days. Creating stability, collecting talent, increasing wins. Of course, all of it, predictably culminated in a controversial Superbowl loss. How else could it end for the team that tortures my existence?

Like a codependent relationship, I give and give, hoping for the best and get pain and suffering in return. Even when I’m not watching the game, I’m thinking of them. I know I should move on, make my Sundays more pleasant, but I just can’t quit them. I don’t know anybody who changes allegiances from their hometown team. There are certainly other teams to root for, many that are consistently in the playoffs. There are players that I enjoy, even admire, but none of that matters. I still root for the team I’ve followed since childhood.

Go ‘Hawks.



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