By Clinton Pawlick
The first Friday after the Super Bowl was indeed blue. Not like before, during the season, when a good portion of Seattle picked out Seahawks jerseys, pullovers, and logoed shirts to wear in support of our team. We didn’t have apparel decisions to make or the anticipation of a weekend game.
It hit me at work like a sudden flu, and I commiserated with co-workers. “I don’t know what I’m going to do on Sunday,” I said.
There were nods, sighs, and audible grunts of understanding.
I probably needed a break. Since early fall, I had committed each weekend to the Hawks, and my dedication was absolute. I had postponed home improvement projects, brunches with friends and Sunday grocery shopping. We have a schedule when it comes to game day, and I am unrelenting. Jen, my wife, says I would skip my own emergency surgery if it interfered with the Hawks. She’s right.
Without football, I needed a “what’s next.” But I was inert, unmotivated. I lay on the couch and brooded with the cats. We slept a lot. I had, I am convinced, post-post-season depression, and it made me do crazy things. I watched an entire season of “Downton Abbey” and ate several of my Marshawn Lynch-inspired Skittles necklaces. One package after another.
“We have so long to wait,” I told Jen one morning. I stood at the window. It was rainy outside. That’s the thing with spring in Seattle. It approaches sideways and without real commitment. “We need to get through this and summer before our first game.”
“I think you’re going to make it,” she said.
I wasn’t sure until today.
This morning with coffee, I searched the Sports page looking for news of possible trades, watching how John Schneider and Pete Carroll will construct future teams and deal with the salary cap. I was looking to see if they had come to something final with Red Bryant. Jen has a signed jersey, and I really hate to see him go.
I couldn’t find anything on Big Red, but there was something alarming.
Right there on the bottom corner of C2. Vernon Davis, the 49ers tight end, the article said, had just returned from a visit to Sochi as the honorary USA team captain for curling.
That sounded miserable. I felt better immediately.
I mean, he couldn’t go to the Pro Bowl in Hawaii, but a quick visit to Russia to promote the sliding of stones on a sheet of ice was totally doable. I loved it.
Who are these 49ers, anyway?
What’s next? Colin Kaepernick on “Downton Abbey”? I’ve read where some television critics are calling for an end to the affable Mr. Bates.
Kaepernick makes a pretty good villain. He could take out the Englishman by throwing something intended for Michael Crabtree.
It could happen.
I’ll keep watching. I do, after all, have a few free Sundays ahead of me.
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