Remembering February 2nd, 2015.
There are 3 distinct events, where I remember exactly where I was and how I felt when it happened. First; September 11th, 2001. I was a mere 5 years old at my home in Michigan; I remember being frightened and confused as the events that took place. Second; August 17th, 2008 when Michael Phelps and Team USA had a comeback win in the 4x100m Medley Relay to win his 8th gold medal of the games and break the record for most golds in a single Olympics. I was a competitive swimmer as a child, so naturally Michael Phelps was my hero. I remember the excitement as I sat on the couch at home watching Brendan Hansen suck at the breaststroke, but my hero Michael Phelps kick ass in the butterfly. The third and final event in my life where I remember every distinct detail was February 2nd, 2015; the single most infamous day in Seattle sports history, and the day that cemented my opinion of Darrell Bevell forever.
I was at my high school best friend’s house where we enjoyed some great food and had some friends over to celebrate the Seahawks’ return to the Super Bowl. I had (and still do have) a ritual for big games of changing jerseys for offense and defense; Bam Bam Kam for defense, and Dougie Baldwin for offense. We were sitting there, enjoying the game and the excitement, when BOOM, Tom Brady throws a pass to Edelman to take their first lead of the game with 2:02 left in the 4th quarter. At that moment, I had not a worry in the world; I was mildly peeved that the defense decided to stop playing well in the last 12 minutes of the game, but I was not at all worried. There was a quiet confidence in the air that Russell Wilson would use some of that magic and win this game.
As the drive started, Wilson throws the ball to Lynch who takes it to the other side of the field with a 31-yard completion. The confidence in the air was building even more than there was before. Russell mother fuckin’ Wilson is about to put this team on his back. This third-round nobody from Wisconsin is about to be worth every cent of his rookie contract. The drive stutters then a completion to Riccardo Lockette on third down keeps it alive. Then. It happened. Jermaine Kearse, who had been an absolute liability in the NFC Championship made what would have been (*SPOILER* IF Seattle had won) the GREATEST Super Bowl catch of all time. Move over David Tyree. Suck it Patriots. Two losses by miracle catches could not have happened against a better franchise. My heart stopped as the ball was tipped in the air, I can SEE IT IN MY HEAD IN SLOW MOTION. End over end, the ball flipped through the air, and landed safely in the hands of Jermaine Kearse. The room went bonkers. I went bonkers. I started planning my return to Seattle to attend the Super Bowl parade for a second year in a row; I began texting my boss, prepared to quit my job if I had to. The room was electric. I was the happiest a young boy could be (aside from a boy’s first blowjob because, let’s be honest boys, that the happiest moment of our lives).
Then. Something else happened.
We had the greatest, grittiest, most quintessential short-yardage power running back; a man who was known for, (to quote the man himself) “runnin’ through a mother fucka’s face.” AND WHAT DO WE DECIDE TO DO? THROW A SLANT ROUTE INTO COVERAGE. In that single moment, I was the saddest I had, and ever have been. The swing of emotion brought me to tears. As I stood staring unbelievingly at the screen as Malcolm Butler (who?) stood up with the ball, I fell to my knees. I’ve had dogs die, relationships fail, and friendships end, and none have hurt nearly as bad as that moment. I had no words. I looked into my defeated friend’s eyes with tears streaming down my face and said, “I…. I’m just going to go home.” He replied, “okay,” and I left, leaving my friends and girlfriend at the time there without a word.
The beginning of Seattle’s dynasty, the cementing of Marshawn Lynch’s Hall of Fame status, and the legend of the Legion of Boom had all been ripped away with less than a minute left by some no name backup cornerback because of the worst offensive call in history. Seattle went from the brink of legend, to a laughingstock and a meme. Seattle could have been a storied franchise with a legendary defense, but now we are left with the remnants of a super team and quarterback who posts on instagram a post-contract-signing-sex video from his bed. (Russell had sex twice that day actually, once consensually with Ciara and once un-consensually with the Seahawks’ cap space)
Anyways, that is my story of where I was on February 2nd, 2015; a day which will live in infamy. Where were you?
Written by: Brayden Eiland
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