Rouge Wave First Person Essay

Talented writer and Script Department client Patrick Hoeft sent in this lovely first person essay that you sports fans might enjoy:

AT LEAST I GOT THE POSTER

It's January, 2006 and I beam as I watch the seconds fall off the clock and my beloved Seattle Seahawks advance to the Super bowl for the first time in franchise history, "Oh yes, I will be there."

I arrived in Toledo, OH Saturday, February 4th. This is where I should have started believing in foreshadowing. I took my bags up to my room and was going to have an early dinner. I entered the lobby to find 30 Pittsburgh Steelers fans waiting to check into the hotel. One of them noticed me in my favorite Seahawks hat and screamed, "Seahawks fan!" Like sharks smelling blood in the water 30 people I had never met before in my life “booed” me. The noise was so loud that it was echoing off of the ceiling. These aren't 20-year-old kids these are men and women in their 40s and even 50s.

I decided to start my Sunday early by traveling the 60 miles and arriving in Detroit about 10:00 AM. I headed for the stadium to see if anyone might be trying to get rid of tickets early as I still needed one. Since there were no tickets to be had I decided to do some shopping and get out of the cold. I went into a small shop selling Super bowl memorabilia and bought a Seahawks Super bowl poster.

The thing that amazed me, and that I hadn't accounted for, was the amount of Steelers fans that made the 300 mile trip from Pittsburgh. They were equally as brutal as their counterparts in the hotel lobby. I gave as good as I got.

Throughout the day I was the little engine that couldn't, as I realized that there was a lot more demand for tickets than supply with all the friggin' Steelers fans around.

I'm sure I was a pitiful sight as I heard the roar of the crowd at kickoff from outside the stadium. I was exhausted, cold, dejected, angry, disappointed, and generally having an extreme dislike for Steelers fans.

I tucked my head between my legs and drove the 60 miles back to my hotel. I closed out the dismal day as the lone patron of the hotel bar, drowning my sorrows as the Seahawks lost the Super bowl.

The next day I climbed on a plane and headed home a beaten man. The only redeeming value of the weekend was my stinking little Seahawks Super bowl poster. I pulled the poster out of the package and unrolled it.

My wife rounded the corner and said it looked like fire was going to shoot out of my eyes as I stared at the Pittsburgh Steelers poster. I thought fire was a good idea and just as I was about to go outside and set that thing ablaze my 3-year-old son saw the poster and said, "Wow, cool poster daddy!" I put it up in his room where it hangs to this day.

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