Being a displaced football fan

Fans choose their team for a variety of reasons. The two most popular would be geography and familial loyalty. I grew up in a small town on the south shore of Long Island called Point Lookout. Most of my friends were either Giants or Jets fans. Since I grew up in late 70’s and early 80’s, a few of them were Cowboy and Steeler fans, and for good reason, they always won. The kids who rooted for those two teams always seemed a bit richer, more brash, because lets face it, to root for the Giants and Jets year after year with perpetual disappointment took a true fan, not those bandwagon jumpers who claimed they like the Steelers since before Bradshaw took over.
So since the age of nine I have had to answer the inevitable question “Why the hell are you a Seahawks fan?” I can understand their surprise; Steelers sure, Cowboys, maybe even the Dolphins, but a team barely out of expansion located 3,000 miles away? I will admit, it is a bit strange.
I guess I can describe what drew me to the hawks best in three words, “Zorn to Largent.” This was pre-cable so the hawks were never on television, but one time Cossell put one of their games on the Halftime Highlights on Monday Night Football. I saw Jim Zorn scramble around like Tarkenton, then launch a strike to Steve Largent as he dove into the end zone, one play and I was a fan forever.
Largent was easy to root for once I learned more about him. This guy was a nobody coming out of Tulsa, not the city but the University, hardly a powerhouse. He was supposed to be too small and too slow to make the NFL, a perpetual underdog, and he turned out to become one of the greatest receivers who ever lived. A master at running routes with absolute precision, with incredible hands and just an innate ability to get himself open for the big catches.
The problem was that for a long time Largent was the only great player the hawks ever had. Things got a little better in the mid eighties, when some good drafts finally turned up some Pro Bowl level talent like Ken Easley, Jacob Green and Curt Warner. They even made it all the way to the AFC championship in 1985, then they ran into the Raiders on their way to their third Super Bowl victory. It wasn’t so bad; at least my Dad’s team got to win it all.
Even though they didn’t win all that much, they were still a fun team to root for. The best part about it was that they were MY team, no one else in New York seemed to like them, some never even heard of them. It was a very personal relationship, almost like a friendship. In my mind, only I could feel the joy when they won a big upset, or could gloat during a run here they beat the Jets every year they played.
That was the other thing about rooting for an out of town team not from Pittsburgh or Dallas, you rarely got to see your team play. Remember this is pre-internet and pre-satellite, It really sucked back then because they were rarely good enough to be on Monday Night, and because of those stupid NFL rules we only got the Jet and Giant game on Sunday no matter how bad they sucked, or how late in the year it was. Seattle and Oakland could be playing in the last week of the season for a playoff spot and the Jets may be 3-12 fighting for a draft pick with the 4-11 Colts, you were stuck with the Jet game.
Rarely seeing you team wasn’t all bad though, it made those few times you got to see them all that more special. A hawk game on Monday Night was practically a holiday in my house, one of the few times I would actually stay up for the entire game. They would also play the Giants and Jets every once in a while, and after a few years cable TV finally reached our little town and with that, ESPN, the greatest thing to happen to fans of out of state teams until Directv arrived with the Sunday Ticket Package.
As wonderful as it was to be able to catch every game on TV, nothing equated the feeling of travelling to Seattle and seeing my team play in person at Qwest field. I had seen them before at the Meadowlands, but enemy territory doesn't compare to the greatest home field in the NFL.
If you are a displaced fan like myself, make the trip to see a home game, there is nothing like it. Surrounded by nothing but your team's colors and jerseys, hearing local fans on the radio, being able to be a part of the crowd when they come out of the tunnel, it is as if you have finally found your second home and long lost family.