The Spread Will Save the Seahawks, Exactly Like It Did Last Season
Okay, so you know when you put that swear jar out and you told yourself every time you swore you would put a quarter in the jar and then, one day, you would be able to buy yourself a new flat screen TV? Well, congradulations, after Sunday’s game, you’ve earned yourself a month-long, Price Is Right-esque European vacation highlighted by a week in Paris, a weekend in Venice, and the running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain—all because the Seahawks lost in the most gut-wrenching way possible. Remember when the Nazis faces melted off during Raiders of the Lost Ark? That is my sense-memory of this game. It was traumatic. Like, Saturday night, I went to bed after seeing the girl I liked cuddling on the couch with another guy, had a text conversation with her the next morning where she told me if we dated she would do it again and I should get used to it, but still the worst thing that happened to me this weekend took place exclusively between 1:00PM – 4:00PM PST.