TATUPU!

Listen. I know. I know the whole deal with the Seahawks. Unlike you other fellow jokers, I live in Seattle. I smell the trouble driving by on the decrepit viaduct, the stew of sliced hopes, diced dreams, brewing in the thin broth of historical mediocrity, a stink of Rick Mirer sprouting weakly like a rotting Chia Pet on the kitchen counter, the sharp, undead tang of Brian Bosworth's over-rating and the lasting realization it would have been better to put the $11 million in cash in a bag on the field. And if you put half of Alexander's 60 Ms in another bag and pushed it over forward a yard and a half you would at least get a consistent running ..er, bag. And of course, we were robbed in 2005.

But here we are, 8 and 4. Oh sure, the schedule's sort of easy. And it might have been 6 and 6. But it easily might have been 10-2. And sure, Hasselbeck's quasi-Republicanity earlier this year brought a curse that cost them Mack Strong. But that debt's paid.

Superbowl this year? Eh... doesn't seem like it, if you love math more than the blood in your veins! I dearly hope Tom Brady is kicked hard in the nuts by supermodel sell-monster Gisele Bundchen over a Brazil-Boston cultural misunderstanding. I hope that due to an unpredictable time machine error in the future, the Dallas Cowboys are suddenly relocated in the early Cretaceous era, and have to fight ill-tempered dinosaurs. T.O., meet T. Rex!

But I'll tell you something, Mister. The Seattle Seahawks are winning games now, hard games, road games, with gut-busting last minute goal line stands. They are playing through collapses of the front line, errors, mistakes. They are tough, and tough starts with "T" and "T" stands for "Tatupu." (Last game, Lofa Tatupu was the Seahawks best receiver, the fact that Eagles Q.B. Feely was passing notwithstanding.)

My case is simply this: the Seahawks are earning your loyalty, with pluck, vim, vigor and blood. The Seahawks are the premier non-sucky team of everywhere in the Pacific where you can't usually go tan on the beach, and this means YOU, Bay Area! I say now to you from this superlative, independent, solar-powered coffee house, where the coffee is so good your shirt smells of warm, perfectly roasted coffee the next day: Go Seahawks!
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