Wanderings #2
Feelings about Russell Wilson, the return of the Missouri Waltz and poetry from a dear friend.
Farewell, Russell Wilson
I’ve been dreading writing about this since I knew I had to.
Following more than a year of hemming and hawing, the Seattle Seahawks traded their franchise QB Russell Wilson (along with a fourth round pick) to the Denver Broncos in exchange for two first-round picks, two second-round picks, a fifth-round pick, tight end Noah Fant, defensive lineman Shelby Harris and quarterback Drew Lock.
My first thought was: “Oh, great. My newsletter is already outdated.”
My second thought was: “Now I own another outdated jersey.”
I’ve had millions of thoughts since, many of which have not been in tune with my feelings, but it’s telling that both of my primary thoughts mentioned the word “outdated.”
In a way, I feel like I’ve been protecting myself from this moment for seven years, ever since the Malcolm Butler interception against the New England Patriots.
Just as Russell Wilson’s relationship with the Seahawks had become stale, so has mine, perhaps because part of me has known this was coming all along.
More than anywhere else, sports have been the arena in which I’ve learned how to grieve, and struggled with how to fail.
I cried whenever Jay Buhner struck out, and he struck out a lot. I cried alongside Joey Cora when the Mariners lost to the Cleveland Indians in the 1995 ALCS after the coolest year of sports in my lifetime.
I learned from an early age that people leave, relationships change. When my childhood best friend John Marsh moved only 15 minutes further away, our friendship was never the same. I liked to blame the move, but the truth is that we were growing apart in more ways than geography.
Sports continued to reinforce the way of the world: Randy Johnson, Ken Griffey Jr., and Alex Rodriguez left Seattle. Shawn Kemp, Gary Payton and Ray Allen left Seattle. The entire SuperSonics organization left Seattle. Even I left Seattle.
Each of them was a little death, a seed of grief, a reminder that all good things end.
But did they have to? What if I was in control? What if I was the general manager for the Seattle Mariners or the Seattle Seahawks or if I was the owner of the Seattle SuperSonics?
Would I have allowed this shit to happen?
I went to Ithaca College with the dream of becoming the general manager of the Mariners. Of having control over who was on my team and preventing shit like this from happening.
…
After 25 years of preamble, I moved to Los Angeles in 2013. That first year was tough: I didn’t have a car or even the ability to drive in California and was at the mercy of buses and rides from my roommate and coworker, Barrett. I worked tirelessly for an illegally small amount of money with the blind hope that more money and opportunity would come in the near future. (Sounds familiar.)
The only excessive expenditure I allowed myself that year was NFL Sunday Ticket so I could watch the Seahawks every Sunday. The Seahawks were my lifeline, my tether to home, to childhood, to friends and family.
The Seahawks were also fucking great.
I watched the NFC Championship Game with our downstairs neighbors, going absolutely nuts after Richard Sherman’s infamous tip to Malcolm Smith. I went outside and drunkenly/tearfully called my parents, my friends, promising I would fly back home to watch the Super Bowl with them.
“Why not us?” was a cheesy refrain for Russ and the Seahawks all year long, and I adopted it for myself. After a year of despair in Los Angeles, I co-opted this message: Why not me? Why couldn’t I DO THIS?
After the Seahawks beat (ironically) the Denver Broncos in a Super Bowl rout and I got to experience that at home with the Boyz on my mom’s birthday, I started to believe in myself a little more.
It’s embarrassing to conflate one’s self with a sports team, but that’s being human. The point is: those Seahawks, these Seahawks gave me a lot of joy in a time when I was short on it.
This trade of Russell Wilson (and the subsequent release of perhaps an even more certain Hall of Famer, Bobby Wagner) is the end of those Seahawks.
And you know what I felt?
Relief.
Being a fan is exercising wild feats of imagination every game: upholding a suspension of disbelief, a hope that we will win no matter the odds. Never give up, never surrender.
The past few years it has been harder and harder for me to stretch my imagination with these outdated Seahawks and this trade confirmed what I had not wanted to say out loud: it’s over and it’s been over for a while.
For a long time now, I’ve been slowly moving on from football. I haven’t enjoyed it as much. I haven’t been as invested. More often than not, I found myself angry and frustrated while watching, and bemoaned losing a day of my week to it out of what felt like an outdated habit. This brought feelings of guilt, because the Seahawks symbolized Home.
But just like Russell Wilson needed to be somewhere else, needed to be someone else, so did I.
…
I remember texting the Boyz the night of the Super Bowl loss after we had all retreated to our respective homes. I wanted, needed solidarity. I didn’t want to stay in my grief, so I suggested we get tattoos in support of the Seahawks, to reaffirm our fandom and our belief in the team. I was actually saying, “There’s always next year!” and believing it.
Immediately, the Boyz whistled their approval: Go Hawks!
I went to bed.
To this point, we still haven’t gotten matching Seahawks tattoos, for which Lili and I are extremely grateful.
In those years, too much of my identity had been wrapped up in the Seahawks. I was too invested. Indeed, I was more invested in a group of strangers’ success than my own. It was also a helluva lot of fun and a ride I’d take again.
But they had already given me what I needed: hope, inspiration, joy. I also didn’t want to feel that kind of pain anymore, when there was enough of it all around.
And I realized it’s unhealthy to live in the Land of “What If?” for too long. There have been a lot of What If? moments for these Seahawks, and that has often overshadowed my appreciation for their consistency:
I wish Pete Carroll was more flexible with his system philosophy and his coaching staff. Instead of adapting his system around the players he actually has, Carroll forces players to adapt to his system.
I wish we hadn’t used up all our draft mojo in the first few years. I wish we hadn’t traded two first round picks for Jamal Adams.
Mistakes have been made across the board, and for so long, Russ was the best in the sport at papering over them.
Last year was the first time Russ was unable to do that, and indeed, revealed himself to be part of the problem: he holds onto the ball too long and he’s not as fast as he used to be, he has an unwillingness/inability to target the middle of the field, etc.
But it doesn’t matter how we got here. This much is true: the Seahawks with or without Russell Wilson were not going to be better than the Rams or 49ers next year, and probably weren’t going to be better than the Cardinals either.
This trade won’t make anyone in Seattle happy, but it had to happen. As soon as Russell wanted to leave, John Schneider had little choice in the matter. Control, even for a general manager, is an illusion.
All good things come to an end, relationships change.
I’m not always here, but in this moment, I appreciate that. I like new characters, new storylines, new players. I like falling in love with new worlds. I like the first book in the series more than the last and if the Seahawks are not quite opening a new book, they’re at least writing a new chapter.
I don’t know what the future holds in Seattle or how my fandom will reflect it. But I no longer hold football as a 1:1 reflection of my relationship to the Boyz back home. We’ve all had some growing up these past seven years and have so much more to talk about because of it.
I’m grateful to have watched as much Russell Wilson as I have with my dad, with the Boyz. I hope he does play 10-12 more years and win 3-4 more Super Bowls for Denver. Well, maybe that’s not true, and I will undoubtedly be super sad if/when the Seattle Seahawks actually start Drew Lock or for some reason trade for Matt Ryan.
Regardless, these Seahawks, and my feelings surrounding them, were outdated and this trade has helped me move on.
I’m excited for new feelings, for something new to fall in love with and be heartbroken by. I’m excited to figure out what our next matching tattoo will be.
David’s Denver Broncos QB Rankings Since Peyton Manning
Teddy Bridgewater
Drew Lock
Trevor Semien
Case Keenum
Brandon Allen
Brock Osweiler
Jeff Driskel
Brett Rypien
Joe Flacco
Kendall Hinton
Getting hit by a bus
Paxton Lynch
Keep in mind: Peyton retired in March 2016. Six years with 11 different quarterbacks and vehicular nightmares aplenty COULD be what the Seahawks have to look forward to. Forget everything I just wrote above.
Needless to say, David’s happy to have Russell Wilson around, and it honestly makes this all a little easier to swallow because of that.
This Week on The Naked Man Podcast
This week, we're talking about making decisions, or more accurately, my struggle to do so. My whole life I've been indecisive and that has trickled its way into every part of my day-to-day. But recently, I started taking a Decision Masters course with coach Kirsten Parker and I wanted to share with you how it's helping.
What are my core values? What is my vision statement for myself? Why can't I commit to one project? Where does my indecisiveness come from? Why do we get hung up on logistics? Can I find a way to be kinder to myself when confronted with hard choices? How does my identity fit into this? Let's find out, shall we?
Thank you for listening.
For more information on Kirsten Parker (@kpcoaching), check out her website KirstenParker.com.
More Andy!
“We Need to Keep Talking About Encanto”: A reflection on Encanto
An Evening with “Baywatch Remastered”: I recap the two-part season 4 premiere “Race Against Time” of the seminal & sandy family show.
Spawning at Eagle Creek
We set out with poles and line Into the pre-dawn dark He leads, but I am Uncertain through the murk and mud I linger too long and he Slips into the trees And I am Alone. Stock still I hunch inside my sweatshirt Like the shivering sparrows Whose calls will have to wait. His bootprints alight ahead of me Careful, I walk alongside them Mine now the same size When only yesterday I was Learning bunny ears in the driveway I could've sworn I was holding his hand When we left the pebbled parking lot. As the sun starts to creep Tendrils of spirits adorn the banks Like admiring fathers Angling over cribs to coo Then like tears, the wind wipes them Away. Now, I see him There Atop an ancient boulder Peering down into the creek Surveying with not a little joy A hundred shining salmon Kissed by the morning light. We catch eyes across The expanse Set down our poles And watch them dance.
(Re)introducing… The Missouri Waltz
In 2014, I answered a Craigslist ad posted by a Burbank-based softball team called the Missouri Waltz, a team of mostly Missouri transplants.
They were looking for a journalist to cover their games, offering $15 per column and a couple PBR’s at Burbank’s “hottest nightclub,” Blue Room, after every game.
During the second week of my employment, I had to fill in on the field, playing in my tie and dress shoes.
Dreaming of glory, I struck out in my first at bat.
I haven’t struck out since and was voted MVP of the Missouri Waltz’s first Championship Title. I also wrote several columns to mild acclaim/criticism/inattention before I retired the Press Hat.
Eight years and 24 seasons later, we have ascended from the dregs of the Burbank softball league (E league) to waffling between the highest competition: the A- and B-leagues, on a lifelong quest that won’t end until we’ve hoisted the A-League Championship plaque (retail price = $12).
Once I became part of the team, it became harder to write about the team. As in most scenarios in my life, once I was no longer “new,” once I had been elevated from quirky, recurring guest star to a starring role in the credits of the never-ending Missouri Waltz TV show, my anxiety kicked in. The pressure kicked in, because like everything I do, I take it way too seriously.
I had less fun, because now there were stakes. I was now a friend going to teammates’ weddings, not just a Craigslist anecdote to bring up at parties (okay, I was both).
That came with it responsibility. Unsurprisingly given how my baseball career ended, my play has ping-ponged, always reaching an upswing whenever I take time away from the ballclub to reassess my place in the clubhouse/world.
This week I’m taking one of those breaks, but I couldn’t help myself. I reached out to Manager Jim Wolfe, Jr., who has been on the hot seat in recent weeks following a 1-4 start to the season that left us demoted to B-league. After winning a single game, Wolfe went on record to proclaim that this was the start of an 8-game winning streak leading to a B-league title. We lost the next week.
I asked Wolfe to demote me in the lineup. I wasn’t hitting my weight and I wanted to create faux drama. I wanted to re-earn my place. I wanted something to write about, because I realized: I never got fired as journalist, this newsletter is the perfect place to chronicle the soap operatic antics of this weird fucking team, and it’s time to earn some back pay.
This was the Waltz coach’s response:
Too much self-flagellation going on right now with the team. You’re doing fine and you’re staying where you are.
Write about how the team leader is hiding in his Glassell Park bunker, appearing only in poorly edited propaganda videos, addicted to his past glories, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his grip on the championship plaque is slowly collapsing around him. Rumors that his shortstop may be organizing a shadow coup. Etc.
Let’s put that self-flagellation to words going forward, shall we?
I will write a column about actual games whenever I want going forward, but here are a few necessary updates:
After several seasons and arguments, new Missouri Waltz uniforms have officially been agreed on and ordered, with all the credit going to Charlie and Brandon. For Waltz die-hards, the uniforms will be available for purchase in the forthcoming Friendship Store, my next project that I would love help on.
This week’s game was immediately threatened by an ongoing chemical fire due to a possible hydrogen cyanide leak at a plant in nearby Glendale, CA. Some schools closed, others that didn’t close had kids get stomach aches and headaches at Recess. But that wasn’t enough to stop the Missouri Waltz from starting a new winning streak, beating the Bad News Beers in dramatic fashion, 24-23, thanks to the heroics of the squad’s best player, left fielder Brant Malan (#21).
It should be noted that the Bad News Beers are the team that copied our original uniform’s classic blue-and-red color scheme, necessitating a change.
While the game’s results occurred too late Thursday night to appear in this week’s edition, here was the immediate fallout:
EVERYONE WHO MISSED IT HAS NO IDEA
-Coach Wolfe Jr.
All of our jerseys will now say Malan. For he is our god.
-Charlie, RF
Brant = cyanide
-Ben, 2B
Note: I missed the game and clearly wasn’t missed by my teammates and now I’m going to go cry.
Art by Friendz!
Jordanna Vitória’s EP, Coração em descompasso, brings you to Brazil. I don’t know about you, but that’s a place I often want to be. I met Jordanna in Budapest in January of 2012 during my backpacking adventure. Apparently, we all sang Adele’s “Someone Like You” in the hostel kitchen the first night we met. Life can be rad.
My friend Gabe Danon, who I met in UCB Improv, has become famous for creating POELTL, Wordle for NBA players.
Actress, model and Missouri Waltz season ticket holder Thais Molon (@thaismolon) appears in this rad new music video for the band ††† :
Previously On… The Wanderers’ Union
The Wanderers’ Union is a fledgling Discord community created to accompany this newsletter and for us to talk about what’s important:
Who is a Sebastian Stan stan?
Lol not me. Tldr he bullied my cousin in high school
Juicy gossip like this continues to trickle in. Join the conversation or start your own.
The newest emoji (replacing the Russell Wilson emoji in a fit of emotion) is…
Do I amuse you? If so, you’ll likely enjoy the Discord.
Postcards
My friend Shirley reached out and asked if she could draw something for this issue. All I told her was “sports” and this adorable red panda emerged from her subconscious. This is me turning red with gratitude.