(Editor’s note: The following is a guest discussion post by Field Gulls commenter Kasey McKillip)
I don’t mean how passionate you are, how many games you attend, or whether you regard a loss as a personal affront requiring several hours of silence. I mean something more revealing: when you encounter a number, which Seattle Seahawk appears in your mind?
When you see 54, do you immediately think of Bobby Wagner, or does Grant Feasel get a look in? When you see 3, is it Russell Wilson without a moment’s
hesitation, or have you already moved on to Nick Emmanwori? Richard Sherman would seem to have 25 pretty well locked up, unless you harbour an inexplicable affection for Robert Blackmon.
And 24? Come on. Is there even a discussion? Marshawn Lynch played just 83 regular-season games for Seattle, but longevity has never been the only way to measure a football player. Some people occupy a roster spot. Others occupy a permanent location in your imagination.
The same principle applies to 37 and Shaun Alexander, 29 and Earl Thomas, and 31 and Kam Chancellor. These aren’t merely numbers attached to men who played football. They are shorthand for entire periods of your life, complete with victories, disappointments, arguments and the occasional moment when you were convinced the Seahawks were about to ruin your entire weekend.
Then there’s 89, which presents a legitimate dilemma. Brian Blades or Doug Baldwin? Both are perfectly defensible answers. You could make a case for either, and the interesting part isn’t necessarily which player you choose. It’s what your choice reveals about the games you watched, the teams you remember and the particular version of the Seahawks that lives inside your head.
Number 4 is another curious case. Perhaps you remember Trent Dilfer’s time in Seattle. Perhaps, like me, your mind now goes straight to Michael Dickson, whose punting has somehow made a position most people barely think about into something worth watching.
And 16? It will take some getting used to seeing somebody else wear it. Tyler Lockett leaves behind the kind of legacy that makes a jersey number feel less like an item of sporting equipment and more like an inherited family possession.
Because that’s what these numbers become. Players are temporary custodians, doing their best to represent a number before eventually passing it along. Every new player adds another chapter, whether that chapter becomes legendary, forgettable or something that only one person in your friendship group remembers.
Perhaps 1 takes you back to the seasons when Warren Moon was in Seattle. Maybe 5 conjures Charlie Frye. These aren’t necessarily the names that appear in highlight packages or feature prominently in conversations about the franchise’s greatest players. They’re simply the names your memory has decided to keep.
And that, I think, is the beauty of following a football team for years. The longer you watch, the more complicated these associations become. Numbers accumulate histories. Memories overlap. A jersey can connect you to a championship, a terrible season, a favourite player or an afternoon spent watching a game with someone who is no longer around.
Some numbers, of course, have been retired altogether: 45 for Kenny Easley, 71 for Walter Jones, 80 for Steve Largent and 96 for Cortez Kennedy. Their achievements have made the numbers inseparable from their names, leaving the Seahawks with no intention of asking someone else to fill those jerseys.
Which brings me back to the original question.
What kind of Seahawks fan are you?
The answer might have very little to do with how loudly you cheer. It might be found in the numbers you recognise, the players you remember and the names that surface before you’ve even had time to think.
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