This city came together. Transplants and natives. Jocks and nerds. Skyscrapers and ferris wheels. Cats and dogs.
  • Peter Fuchs / Shutterstock.com
  • This city came together. Transplants and natives. Jocks and nerds. Skyscrapers and ferris wheels. Cats and dogs.

Last night's game was a solid rock made out of awesome. But let’s crack that awesome rock open, and see all the shiny crystal fragments inside that made it a geode of greatness:

• The Seahawks offense had no sacks and no turnovers: first time in Super Bowl history a team has done that. A Seattle sports team just set the new standard for not fucking up in Super Bowls. I can’t even.

• Percy Harvin’s game-clinching kick return to open the second half. Percy Harvin is faster than fast. He’s so fast he can move sideways while being fast. He’s nonsensically fast.

Paul Constant’s wing recipe. They came out great! Thanks, Paul!

• Ricardo Lockette doing a suit and tie celebration. Ricardo Fucking Lockette?! I don’t know if our fifth best wide receiver should be busting out a signature celebration at the Super Bowl, but you know what? Fuck it. Sure! Good on you, Ricardo!

• The moment at the intersection of Pike and 10th where a mass of people simultaneously thought, “what do we do now?” and then a mortar shot into the air.

Right after a firework shot out of this trash can.
  • Kelly O
  • Right after a firework shot out of this trash can.

• By my estimation, Pete Carroll probably met Malcolm Smith when he was 10. Malcolm’s older brother Steve was the best football player in the family (and has Super Bowl rings of his own) and Carroll recruited him to go to USC. I can picture avuncular Pete Carroll sitting in the Smith household, being introduced to 10 year old Malcolm as he was convincing Steve to come to his program. Steve did go, and years later Malcolm would too. Now Malcolm Smith is the Super Bowl MVP of Pete’s championship team.

• On the last two Seahawks touchdowns of the game, Jermaine Kearse and Doug Baldwin shrugged off multiple hits outside of the end zone.

Peyton Manning was terrified of Richard Sherman. Terrified.

• Eli Manning’s dumb sad face. This game wasn’t about schadenfreude per se, but a classic Manning face is always a winner. And it came right after Peyton made a dumb sad face. But then Eli was like, “I'm king of the dumb sad faces, brother. You may be the better ball thrower, but you are merely a dumb sad face prince.” And, saddened by Eli’s putdown, Peyton made a dumb sad face that didn’t hold a candle to Eli’s. And then the cycle continued into perpetuity.

• Russell Wilson. I can’t even.

• Watching the game with friends. I usually watch Hawks games alone, huddled over my laptop, shaking with rage and fear. It was better to shake with rage and fear with some other people around.

• Kam Chancellor would be a Star Wars villain if Star Wars were as cool as I thought it was when I was 13.

• This city came together. Transplants and natives. Jocks and nerds. Cats and dogs. And we invested in a team that seemed to play a brutal sport in the best way it could be played. Doing things the best way is no guarantee that the results will match the process. But they did. They did. Holy shit, they did. It’s a phenomenal feeling that has left me equal parts elated and emotional.

And with that, I enter cryogenic hibernation as The Stranger's sports editor. When will I be unfrozen? Will it be another Seahawks Super Bowl run? Big news about the potential return of the Sonics? Or something great coming out of the Mariners organization? All I know for sure is that it won't be the Mariners one. Come on, guys. Some things never change.