Seattle fans celebrated with a blue and green ticker-tape parade that was the largest public gathering
in Seattle’s history, this year’s loss resulted in howling, weeping, and the gnashing of teeth—over
what sports commentators deemed “the worst call in NFL history.”
Here’s a recap: With twenty-six seconds on the clock, the Seahawks have possession of the ball
and are one yard away from a game-winning touchdown. Everyone expects Pete to call a running
play. It’s not just that the end zone is so close. It’s also because the Seahawks have Marshawn Lynch,
whose nickname is Beast Mode and who’s widely agreed to be the single best running back in the
entire NFL.
Instead, Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson throws a pass, the ball is intercepted, and the New
England Patriots take home the trophy.
Since Super Bowl XLIX was only the third football game I’d watched without interruption in my
entire life—the second being the NFC championship game the Seahawks had won the week before—I
can’t offer an expert opinion on whether, indeed, passing instead of running was the epitome of
coaching misjudgment. What interested me more when I arrived in Seattle was Pete’s reaction and
that of the whole team.
Pete’s idol, basketball coach John Wooden, was fond of saying, “Success is never final; failure is
never fatal. It’s courage that counts.” What I wanted to know is how a culture of grit continues not just
in the afterglow of success, but in the aftermath of failure. What I wanted to know is how Pete and the
Seahawks found the courage to continue.
As I look back on it now, my visit has an “in the moment” feel:
My appointment begins with a meeting in Pete’s office—yes, it’s the corner office, but no, it’s not
huge or fancy, and the door is apparently
always
open, literally, allowing loud rock music to spill out
into the hallway. “Angela,” Pete leans in to ask, “how can this day be helpful to you?”
I explain my motive. Today I’m an anthropologist, here to take notes on Seahawks culture. If I had
a pith helmet, I’d be wearing it.
And that, of course, gets Pete all excited. He tells me that it’s not just one thing. It’s a million
things. It’s a million details. It’s substance and it’s style.
After a day with the Seahawks, I have to agree. It’s countless small things, each doable—but each
so easy to botch, forget, or ignore. And though the details are countless, there are some themes.
The most obvious is language. One of Pete’s coaches once said, “I speak fluent Carroll.” And to
speak Carroll is to speak fluent Seahawk:
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