The best 60 seconds of my weekend occurred immediately after my worst five minutes. The Seahawks were clinging to a 20-12 lead with San Diego charging–pun intended–down the field for what would eventually be the tying score and two-point conversion. I had been screaming my throat into a nearly bleeding tube of meat for the entire afternoon with my fellow 12th men. There were a number of Chargers fans in my section, including ones directly in front of me and one immediately to my right.

He was a nice enough kid, probably in his mid-20s, who cared passionately about his Chargers. When Earl Thomas grabbed his first interception off a deflection near his shoe-tops, the guy lamented how unlucky the Chargers were. I laughed and explained that there is no misery like NW sport misery, so he could save the sob story. But I digress, back to the drive…

Philip Rivers steps to the line on 3rd and 2 with the Qwest Field faithful nearing maximum decibel levels, only to see Rivers complete a pass through Chris Clemons hands for an apparent TD that was quickly nullified by a holding penalty. The collective fan base quickly worked themselves back into a lather before watching Rivers deliver yet again for what could be a tying touchdown.

The stadium fell silent except for my Chargers neighbor who screamed as loud as he possibly could, “This is how you yell, Seahawks fans! This is how you cheer, Seattle! Take that! Take that! Yes! Take that!”

I managed to restrain myself, especially since the Chargers hadn’t converted the two-point try yet (of course, they soon did). There were any number of things I could have said or done that would have likely led to a fight with this guy because he was such a douche, and I was so pissed. Thank goodness I said or did none of those things because I would have missed what happened next.

Still fat and happy after his team’s improbable comeback, Chargers Boy had barely settled back into his seat as the ball was kicked off to Leon Washington at his own 1-yard line. Washington bounced his way through the Chargers “coverage” team all the way down the field for a touchdown in a moment that became an instant  classic.

By the time Washington reached the Chargers 40-yard line, my arms were raised straight over my head and I was jumping up and down screaming. My arms remained raised in triumph all the way through the extra point. I didn’t have to look at Chargers Boy, or the rest of his friends surrounding me. They knew. I knew. We all knew that when you mess with Qwest, you fall like the rest.