A Club I Want No Part Of

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My parents came to town this weekend to pick up my oldest son for a trip to the beach during the holiday break. They wanted to see a Seahawks game. I made arrangements so that they could sit with my son in our seats, and I found a pair of club seats for my buddy and I to sit in for this one week. That will be the last time I do that.

I have been a season ticket holder since I moved to Seattle in 1997. My first tickets were the very last row of the 50-yard line in the Kingdome. We could literally stand and touch the ceiling. Way up there, we could do and say just about anything. I became accustomed to the ritual of letting all my week’s frustrations out at the game. It was a side of my nobody that knows me professionally would ever expect. Time has mellowed me a bit.

Obscenities are not quite as constant as they once were. I don’t stomp and carry on like a tantrumming toddler. At least, not often. What did persist was the passion of participation in the game. Football is the one sport where your impact on the outcome is palpable. No place has illustrated that better than Seattle over the years.

It is common for me to leave my seats in the 300 level with ringing ears. Save the warnings. I know it is not wise. The point is that the noise is deafening. Sitting on third down never happens. I can barely hear myself screaming most of the time. Not yesterday.

Nobody stood in the club level. Not once (other than me on occasion). I could hear myself screaming the whole game. I looked around and saw some yelling, but mostly clapping and sitting, as if they were taking in a performance at Benaroya Hall. If Seahawks fans broke the world record without the 200 level, I wonder what would happen if they joined in.

The icing on the cake for me was when my buddy came back with two water bottles for us. They came with the caps on. Those of us that have been to enough games know that they take the bottle caps at the concessions stands. Anyone that is attending with a child has to hope that some portion of the water remains in the bottle by the time you climb back to your seats. Nobody has given an official explanation, but it is believed to be because people were throwing the caps at other fans. Whatever the reason, it pissed me off to find that fans in the club section are considered a higher grade of human simply because they paid more money for their seats.

The Seahawks organization may want to reconsider how they handle fans in the 300 level. They may be a third of the seats, but they are 70% of the passion. Those fans reading this that sit in the club level, feel free to prove me wrong. Until then, I’ll stick with my bottle cap assassin brethren in the cheap seats, participating instead of observing.