Unlucky

Tomorrow afternoon, Seattle will host our first playoff game in three seasons.

And this Seahawk diehard won't be watching the game.

Well, I won't see it live.

We're starting a new reading program at my school, and we have a training tomorrow. I'd beg out of it, except I'm the principal, and that would be bad form. (The district administration put the workshop on the calendar without so much as consulting the NFL playoffs schedule. ¡Que Barbaridad!)

So, I'll be DVRing the game, and hurrying home to watch it.

It will be the first time since December 2005 that I have failed to watch a Seahawks game live. At the time, I was home for the holidays (Federal Way), Xmas shopping with a dawdling girlfriend who didn't understand how urgently I needed to get to a TV. (Obviously, our relationship didn't work out.)

I did miss some of the January 2007 wild card playoff game that the Cowboys played in Seattle. I scheduled a flight before the football season, figuring that the Seahawks would be strong enough to win a bye that year (wrong), and assuming that even if we had to play in the wild card round, what were the odds that the game would conflict with my flight? (Rather good, actually. In the end, p equalled 1.)

The flight meant that I missed the first third of the game. After deplaning, I found a bar in the Tucscon airport that was showing the game. But the bar shut down at halftime!

So, I hurried through the airport, debating whether to leave my luggage and come back for it after the game. Making the wrong decision, I waited impatiently for the luggage carousel to retch up my suitcase, then went outside and waited for the shuttle to take me to long-term parking (c'mon!). Firing up the fierce engine of my mighty Ford Taurus, I drove off to find the nearest place that might be showing the game. Well, not the nearest place, because that was a strip club, and educator contracts require us to maintain high standards of personal behavior. Moreover, since I'm not really a drinker, my alcoholic geography of Tucson was too poor to navigate me to the closest tavern. So I drove--legally, but aggressively--to a sports bar that I knew of a few miles away.

By the time I got there, it was late in the fourth quarter. The joint was crowded, and almost everyone in there was sporting Cowboys regalia. The Dallas fans razzed me as I swaggered in, wearing my Seahawks jersey (#71, in honor of Walter Jones and Bryan Millard).

I ended up sitting with a heavily tattooed and multiply pierced cholo, a Steelers fan who was rooting against the Cowboys. I annoyed the waitress by ordering a Diet Coke. (After the game, I faced a 90-minute drive home.)

The Seahawks led, 21-20, but Tony Romo had led the Cowboys into the red zone. On third down, Jason Witten caught a pass, but Lofa Tatupu and Julian Peterson savagely stuffed him just outside the 2 yard line. My heart sank when the officials awarded Dallas a generous spot and a first down. (Screwed by the officials, again!) But a booth review corrected the mistake: Fourth and inches.

Dallas coach Bill Parcells elected to attempt a field goal. From the two. A chip shot, from extra-point distance.

I was certain that Martin Gramatica would nail it, but I didn't care. With 1:19 remaining on the clock, I knew the Seahawks would have time to drive down the field and get close enough for Josh Brown to kick a game-winning field goal.

But that wasn't necessary, because Tony Romo botched the hold. Gramatica never got a chance to kick the ball. Romo snatched up the pigskin and tried to run for the first down, but Big Play Babs ran him down from behind and ankle-tackled him, just inches shy of the bright yellow line.

I high-fived the cholo, dropped a nice tip, and swaggered out of the bar, passing with a wide grin through a sea of slackjawed, dejected Dallas fans.