Attending Seattle Seahawks games presents its own unique set of risks.
Once a year I go down there, usually with my brothers-in-law and my father-in-law, and we come home exhausted and heavy. After all, all we’ve been doing there is eating and drinking, and I promise you that screaming yourself hoarse for three hours on a Sunday afternoon might make you a solid fan and citizen, but it doesn’t kill calories.
We’ve had our fair share of big breakfasts, and there was the year that we enjoyed two double gin and tonics in the hotel bar, then headed to El Gaucho, the legendary Seattle steakhouse where I proceeded to attempt to consume a 14-ounce New York steak. After the oysters and the classic wedge salad, tackling the steak and its friends — the mashed potato, the asparagus and the roasted sweet corn — nearly killed me. At one point, I slowly raised my head to look across the table and saw one of my brothers-in-law, twice. As in, I saw two of the same guy, side by side. I shook my head, tried to clear the cobwebs. It was a food-and-drink coma; I vowed to learn my lesson.
I still hadn’t learned it by last fall, when my neighbour — the same guy who has graciously invited me to Sunday’s NFC Championship game — took me down there to see the Seahawks pound Rex Ryan’s New York Jets. After a couple of coffees en route, we arrived in the stadium area to find that every bar was jammed. So we ended up at a little hole in the wall that sells cheesesteaks. I spent a few years in Philadelphia. I am familiar with cheesesteaks. But that was a long time ago. Now, my body isn’t so used to a long bun filled with ground meat and smothered in a cheese-like goop. Then, off to CenturyLink Field, where we enjoyed beers and peanuts and, finally, a hot chocolate. On the way home, in case we hadn’t eaten enough, it seemed like a fine idea to pull off the I-5 to inhale some Five Guys’ burgers and fries. By this point, I was one of those guys who grunts while he eats. There was no experiencing. There was just being. I was existing solely to stuff my face.
So it is with much trepidation that I see that the fine kitchen staff at the Clink has come up with some new concoctions. Like the Beast Mode Burger, which is named after the Seahawks’ monster running back Marshawn Lynch and lives up to its, and his, name. The BMB debuted last weekend, and more than 1,000 people paid $14 to enjoy this: two hamburger patties, bacon, cheddar, several slices of ham (in case the two burgers don’t provide enough meat), onion rings, tomato, lettuce, red onion … with a side of fries and a bag of Skittles, which is Lynch’s favourite candy.
I watched this video of CenturyLink Field executive chef Seis Kamimura providing the narration as one of his sous-chefs puts together the BMB, and it is truly frightening. My body screams NO! throughout the video. My mouth cannot imagine opening wide enough to force that animal inside; is it possible to be double-jointed in the mouth area?
BECAUSE EVERY HOT DOG NEEDS TO BE SMOTHERED IN MACARONI AND CHEESE
Of course, the CenturyLink chefs refuse to rest on their laurels. Not when you can disarm football fans in so many ways. So they’ve moved on to the DangeRuss Dog. Hmmm, could that be named after Seahawks QB Russell Wilson? Of course it is. His personal weakness? Macaroni and cheese. As a result, the DangeRuss Dog is a footlong hot dog that has jalapeno peppers, honey hot sauce, caramelized onions and, of course, mac ‘n’ cheese.
This, I assure you, is much, much healthier than the Beast Mode Burger. Yes indeed. Much, much healthier. Really. It is. Yes.
WHO’S MORE BORING? ATHLETES? OR THE PEOPLE WHO ASK THEM QUESTIONS?
Have you ever thought that sports reporting seems quite inane?
You’re not alone. This is called “What every single sports interview sounds like to me.”
And let it be a lesson to us all.
From the same site, 9Gag, a super hockey GIF that’s pretty impressive.
FREE CLARK!
As promised, this morning at the 2 O’Clock, a glance at what the world has been saying about Clark. That would be the Chicago Cubs’ new mascot, a young bear wearing a backwards baseball cap — that’s what the kids do! — and sporting the obligatory team jersey.
ESPN’s Keith Olbermann, still recovering from his set-to with Victoria Sestito — the 13-year-old sister of Vancouver Canucks winger Tom Sestito — got right back into it, lashing out at Clark, who he says appears to be on meth, a la Breaking Bad. (And there’s a great comment at espn.com: “I thought the mascot was going to be a dinosaur to represent the last time Chicago won the World Series.”)
At Chicagonow.com, Carole Brewer writes about the mockery directed Clark’s way. She is less than impressed: “Put your frustration and backlash where it belongs, against the team and management, not an innocent Cubbie bear. Yes, the Cubs suck and may suck even more this year. Yes, the team is a joke. Yes, the Cubs haven’t won a World Series in 105 years. Yes, they’ve had 197 losses in two years. And yes, fans and sportswriters are getting tired of the ‘wait until next year’ refrain. It seems the lovable losers just aren’t that lovable anymore. We have collectively lost our patience with the entire organization, from Ricketts to Epstein. But sadly we are directing our anger at an innocent symbol.”
Amen, Carole Brewer. Direct your anger elsewhere, people.
Though the analysis from Neil Steinberg of the Chicago Sun-Times is, frankly, fantastic.
PUT A WATER BOTTLE ON THE COURT, WATCH IT MELT
People are mad everywhere, it seems. Like at the Australian Open tennis tournament, where Canada’s Frank Dancevic went down fighting in the first round, but not before he’d already collapsed on the court due to the heat.
The temperatures they’ve been recording in Melbourne: oh, about 105 F. But don’t forget, it’s probably a bit hotter than that on the hardcourt. Say, closer to 120 F. So, writes Sports Illustrated’s Jon Wertheim, this is a health and PR disaster for pro tennis: “As devastating as the heat has been, the reaction by the sport’s officials has been comparably brutal. Double-speak. Vagueness. An absence of common sense. This was tennis — fractious and fractured — at its worst.”
COAST-TO-COAST CRAZINESS
Finally, a nice story in the New York Daily News about a crazy Seahawks fan in Brooklyn named David Barrionuevo. Despite not really being able to afford to travel around to follow his Seahawks, that’s exactly what the bartender does. He has spent a lot of money going to every Seahawks game. It hasn’t been easy. “Somebody’s got to do it,” he writes on his blog. “Growing up a Seahawks fan in NYC has never been easy. Years of abuse and people overlooking the Hawks has left me with a bit of a complex and the need to defend and discuss anything Seahawks my entire life!”
