There are three kinds of Seahawks fans, and they all suck in their own way. There are, of course, the legions of bandwagon fans who come out of the woodwork any time any team is good. Those don’t set us apart. Then there are the die-hard fans who, despite living less than 10 or so miles from Seattle seem to have been imported from whatever backwoods Southern bog recently flooded: drinking the disgusting mass-production beer flogged at games and cycling between racial and gay slurs at a frankly astonishing rate, given how low in alcohol said beer actually is.
The group we have to ourselves, though, are the people like me. Folks who not-so-secretly long for the days when the Seahawks were either ******, or at least under the radar. The time before our players were on the covers of video games and getting talked about in tabloid magazines, when we could whine about the East Coast bias and how no one took us seriously. We are football hipsters, which is frankly the most pathetic thing I can think of, besides maybe the soccer hipsters, and trust me we have tons of those too.
