Yesterday I talked about the process of getting to the game. Today’s post is about being at the game.

It was Christmas morning combined with prom night as Beerguy got up to face the day. The day hung heavy with anticipation, because it was the anticipation of the thing I wanted to do so badly combined with the fear that it wouldn’t turn out like I’d always imagined.

The right move was to lay down a good foundation. Like most mid-market hotels, the La Quinta had your standard American continental buffet – the “eggs”, “sausage” and “hash browns” one comes to expect from a chain that offers such but tries to keep costs down, and the fruit & yoghurt California health codes probably demand they provide. However, the waffle station was the key here. A good layer of empty carbs to fill up the body and soak up the inevitable booze would make getting through the bulk of the day key. I was under no illusions that stadium food prices would be astronomical, but I needed to hold out until at least 2:00 in order to help stretch the food budget for the day. This explained the horrified look on WineWife’s face when I returned to the table with two 10-inch waffles and about a half-dozen sausages. She made a comment about Lipitor while I chuckled at her fruit salad and Activia.

After returning to the room & suitably dressing for the occasion, and packing a couple of beverages for consumption should we find a tailgate to join, we returned to the lobby for the shuttle to the train station. This was a good thing, as avoiding the walk would avoid burning calories that I needed to reserve for later. (Also, if you’ve ever used a train bathroom, you know what I mean.) The train arrived pretty soon, and after boarding,

we settled in for the hour-long ride to Mountain View, where we would transfer to the local tram for the rest of the journey. As far as trains go, the Caltrain was pretty damn good – I’d even say European in quality: quiet; fast; comfortably air conditioned. State gas tax dollars seem to pay for fancy things. It wasn’t too full when we got on, but by the time we arrived in Mountain View,

we had acquired quite the gathering of fellow fans.

The trip on the VRT, however, was much less comfortable – more like your average public transit experience local government pays for. The number of cops crawling around dictated we couldn’t drink on the train, so those amber bullets in my bag would have to wait until we disembarked. Those 45 minutes couldn’t pass fast enough.

But soon enough, we were there.

First impressions are that it looks like a nice stadium in a terrible location, which these days is the standard for an NFL stadium. The ride up was industrial park after industrial park, occasionally passing the odd NASA facility or dark site as well. There is nothing resembling a football environment outside of all the artificial edifices installed for just this occasion. We passed a bunch of paid-for tailgates in rented corporate parking lots, but saw nothing resembling a bar or fan-driven party. It’s like the Yorks just took out a map & found the midpoint between San Francisco money and San Jose money and put the stadium there. 

Once off the train platform, the only outlet available was the lineup to get into the stadium.

The parking lot itself was fenced off for what I assumed was the “NFL Experience” brought to bear on gameday. This meant no fan-driven tailgating, but also kept my new foreskin friends from yesterday from getting within a country mile of the festivities.

It meant having to “deal with” those beverages I’d brought along from the hotel. Now, I might not be my 20-year-old fraternity self, but I still know how to shotgun a beverage. So as we were shuffled along to the entrance, I put away those two pint cans like the good Canadian kid I am.

Security was two-staged – the first was the bag & body search and then the ticket scan. After that pleasantly short process (because it was 12:00), it was onto the grounds to see what awaited.

It was, honestly, kind of underwhelming. I’d been led to believe there would be displays, stands, and multiple beverage & fan options available. Instead, what was readily apparent was that there were sections cordoned off for pre-purchased opportunities

and just an open congregation area for fans. There were only three merch stations throughout the entire area, and what was available was really quite pathetic; somehow, the lines were huge.

The online rumours about Fanatics being unprepared for the occasion seemed to be true. There were minimal jerseys available for purchase, and most were missing the commemorative patches that would have been the reason for buying one. There were plenty of “alternate” designs available, but for well-above usual market prices.

The highlight of the general fan area was the Lombardi trophy and the Super Bowl rings display.

That was a cool thing to have available, and getting there early meant not waiting too long to go through.

Closer to the stadium were some actual fan activities. There was a Seahawks “We Are All 12s” rally station, giving out free towels – I got seven – and a Patriots “Patriots Nation” station, whose towel floated helplessly to the ground when they tried to give it to me. Next were the food options, which it appears the NFL didn’t consider. The lauded “Bay Cities Market Concessions” was just a couple of tents with no real options available beyond their small menus. It seemed almost designed to force us to buy stadium food at Super Bowl prices. Finally came the free sample stations. First up was the Snickers Ice Cream bar station. They were the size of a Halloween fun bar, so we each got a couple and my crippling chocolate allergy meant WineWife had four. We couldn’t find the Captain Morgan pirate ship they’d advertised, and skipped the Bud Light tasting station. But the Smirnoff Game Day Experience was where we set up shop for about a half hour.

The samples on offer were four-ounce pours, but the key was the staff not caring if you went back for seconds, thirds or sixths,

so long as you signed the marketing waiver.

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From there it was now about 2:00, so we made our way inside. Having security so far back meant it was a pretty easy process to make our way inside the stadium.

Since we were sitting in the southeastern section of the stadium, we entered via the southwest entrance & made our way up the ramp to the top deck.

The ramp gave us a pretty good look at the toughest opponent the Niners faced this season,

Ignoring that, looking towards the field as we exited the ramp it was quite the view that awaited us

So it was time to look for drinks & food. Prices were predictably outrageous

For food it came down to which portion would feel less like a ripoff. A pulled pork sandwich & brisket sandwich cost $30 total; the drinks cost $55 because they both came in special cups. Once that ordeal was done, it was time to get to the seats.

Honestly, it was a pretty good seat – nice sightlines; in the sun for warmth; in the endzone so we could see any TDs. There were mostly Seahawks fans in our section, so it cut down on any heated exchanges that could’ve taken place. But sitting across from the broadcast view meant we were essentially watching the game backwards from you. If you’ve ever watched wrestling, you’ll know what I mean when I say we were facing the “hard cam”, so when the bands were on we were going to see the backs of heads, but I’m used to that at Lumen. So Green Day’s 20-minute montage set was in front of us but facing the camera, so we didn’t get the full effect unless we watched the screen.

The fun part of that viewpoint was that, for once, I was on the Seahawks side of the field, so I could watch them reacting on the sidelines while the game was going on.

So, after the various pre-game shenanigans,

anthems & flybys,

we got underway.

I’m not going to bother with too many pictures from the game, because you watched what I saw. Besides, this post is more about the experience than the game. What I will say is that real Seahawks fans knew 9-0 at the half was a tenuous lead at best. Coming through the Geno Smith era & the early days of the Sam Darnold era, we’ve been trained to expect that one bad throw that threatens to turn the game on its ear. Points on the board are never bad, as was learned during the other rounds, but what should have been at least a more-comfortable 17-0 lead didn’t look that steady going into a 45-minute concert break. At least the defence was playing out of its mind, and there was some mild tittering about whether, based on his play, Drake Maye had suffered a concussion or other such thing Vrabel was trying to hide in hopes Maye could shake it off. 

As for the halftime show, I thought it was really good.

Mi habla espanol es poquito, but to quote the guy on my left, “I don’t need to speak Spanish to look at (it sounded like he said) ‘shawtys’.” I wasn’t exactly the intended audience, but I know all about the Jones Act because

a) our beloved Don T has talked about it a few times, and

b) Alaskans bitch about it every storm & cruise ship season.

The big screen made the production easier to watch, because the stage show was clearly designed for the opposite side of the field from where we were sitting.

The whole spectacle was a wonderful bundle of energy, and I don’t know if it came across well on TV, but the place went BANANAS when Ricky Martin showed up.

Gaga was half expected, but the reaction to seeing Kiki told me that the man is truly still beloved by a great many people.

The one mild drawback was that it was still too bright out. 

At least from the stands, the twilight took away from some of the perspective & spectacle they were going for with the show. It was great; it could have been greater.

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As the second half got underway,

the Seahawks’ fans trepidation seemed to slip away as the lead grew and stabilized. By the time the Patriots got their first touchdown there was a little more calm, but the haste with which they did it was the only point of concern. Luckily, in swift order, Uchenna Nwosu solved that problem.

Finally, an air of relief flowed amongst the Seahawks fans. The late touchdown flattered the Patriots, but didn’t put the result in question. As the clock wound down, the Patriots fans departed as the Seahawks fans waited for the explosions.

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As the celebrations began, my thoughts went to a few places:

1. I can’t believe I’m actually here watching my team win

Normally, this doesn’t happen. I’ve been to a few NFC Championships and Stanley Cup semi-finals, plus a Mariners play-in game in the 90s, and those felt good but never great. That was mostly because of the fear of putting too much into them playing that next game, and the trepidation of having tasted that pain before. There was always another loss to come.

The closest I’d been to being on-hand for winning the big trophy before this was watching the Canucks lose Game 7 at home, but that was tempered by seeing my childhood team the Bruins win. Also, our first dog was named Bruin, so sports & pets run deep in my soul.

But this was something new – actual joy from sports, and being there to see it in person.

2. Ooh, I hope some of that confetti gets up here

It did!

It wasn’t the good Lombardi-shaped stuff, but I put some in my hat just the same.

3. Jesus, that winning merch is TERRIBLE!

Fucking Fanatics. The whole buildup to the game was built around that seemingly Miami Vice inspired colour scheme.

So, naturally, when they come out with the championship looks it’s fucking black and white.

Not even in the Seahawks colors! It’s like they went with the most basic shirt they could imprint a logo on, in case they had to get their money back from the Cambodian orphans that made them.

4. Okay, but – How am I going to get to Nicaragua to get Maestro one of the Patriots championship shirts?

Maybe a Chinese knockoff site will have it. It’ll probably be of better quality too. I tried looking around for the free towels from earlier, but decided he didn’t need anything stained with popcorn and failure.

5. FUCKING HELL – ONLY 1% POWER LEFT ON MY PHONE?!

My phone went dead right after the trophy was awarded. I’d kept it on Code Yellow for most of the day, and stopped taking tons of photos before halftime to milk it through. But the rest of the night was dependent upon WineWife’s phone for taking pictures.

That’s the thing I didn’t get. They held the Super Bowl in the disease-ridden heart of Silicon Valley, yet no one thought to have chargers installed onsite during the game?! T-Mobile could’ve made a mint charging $20 per phone for a quick jolt. I don’t think marketing really thought this event through, because they’d forgotten about secondary & tertiary ways to milk every last dime. These are the people who give you digital tickets but charge you to buy a commemorative one.

Also – if that substation is throwing out enough electrons to injure players, why couldn’t it have boosted my battery life at the same time?! It’s almost like wireless charging is a sham. Tesla was a fucking FRAUD!

6. How are we getting back to the hotel?

Luckily, thanks to all the Patriots fans leaving early,

and us sticking around until being told to leave, that extra 90 minutes watching the on-field party meant we only had to wait 20 minutes in line to board the train back in the hotel direction. A West Coast Super Bowl meant Best Coast for departing, because we were back at the hotel by 10:30, ciders in hand and highlights on the TV.

Conclusion:

What a great day. Was it worth the two years of season’s tickets it cost?

Well, they won, so hells yeah!