Unlike anywhere else, in Seattle I am identified with football. Almost exclusively. I'm "the football guy" by virtue of the fact that I'd followed the sport before January, 2014.
When I dropped in on my neighbors' party Saturday night, it took all of three seconds for a familiar question to be asked. "So do you root for the Seahawks now?" Mind you, they're not asking it ironically or accusingly. Not at all. They truly think this is how it works. Why wouldn't I have started rooting for the Seahawks this year? They did.
Not wanting to be impolite, I didn't offer $1000 to any self-described Seahawks fan who could name 10 players. But I sure wanted to. That money was practically FDIC insured. I contented myself with sighing a comparatively polite "Nope."
They sputtered confusion. "I...I don't know how you couldn't...I mean...that was so FUN!" said one woman, mysteriously upset, not even looking me in the eye. The others nodded and echoed sincere mystification as to why I did not hop aboard the wagon that had brought them so much pretend happiness.
Fanship is like every other social interaction else in Seattle: a thin veneer wrapped around stale air. The trip to Pittsburgh cannot happen soon enough.