Body blows, body blows, body blows. That’s how you win in the NFL. This is vintage Seahawks football. Win with Russell Wilson’s legs, Chris Carson’s legs, and Bobby Wagner’s legs. It’s a vintage Seahawks football win because they basically told everyone, “fuck you.”
Wanna go ahead on 4th and goal? I’ll stop it, fuck you.
Oh, you’re gonna make a field goal? I’m gonna block it, fuck you.
You’re gonna penalize me for grabbing the opening of the helmet? Fuck you, I’m gonna draw a facemask the next play and you’re not gonna call shit.
Want to defend the passing game? Russ is gonna tilt the field with a QB scramble, jogging like he’s Zach Miller reincarnated. Fuck you.
Think I’m gonna run with George Fant as my sixth offensive lineman? I’m gonna throw it to him.
Yeah, like Jimmy Graham, he played basketball, except he can block! Fuck you!
Remember John DeFilippo? He was supposed to be the frontrunner for the offensive coordinator job back in February. Remember how people were clamoring for him to revolutionize the offense? Because he didn’t do squat. Fuck you, John. This is what heppens when you choose Kirk Fucking Cousins and his noodle arm over Russell Wilson’s majestic two-pronged attack.
Then you have Justin Coleman, who’s probably been the best nickel cornerback the Seahawks have had since before Jeremy Lane got paid. Justin Coleman, who picked up the fumble WITH THE GAME PRACTICALLY OVER and scored a touchdown. “Fuck you,” Justin Coleman said, “because I’m feeling generous and there’s no Salvation Army bucket to jump in.”
I was told that Shaquill Griffin fell off a cliff this year, but then he told me to fuck off. “Hey Mike,” he said. “Fuck you.” And then he practically shut down Stefon Diggs and Adam Thielen on alternating plays. Shaquill Griffin, playing like he’s the successor to Richard Sherman once more.
Fuck you. The Seahawks are back.
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“This is a 4-12 team in a rebuilding year.”
Fuck you USA Today.