Category Archives: Husky Football

The Changing Narrative of A Loathed, Loved, and Enabled Steve Sarkisian

sarkA disease. A medical condition. A weakness. A flaw. An addiction.

Alcoholism is labeled in a number of different ways, which might be why it’s so hard for us to determine how we feel about it. It makes us sad, confused, angry, frustrated, hurt. Sometimes, amidst the laughter and jubilation of the atmosphere in which it is cultivated, we don’t even know we’re staring an alcohol problem straight in the eye. So as it cooks and bubbles and rises to the surface like hot magma inside a rumbling volcano, we pretend it’s not even there, that it’s not a thing.

We joke about it, we chuckle at every one of our friends we deem a borderline alcoholic, and we keep the party going until that climactic moment when we simply cannot rage any longer. And then, suddenly, it’s not fun anymore.

This is where we find Steve Sarkisian.

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Welcome to the Top of the World


Screw reality. This is everything we’ve ever wanted rolled up into a single moment in time and it’s goddamn beautiful. You want Chris Petersen? You got Chris Petersen. You want Robinson Cano? You got Robinson Cano. You want the best team in the NFL? You got the best team in the NFL. If you have a wish to make, a prayer to be answered, a request you absolutely must have fulfilled? Today is your day.

You and I, we aren’t conditioned for this. This is sleet in November, triple-digit temperatures in July. We aren’t used to what this feels like. Happiness? Euphoria? This is Seattle. Seattle. When it comes to sports, we’re the perennially disappointed, the consistently underwhelmed. We live in a snow globe where it simply rains all the time. We fall short of expectations, come up empty-handed at year’s end, tank the off-season, blow the big game, flub every opportunity at every single turn, and wallow, miserably, wretchedly, in the cynical aftermath of the emotional nuking our psyches continually endure.

They’ve called us the Worst Sports City in America. On multiple occasions, no less. It sucks to be us, they’ve pointed out. And for the most part, they’ve been right. It has sucked to be us. We haven’t done shit. We haven’t won shit, we haven’t achieved shit, we haven’t been shit. We’ve been nothing. Some cities fly under the radar; we haven’t been on the radar.

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Cyber Monday: It All Began With Willie Bloomquist

Depending on how you look at it, baldwinthis day was either supposed to belong to the Seahawks or the internet. It was Monday. Cyber Monday, the day the masses descend upon the world wide web for bargains. But Cyber Monday mattered little to those of us in the Emerald City. The Seahawks had a football game on this particular evening. That meant they were playing on Monday Night Football, arguably the biggest regular season stage in all of professional sports. They were already relegated to sharing a pseudo-holiday with online retailers. And yet their civic brethren across the sports landscape were not content to let them have even half the spotlight.

It started with the Mariners, those assholes, constantly fighting to stay relevant in a town where their irrelevance reigns supreme. They woke up on this chilly, sun-soaked morning and decided to sign Willie Bloomquist. Yes, the Willie Bloomquist. To a two-year, $5.8 million contract. It’s been five years since Willie last played for his hometown Mariners and he’s 36 years of age now, so why not sign him, right? Makes perfect sense. Anyway, they did it, they really did it. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t register on our radar – we’re talking about an aging utility player, after all – but this was no ordinary situation.

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What To Do When All The Crazy People Want To Fire Sark

sarkinquisitiveI’m ethically opposed to siding with the people who want to fire Steve Sarkisian from his head coaching position at the University of Washington. It’s not that I’m completely against canning the guy — with each subsequent loss, each confounding play call, and each season of unmet expectations I find myself considering the possibilities of life after Sark — because I’m not. It’s that those diehard radicals who spend every waking moment of their blubbering existences calling for the man’s head are part of the problem. It’s them, not the prospect of a sacrificial firing, that I have a hard time agreeing with.

But first let’s get the obvious out of the way. Steve Sarkisian has not achieved the goals everybody had for this team back in 2009, when he first took the reins of a Washington program very much in disarray. Coming off a winless 2008 campaign, the bar was set as low as it had ever been in the history of Husky football. And yet when Sarkisian was hired in December of that year, spirits were immediately raised, anticipation was at once rekindled, and expectations — in the forms of Rose Bowls and conference titles — were instantly set in place.

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2013 Pac-12 Bowl Predictions

bcslogoI’m a bowl prediction junkie. The white board in my work office currently displays a ranking of each Pac-12-related bowl as an object of constant reference. I obsess over bowl projections throughout the season and do my best to forecast at which destination each team will end up. It’s selfish, mostly. My friends and I travel to every University of Washington bowl game and turn the trip into our annual holiday vacation. As a result, we have quite a bit invested in where the Huskies’ postseason contest is played.

Over the past couple years, I’ve spent so much time analyzing bowl prognostications that I got to thinking I could probably just predict this stuff myself. And hey, since I have a website at my disposal, I put two and two together and here we are today.

I won’t pretend I know enough about the rest of the teams around the country to forecast the matchups of every single bowl bout. But I have outlined the likeliest postseason outcome for each Pac-12 football program below. Ranked from most prestigious bowl to least, here are your 2013 Pac-12 bowl predictions.

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The Kids of Don James’ Generation

donjamesDon James walked away from the University of Washington and I didn’t understand why. I was eight years old at the time, so I did what most eight-year-olds do when they don’t understand something and asked my dad. My dad had a way of whittling down the most complicated situations into an explanation that a kid could comprehend.

Take, for instance, the Rey Quinones situation. Earlier in my relatively brief existence, my dad had relayed a story to me about Quinones, a backup shortstop for the Seattle Mariners who holds the unique distinction of being the last Mariner not named Randy or Ichiro to don jersey number 51. Quinones, you see, was a crybaby. That made him unlikable. As an unlikable crybaby, Quinones’ departure from the team made a whole lot of sense. Why did Quinones get traded to Pittsburgh? Because he was an unlikable crybaby. I understood. No one likes a crybaby. Although I assumed at the time that Quinones only cried because he had either been spanked or sent to his room. I therefore made it a point to try my hardest not to cry when spanked or sent to my room from that point forward.

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Defeating the Ducks and Altering Adulthood

dog-on-duck-1My entire adulthood has been spent hating the Oregon Ducks. That day in 2004 when the Ducks beat Washington 31-6, kicking off a nine-year (and counting) win streak against the Huskies? That was my 20th birthday, October 30, 2004. Since then, the closest the Dawgs have come to knocking off their johnny-come-lately rivals is a 34-17 defeat at Husky Stadium in 2011. Suffice it to say a great deal of vitriol has been built up over nine years of losing.

Anytime an opponent waxes the floor with you for nearly a decade, it’s hard to tolerate just about anything having to do with that opponent’s existence. I’ve learned to loathe Oregon with a passion outweighing similar levels of disdain held for any other rival in any other city in any other sport. Nothing evokes pure disgust, pure detestation, pure revulsion quite like the University of Oregon. I don’t want to beat them every year; I want to destroy them. I want to run up the score on them. I want to embarrass them, to crush them, to make them look as inferior as inferior can be. And yet my team hasn’t supported me on this quest for a proverbial mountaintop borne out of spite. They, like so many others, have been unable to topple the mighty Ducks. And so each year as the annual matchup with our hated foes arrives, we sit here and stew in a cesspool of frustration, anger, and hope.

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