Mediocri-city

I moved to Boston my senior year of high school. It was the year 2004.

Obviously, you know where this is going.

The first time I walked onto the streets of Beantown was none other than the day of celebration for the newly crowned "World Champions of Baseball" Boston Red Sox. Four million people (half of them probably drunk out of their minds) littered the streets of downtown, cheering and yelling so loud that you were bleeding out of your ears.

And that was before the team even came out on their floats.

Yet as I stood there with my friends, chanting along to Queen's "We Are the Champions" and reveling in the fact that I would be just feet away from Pedro's glistening locks of hair, I began to feel a little out of place.

You see, I had spent the majority of my life in Seattle. I went through the Warren Moon era, I trudged through the Gary Payton-Shawn Kemp tag team and the '96 Finals against "da Bulls." Heck, I even believed in the Mariners as they recycled the likes of Alex Rodriguez, Randy Johnson, Ken Griffey Jr., Edgar Martinez and now Ichiro Suzuki.

Standing against that fence, hearing everyone actually happy and feeling like a winner, I just seemed out of place. It was the same feeling that I get when I walk into an Abercrombie & Fitch store.

I was used to being mediocre. I've never been the fastest, smartest, strongest or sexiest at anything in my life. So knowing that from now on I would be looked upon by the rest of the world, I began to panic.

And it was for that reason why I was ecstatic to return to Seattle for college.

No longer would I have to worry about being the "world champions," or deal with the pressure of winning back-to-back Super Bowls. I could escape the success of the Red Sox and Patriots and hunker down with my Seahawks and Sonics.

Thankfully, when I arrived my freshman year, the majority of Seattle had finally overcome their intoxication from the Storm's championship run from the year before. It seemed as though the city had returned to being just plain miserable.

But no, lo and behold the year I came back my beloved Seahawks posted the best record in the NFC, breezed through the playoffs and made it to the Super Bowl.

You could probably see the predicament I was in. As much as I wanted to see us win, deep down, I was afraid. I was afraid of what the win would do to this city.

Imagine sitting amongst your friends and not ending your conversations with "Well, there's always next year." Or going through a whole night without receiving a phone call from your best friend about how some player "Coug'd it".

We wouldn't be able to handle it.

It would mess up this city's funk. People would walk through the rain with their heads held high, and even stop complaining about how depressing this place can be.

So as those final ticks passed, and Jerome Bettis began to cry his big ol' heart out, I'll admit, I breathed a sigh of relief. My dreams were crushed, and everything was back to normal.

And yet I sit here and watch Josh Brown kick another game winner against the Broncos. The panic has begun to set in again. Queen is beginning to whisper their sweet song softly into my ear. Then I remember I'm in Seattle, and just like that the whispering stops and the panic disappears completely.

Man, it feels great to be home.

Columnist Eric Uthus: ericuthus@thedaily.washington.edu