Seahawks bond father, son in life and death
This article was written by Dieter Bohrmann for the Tri-City Herald. It will be published in tomorrow's paper, Super Bowl Sunday. I hope you find it as inspiring as we did.
I called my wife from Qwest Field in a state of shock two weeks ago after witnessing the greatest event in Seattle sports history. The Seahawks were going to the Super Bowl.
After the birth of our kids, I told her, it was one of the greatest days of my life. For long-suffering Hawks fans, it was truly surreal. Still, despite dreaming about this moment my whole life, the reality was bittersweet.
Three weeks earlier, at my parents’ home in Kent, my dad was nearing the end of a valiant two-year battle with cancer. The two of us had ridden the Seahawks roller-coaster together for most of the team’s 30 years. Through the near misses in the ’80s with the team on the cusp of greatness, to the mediocrity of the ’90s and finally the resurgence of the past few years.
He took me to my first games in the old Kingdome to watch my heroes Jim Zorn and Kenny Easley. In first grade in 1979, I attended an event at my school, Lea Hill Elementary, to get Manu Tuiasosopo’s autograph. When the Seahawks were playing on the East Coast and the games would start early here, I feigned illness or tried to recruit Dad to talk Mom out of going to church so we wouldn’t miss the kickoff. Sometimes it even worked.
When I got season tickets a few years ago, I returned the favor and began taking him to games. He turned out to be Shaun Alexander’s good luck charm. Just weeks after his hip replacement surgery in 2001, we went to a Sunday night game against the highly favored Oakland Raiders. In obvious pain, he hobbled the half-mile from the bus to Husky Stadium without complaining. We missed most of the first quarter, but arrived in time to watch Alexander rumble for a franchise-record 266 yards in a Seahawks victory.
The next season, at another Sunday night game against Minnesota at Qwest, Alexander worked his magic again, scoring five touchdowns as the Hawks routed the Vikings.
Last season, I invited him to the Monday night game against the Cowboys. He said he’d love to go, but he had a chemotherapy treatment the same afternoon. Undeterred by a little pregame radiation, he came straight from his appointment to pick me up in Seattle. Cursing traffic as we circled the stadium listening to the roar of the crowd, we finally found a parking spot downtown.
Again in a lot of pain, he made his way slowly to the stadium. This time, though, the pain was deeper, and I knew it might be our last game together. It was an exciting night, though Dad stayed in his seat to cheer for most of it. Getting up and down just took too much energy. This time, even Alexander couldn’t save the Hawks as the team blew a late lead to lose in the last couple of minutes.
I didn’t renew my tickets for this past season, but Dad and I would often talk on the phone after games, and we watched a couple together on TV. He was unable to eat or do much around the house anymore, but Seahawk Sundays were still something he could look forward to and enjoy.
Shortly after Christmas, my mom called. Things didn’t look good. I’d better come over. On New Year’s Eve, I pulled up to the house not knowing what to expect. My mom met me at the door. We were both crying. He was weakening rapidly and sleeping most of the time. But the next day was Sunday. The last regular season game against Green Bay. Alexander had a chance to set the all-time NFL record for touchdowns in a season. Dad rallied and made another painful trek. This time just down the hall to the sofa. Alexander set the record. He smiled as he drifted in and out of sleep. Four days later, Dad passed away.
When I returned home a week later, there was a message on the machine from my cousin Eric. He had an extra ticket to the playoff game that weekend. Did I wanna go? Uh, duh!
After dispatching the Redskins, the Hawks were one game from history. Eric called again the next week with bad news and good news. He couldn’t make the championship game, but the tickets were mine. Take whomever you want. I kept waiting for someone to wake me up.
I invited my mom to go with me. Somehow it seemed appropriate. We laughed, we cried, we screamed ’til we were nearly hoarse. Alexander had another magnificent performance. We both agreed Dad would’ve loved it. I’m sure he did. After all, he had the best seat in the house.
I called my wife from Qwest Field in a state of shock two weeks ago after witnessing the greatest event in Seattle sports history. The Seahawks were going to the Super Bowl.
After the birth of our kids, I told her, it was one of the greatest days of my life. For long-suffering Hawks fans, it was truly surreal. Still, despite dreaming about this moment my whole life, the reality was bittersweet.
Three weeks earlier, at my parents’ home in Kent, my dad was nearing the end of a valiant two-year battle with cancer. The two of us had ridden the Seahawks roller-coaster together for most of the team’s 30 years. Through the near misses in the ’80s with the team on the cusp of greatness, to the mediocrity of the ’90s and finally the resurgence of the past few years.
He took me to my first games in the old Kingdome to watch my heroes Jim Zorn and Kenny Easley. In first grade in 1979, I attended an event at my school, Lea Hill Elementary, to get Manu Tuiasosopo’s autograph. When the Seahawks were playing on the East Coast and the games would start early here, I feigned illness or tried to recruit Dad to talk Mom out of going to church so we wouldn’t miss the kickoff. Sometimes it even worked.
When I got season tickets a few years ago, I returned the favor and began taking him to games. He turned out to be Shaun Alexander’s good luck charm. Just weeks after his hip replacement surgery in 2001, we went to a Sunday night game against the highly favored Oakland Raiders. In obvious pain, he hobbled the half-mile from the bus to Husky Stadium without complaining. We missed most of the first quarter, but arrived in time to watch Alexander rumble for a franchise-record 266 yards in a Seahawks victory.
The next season, at another Sunday night game against Minnesota at Qwest, Alexander worked his magic again, scoring five touchdowns as the Hawks routed the Vikings.
Last season, I invited him to the Monday night game against the Cowboys. He said he’d love to go, but he had a chemotherapy treatment the same afternoon. Undeterred by a little pregame radiation, he came straight from his appointment to pick me up in Seattle. Cursing traffic as we circled the stadium listening to the roar of the crowd, we finally found a parking spot downtown.
Again in a lot of pain, he made his way slowly to the stadium. This time, though, the pain was deeper, and I knew it might be our last game together. It was an exciting night, though Dad stayed in his seat to cheer for most of it. Getting up and down just took too much energy. This time, even Alexander couldn’t save the Hawks as the team blew a late lead to lose in the last couple of minutes.
I didn’t renew my tickets for this past season, but Dad and I would often talk on the phone after games, and we watched a couple together on TV. He was unable to eat or do much around the house anymore, but Seahawk Sundays were still something he could look forward to and enjoy.
Shortly after Christmas, my mom called. Things didn’t look good. I’d better come over. On New Year’s Eve, I pulled up to the house not knowing what to expect. My mom met me at the door. We were both crying. He was weakening rapidly and sleeping most of the time. But the next day was Sunday. The last regular season game against Green Bay. Alexander had a chance to set the all-time NFL record for touchdowns in a season. Dad rallied and made another painful trek. This time just down the hall to the sofa. Alexander set the record. He smiled as he drifted in and out of sleep. Four days later, Dad passed away.
When I returned home a week later, there was a message on the machine from my cousin Eric. He had an extra ticket to the playoff game that weekend. Did I wanna go? Uh, duh!
After dispatching the Redskins, the Hawks were one game from history. Eric called again the next week with bad news and good news. He couldn’t make the championship game, but the tickets were mine. Take whomever you want. I kept waiting for someone to wake me up.
I invited my mom to go with me. Somehow it seemed appropriate. We laughed, we cried, we screamed ’til we were nearly hoarse. Alexander had another magnificent performance. We both agreed Dad would’ve loved it. I’m sure he did. After all, he had the best seat in the house.
posted by The Miller Lights at 23:44
2 Comments:
As the mother of the writer of the Seahawks story, I want to thank you for sharing it. It touches me to the core, of course, and I can never read it without tears rolling down my cheeks. How blessed we, his family, were to have Gunter Bohrmann in our lives, and how sweetly Dieter honored his dad in this article.
Janyce Bohrmann
Aw shucks, Mom. Hi Jenna and Eric. Very kind of you to post. Best to all of you.
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