Last Sunday afternoon, I did the unthinkable: I turned off the Seahawks game. They were playing the Jaguars, and it was close to the end of the third quarter. I couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t a matter of turning it off in anger and disgust at the way they were playing. It was an act of self-preservation. It was too painful. I couldn’t watch them implode anymore. I got put in my shoes and grabbed my coat. In the haste of the moment, I…
