This was my chance.

If I were to ever legally illegally drink on the streets of Seattle, the city’s first ever Super Bowl would be that time. I pictured it being like a weekend in Vegas or going back to Iowa City to tailgate a football game. I opened a beer among a throng of bouncing blue fans who gathered in front of a news truck. I took a sip and watched the moderate chaos unfold. I’d joked with others that, “this is Seattle, people will likely be looting garbage so that they could recycle it.” But, while there certainly wasn’t any imminent danger, people did seem to be letting loose.

That’s when a I saw the badge sidle up behind me.

“There is no drinking outside,” said the slightly rotund Seattle police officer. “You don’t want to get a drinking in public ticket tonight.”

Now, don’t get me wrong: I appreciate a warning as much as the next mild transgressor. But this seemed slightly silly. There were, quite literally, hundreds of people drinking and smoking unimpeded in the streets. Someone had just torn down the street signs on 10th and Pike streets. A miniature bonfire still burned in the center of the mini mob.

Me? I was standing there with friends, enjoying the show. And maybe that was the main problem: I wasn’t cheering.

As a Wisconsinite, I am a Packers man. While I may not entirely be “over” Hail Mary-gate/The Fail Mary, I have gained a better appreciation for the Seahawks since moving to town seven months ago.

While I can’t fully empathize with Seattle’s previous title drought, this was my first time witnessing a championship while living in the city – other than 1997, as an 11-year-old Packer fan in Milwaukee who celebrated by playing video games in the basement.

So, while I was not exactly coasting on the grace of the sporting gods, I was appreciative of this rare-ish opportunity. As was a large chunk of the team’s recently gained fans.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I see nothing wrong with jumping on the proverbial bandwagon. Quite the opposite, actually. I say, embrace your bandwagon-itude. Most people don’t follow every miserable game for unending years, even if they don’t care to admit it.

And that’s the beauty of sports. To enjoy exciting moments with friends and like-minded happy people. The Seahawks’ Super Bowl win is for the newly indoctrinated fans as well as the diehard Seattleites who sat through the Cortez Kennedy, Dan Krieg and Rick Mirer years, and cried with Kemp and Griffey, always praying for a damn ring. While the latter fans may appreciate Sunday’s win the most, it wouldn’t be much of a party if they were the only ones celebrating.

With that in mind, I stayed with my newfound buddies, moving down a block and opening another can of Rainier.

I know. Seattle rebellion is rubbing off on me.