Tick…tock, tick…tock. The twelve numbers on the wall clock have taunted us this week as the hands of time grind slowly, excruciatingly, toward the Super Bowl.
There are at least a dozen good reasons we should ignore the hype and turn up our Nose at the NFL. At least a dozen better ways to spend our days than hanging on every word of Marshawn Lynch’s poignant monologues.
But we're helpless to resist. The Twelves have got a fever, and the only prescription is Sunday's kickoff.
Infectious? Yes. Ridiculous? Definitely.
The City of Hoquiam has renamed itself “Hawkquiam.” Issaquah proclaimed itself 12saquah and Bellevue is 12vue.
How far is it spreading? We heard rumors that a certain terrorist organization might change its name to the 12slamic State.
Rational minds have prevailed in the 253, so far. But you gotta admit, S-twelve-acoom has a nice ring to it. 12coma? Not so much.
We just hope no well-meaning Twelves get taken to court by the team they worship so fervently.
If they do, well ... tweeeeeet! A referee should blow the whistle on the Hawks for offensive interference. Very offensive.
Reporter Mike Baker of the Seattle Times wrote last week about the Seahawks’ relentless pursuit of new trademark revenue. They’re trying to seize control of words such as “Boom” and “Go Hawks” — and, natch, several variations of “12.”
They’re even playing hardball with a startup business that makes whiskey in l’il ole Gig Harbor. Heritage Distillery has produced a brand of spirits called Batch No. 12. The Seahawks are challenging the trademark application.
Though it probably sounds like heresy, we’re rooting for the Hawks to lose — their legal fight, that is.
Twelve has quickly become a benchmark of Puget Sound pride, but last time we checked it's also an established measure for roses, eggs and donuts.
You can buy a 12-pack of beer and, if you drink it by yourself after a Russell Wilson interception, you might consider signing up for a 12-step program.
Twelve is a beautiful composite number – a wild horse yearning to stay free, admired by many and owned by none.
The Seahawks might just as well try suing God for the 12 tribes of Israel or the 12 disciples.
We certainly hope no jury will ever buy this corporate nonsense. And when it comes to truth and justice, they are the ultimate twelves.
XLIX is not ancient Latin script for Tacoma's cable TV operation.
Phelps admits folks sometimes occasionally confuse him for the coach in public places. He once even had to fend off an overzealous autograph hound.
Just call them Pete and RePete.
Mucho dinero. Boatloads of cash.
Woefully underpaid state politicians like to point out this wage gap from time to time.
A state salary-setting commission spent two days last week hearing from these poobahs, then proposed raises for them.
Some street-smart pols didn’t ask for more dough. Attorney General Bob Ferguson's representative even said his boss doesn't feel underpaid. But one lawmaker and a few other elected officials went out on a limb to suggest their income might be too low.
Schools Superintendent Randy Dorn’s views on his paycheck are well-known. He once bemoaned how his six-figure salary is about what then-Seattle Mariner Cliff Lee received for a few pitches.
A municipal court judge flirted with a different sports analogy in her comments to the salary commission.
"I could talk about how much our football coach at UW makes, but I won't," said Veronica Alicea-Galvan, who holds court in the city of Des Moines and serves as president of the district and municipal judges' association.
She won't, but we will: The University of Washington owes Chris Petersen $18 million over the life of his five-year contract.
By our calculations, that's enough to cover the same five years of pay for all 18 statewide elected officials.
With enough left over to sweeten the deal when Gov. Jay Inslee trades Dorn to the Texas Rangers.