We bought 4 strips of tickets for the playoffs. We had to: it was big bucks and all, but I was a little league coach and our boys were at the prime age for memory making. We had nosebleed seats with our backs literally against the wall. Now some venues will provide a little extra space for those intrepid souls who expend all the energy to get up to those seats, but not the Kingdome. No, we sat bolt upright against the curvature of that concrete at the top of the 300 level. The noise level was far above anything I have ever felt before or since. Palpable, physical pain, no doubt caused by some quirk of sonic physics, was assaulting our ears. We shouted in each others ears to be heard. The wave would start and go on and on, separating by levels and then joining back up. We laughed and screamed like fools. We hugged strangers and we chanted Edgaaaar, and Juuuniorrrrr, and Joeeeey all the way to the parking lot. When I think back to those nights in the dome and remember the Frozen Malts and King Dogs I smile. The kids are grown and scattered. My wife and I are empty nesters and when we talk about the M’s, it’s never about the 116 year. It is and will be forever about falling in love with a team for the first time in my life.
By John Mitchell