• The Seth Wickersham/Seahawks story. The respected Wickersham reported from a slew of sources, basically, that Seattle cornerback Richard Sherman cannot get over the game-losing interception from the Super Bowl 27 months ago, and his frustration continues to point mostly at coach Pete Carroll for enabling the play-call at the New England one-yard line, and at quarterback Russell Wilson for throwing the interception.
I’m going to re-live the key play in a moment, but I’ll just say this: Those who live in the past are condemned to repeat it. I have not spoken to Wickersham’s sources, but I do not doubt the veracity of his story. And if Sherman continues—as he did last year, when he verbally harangued offensive coordinator Darrell Bevell on the sidelines of a game—to bring up that losing play, Seattle should trade him after the season. (I’d say now, but without significant reinforcements at the position on a contending team, losing Sherman would be a major blow to going far in the playoffs this year.)
One other point: This is, in part, Carroll’s doing. He has created a don’t-worry-be-happy atmosphere in which it’s almost okay to be insolent because it’s part of his freedom environment. It’s fine when you’re winning, not so fine when you’re not dominating. Now, I don’t think the Seahawks will trade Sherman or let him go this year, because they’re a cornerback-needy team, and premier cornerbacks like Sherman are rare. My guess: Sherman will be on his best behavior this season (at least as it relates to this incident, and further disruptive sideline incidents) because he knows all media and team eyes will be on him because of this story. But 2018? Nothing is guaranteed.
• The Seahawks play in question. So I went back over the weekend and watched the play in question a few times on NFL Game Rewind. Actually I watched four plays from New England’s Super Bowl win over Seattle. Seattle ran four snaps on third-and-one or third-and-two in that Super Bowl. On three of those, Marshawn Lynch ran the ball—for zero, three and zero yards. (Wilson threw an incompletion on the fourth third-and-short play.) On those three Lynch runs, New England didn’t have its full package of run-stoppers in the game. On each, 335-pound Vince Wilfork and 325-pound Sealver Siliga were on the defensive front with lighter defensive linemen—and, in fact, Lynch was stopped for no gain on the first of those plays, when New England had only two down linemen (Wilfork and Siliga) on the field.
Now to the ultimate play. Second and goal from the New England four-foot line, with 26 seconds to play and Seattle with one timeout left. When Wilson came to the line, he saw this across from him, from his left to right: Wilfork, 335, on the left tackle … Siliga, 325, on the left guard … Alan Branch, 324, on the right guard … Chris Jones, 309, on the right tackle. On the three previous short-yardage runs in the game, Seattle faced New England alignments with two defensive tackles in the game; now there were four. If Bevell wanted to call Lynch’s number here, once, no one would have faulted him. That’s his money back, on the money play of the season. But would he have gotten in? We’ll never know, but based on the mediocrity of the offensive line and New England’s approach, I’d say it’s highly unlikely Lynch would have scored.
So let’s say he doesn’t score. Now it’s third-and-goal, with either one or two plays left. (Seattle would likely have called time after the second-down failure, and thrown on third down. An incompletion would have given Wilson a fourth-down try.) In the end, Seattle chose the element of surprise, throwing on second down, and Wilson’s throw for Ricardo Lockette was a millisecond late and Malcolm Butler made the play of his life to collide with Lockette at the same time he picked off the ball at the goal line.
The conclusion: No one can bitch if Bevell calls the running play on second down. But I feel strongly that Seattle would have had to throw it or get a fluky Wilson scramble to get the ball in the end zone to win—regardless of down.
