Comedian Simon Gibson has experienced something most NFL fans spend their entire lives chasing: sustained success.

Multiple Super Bowl appearances. Years of winning football. Two championships. Another 2–0 start. Jaxon Smith-Njigba becoming one of the best receivers on the planet. A suffocating defense. Mike Macdonald looking like he may have figured out the sport.

And yet Simon Gibson is still not okay.

Welcome back to the Hometown Blues Institute.

Before A.M. Pfeffer can diagnose Simon’s Seahawks fandom, there’s the small matter of figuring out exactly who this person is.

Simon grew up in Portland with what he describes as a magic-wand-making father and a practicing Wiccan mother. His dad currently possesses roughly 150 handmade, crystal-charged magic wands that he refuses to sell, suggesting either an eccentric hobby or preparations for an approaching wizarding war.

Simon also spent years trying to make stand-up work while cycling through jobs that make a person reconsider every decision that led them there — including selling RVs during the pandemic and working inside a grocery-store deli, where one demanding customer forced him to relocate potato salad inside its container so she could receive the “freshest” scoop from the bottom.

Eventually, the conversation reaches football — and the reason Simon became a Seahawks fan turns out to be surprisingly personal.

His parents divorced when he was young. Dad lived in Portland. Mom lived in Seattle. Portland meant school and everyday life; Seattle meant trips to see Mom and something exciting waiting a few hours north.

Seattle became his city. The Seahawks became his team.

In the Claim for Emotional Damages, Simon must prove that a fan who has enjoyed decades of largely competent football, multiple Super Bowl trips and two championships is entitled to describe himself as traumatized.

The Institute has assembled the evidence.

Simon has objections.

Until Exhibit J appears.

Next comes the Seahawks Standard of Living Test, designed to determine how badly sustained competence has distorted Simon’s definition of acceptable football.

Eleven wins and a Wild Card loss. Ten wins and no playoffs. Nine wins and meaningful football in Week 18. Eight wins but victories over your rivals.

Then things get darker.

Eight years without the playoffs.

Ten years.

Fifteen.

Twenty-three years without winning the division.

Fifty-seven years without a Super Bowl.

And somewhere along the way, Simon realizes these are no longer hypothetical Seahawks seasons.

A.M. has simply started describing life as a New York Jets fan.

Finally, Simon undergoes the One-Yard-Line Exposure Test.

Marshawn Lynch at the one. Run or pass?

Eleven defensive linemen. Run or pass?

Marshawn has food poisoning.

Marshawn is 68 years old.

Marshawn isn't even in the stadium.

Eventually, Simon demonstrates signs of recovery.

Then the Institute presents one final scenario:

February 1, 2015.
Super Bowl XLIX.
Second and goal.
Ball on the one.
0:26 remaining.

Run or pass?

Treatment results are conclusive.

And after an afternoon spent discussing the 49ers, Rams, Steelers, Aaron Rodgers and the suspicious amount of attention Simon devotes to teams and players he supposedly doesn't care about, the Institute reaches its diagnosis:

DSM 1.19 — Rivalry Preoccupation Disorder.

Because a championship can fix a season.

It cannot necessarily fix the fan.

Hometown Blues — where we don't analyze your football team.

We diagnose what it’s done to you.