The Seattle Seahawks defeated the New England Patriots in Super Bowl LX on Feb. 8. This game had a special significance to Seattle – more than just making it to the biggest sports event in the U.S.

This game put the Seahawks against the team that they lost to the last time they were in the Super Bowl (thanks to a devastating last-minute interception at the goal-line that prevented a rare back-to-back championship for the Seahawks). This is an especially raw wound as it was later found that the Patriots cheated in their playoff run that year – the widely known “deflategate” scandal that occurred in the 2014 AFC Championship game.

I left my friend’s Super Bowl party early and took the bus towards Seattle. The game had been a slog up to half time and the Seahawks were positioned to win. I was a bit bummed. I had put $50 down towards the Pats winning because I thought they couldn’t be as bad as everyone was saying and the payout would’ve been over twice my bet. Was I wrong, the Pats were SCARED.

I got off the bus just outside the stadium with a minute into the final quarter. I was a bit worried, the streets were all empty. It wasn’t until I really took a look around to see that everyone was so tightly packed into every bar that they smothered all the lights. It was calm out there, save for the flood of texts from a friend who had put $100 down on the Seahawks who had many choice words about my bet. Don’t bet on losers, no matter how much they promise to give you if they win, losers lose.

The game was called. The Seahawks had won and the rest of the night was a blur. This is that story.

All photos credited to Rory Sellers.

From the stadium all the way up Occidental Ave (Pioneer Square, Seattle), the bars were all packed floor to ceiling with fans watching the game on massive 80 inch TVs. As soon as the game was called, everyone immediately poured into the streets to celebrate. The feeling of victory was tangible.

Due to the clown-car style amount of people flooding out of the bars and into the streets, it became impossible for traffic to move. No one driving cared, in fact, they were some of the most vocal fans blaring their horns and filling the streets with smoke from burnouts.

First there was a deafening boom and then another and another. Fireworks started being launched and continued all through the night.

The location where all the partying ended up being decided by a bunch of frat boys on the intersection of First and Yesler who ripped off their shirts and stopped traffic by doing pushups and slapping their wet shirts against the ground.

It must be noted that verticality wasn’t limited to the Pergola.

The feeling of victory was a massive projection both literally and figuratively. It was contagious that night, like the transfer of heat between two objects even if you had never even heard of football before you felt as if something great had personally happened to you.

One drunk kid was launching a roman candle off into the sky with a big candy-eating grin. The sparks were lapping up against some electrical wires. While I was keeping my eyes on getting out of the trajectory of those wires in case they fell, the kid became equally distracted by something, lowering his arm and firing a flare into the crowd. If anyone was hurt they sure didn’t seem to care.

After the cops ran off, people really got excited. What followed was an endless stream of liquor. Even if you weren’t drinking that night you stunk of it just from how much of it was moving around in such a tightly packed place.

It all really turned grim when this guy in a USA jacket interviewing people ended up laying some guy out flat for seemingly no reason. After the scuffle, the USA guy ran off and a police officer strolled over and asked if there was a problem. The guy who got knocked out of his shoes just stared off into space and said that he didn’t know what he did.

While everyone was down partying on First and Yesler, just a block up on Second officers were donning riot gear. There’s something quite unnerving about watching the police casually load bandoliers with rubber bullets and sway side to side over their billy clubs with faces of calm nirvana. I told them to try not to piss off the new mayor and they laughed telling me they’d try not to.

Nobody was really aware of what the police were preparing to do, and the few that did didn’t really care. They continued their partying well into the night. “This is the only time we’ll be 28 and have won the Super Bowl,” said one joyous Seahawks fan.

By the time the cops finally made a move to clear the place out, the majority of the crowd had left. All that remained were a few drunken stragglers who weren’t ready for the night to end and all the empty cans and bottles of liquor people had drunk over the course of the night.