A premature reflection on the Seattle Seahawks’ 2019 season acknowledges that the only fitting coda always needed to be an improbable one — something preposterous like an unforeseeable reunion with Marshawn Lynch, of all people, the Beast of Yore.
The team we follow, for better or worse, intends to ride Lynch, again for better or worse, into the sunset of a season that saw them pegged in the preseason as third-place NFC West finishers, then winners of too many impossibly close games, then as a conduit for Russell Wilson’s long-awaited MVP candidacy, then #1 seed holders after 15 weeks, while getting blown out twice in December and being ravaged by injuries at the worst possible time.