Vashon was consumed by the Seahawks over the past several weeks, just as much if not more so, than the rest of the region, nation, world and universe. It was a fascinating and enthralling, all-encompassing vortex.

Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. I did a pretty thorough poll of the island. Some were quick to discount it: didn’t care, hated football, didn’t have a television, barbaric sport, bad food, commercialism, rather be reading or gardening, yada yada yada.

OK, but shut up already. We’re in the freaking Super Bowl, don’t you understand? But no, they didn’t, and they’d look at me with a pitying smile, and I’d look at them in exasperation and think maybe I should slam them to the turf like Kam Chancellor. And then I’d catch myself clenching my teeth, my thighs bulging to extraordinary skittles-fed Beast Mode size, and I’d breathe and relax and return to my body.

But I don’t want to be relaxed in my body. I want to be Richard Sherman, with every bit of his bluster.

One day I’m at the dump doing recycling, and I’m really in the zone, 16 bags of mixed paper emptied — not dumped — in three trips. I’m weaving, I’m bobbing, totally efficient in my glass bottles work, leaning the leaking bin up to my chest, deftly tossing 64 pieces into the bin.

The guy next to me compliments my technique, and I scream: “I’m the best recycler on Cemetery Road! Don’t you EVER talk about ME!” He backs away, and I realize I should never respond to recycling comments without a couple minutes to cool down.

It’s still too hot to touch. It was  insane. Not just that we won, but the whole up-swelling of … what was that? I want to somehow harness and bottle that crazy collective energy for the good of our island, region, nation, world and universe.

I grew up in Minnesota, endured four badly lost Super Bowls and have had an NFL inferiority complex chip on my shoulder for 41 years. For me, it’s personal. But I also saw a lot of unexpected fervor among spiritually minded, non-materialistic, enlightened island elders. Places on Vashon that are typically calm pools of positive feng shui were transformed by improvised 12th Man banners made of massive blue tarps. Island Yoga apparently supplied blue and green face paint before class. Just a rumor.

My neighborhood felt particularly frenzied — everyone in my house was electric with excitement, except for the other people who live there with me. We don’t really have a neighborhood in the woods, per se, but I felt like if I did have neighbors, we would have totally watched it together.

I drove past the theater an hour before the game, with its 300-person tailgate party prior to the collective big-screen viewing. It was like a pack of well-organized, highly intelligent, rabid dogs. I honked, enviously imagining swearing and hotdogs and a safe context for small children to drink beer. They screamed, politely, and waved.

Lest we discard Vashon’s version of Seahawks mania as typical mass-culture, pro-sports knuckleheadedness, I think it bears some philosophical consideration.

There are powerful messages in there, somewhere, about who we truly are, and what we’re capable of, about a sense of community, joy, love, peace, brotherhood and how to truly humiliate your opponent — lots of good stuff. Some messages, I think, may be subliminal, unexpected and out of context. Like me writing “No Pot at K2” right here. And some of them are deep and real.

See, if you look closely, you can sense Vashon’s fingerprints all over the Seahawks’ unusual playbook and culture. It’s almost as if they’ve been studying our way of life or perhaps have a secret training camp out here?

Meditation classes, gluten-free, organic, hand-massaged food, on-staff psychologists, praising the players for what they’ve done well as opposed to disciplining them, Non-Violent Communication, I mean, hello, this is the Vashon Playbook!

Maybe I’m just projecting my wish for Vashon to function like a seamless, ultra-coordinated Legion of Boom defense and perfectly polite, calm but devastating offense, coming together to crush the out-of-state invaders and build a brilliantly unique new model of play, thereby galvanizing a heretofore unheard-of sense of community, civic pride and purpose.

Yup, pretty much. I say we take it all, every bit of what the Seahawks did, and let it inspire us: Have wildly self-confident bravado (Richard Sherman), let your action do the talking (Marshawn Lynch), be uncompromisingly positive and optimistic (Coach Pete Carroll), praise a higher power, your mom, the community, the rest of the team, and, if it works, speak exclusively in cryptic clichés (Russell Wilson).

To what end, you ask? Undisputed World Champion Island, that’s what I say. I’m pretty sure this is our time.

— Kevin Joyce is a writer, humorist and father on Vashon.