"Do you want to hear the most annoying sound in the world?"
Fans of the movie "Dumb and Dumber" will remember this scene, when Lloyd Christmas, played by Jim Carrey, asks that question, then proceeds to make a high pitch wailing noise that fits the description.
"EHHHHHHH!"
Playing on the road in the NFL, especially in Seattle, is kind of like that — except its 70,000 Lloyd Christmases, all making the most annoying sound in the world at the exact same time.
Handling crowd noise as an NFL player is just part of the job. Half the time it works in your favor, half the time it works against you. My old coach, Mike Shanahan, used to say that there was no sweeter sound in the world than going on the road in the NFL and making 70,000 people fall silent. It is great to win a game in front of your home fans, but to win on the road is a different kind of special. It's not just our 53 vs. their 53, after all. It's the 12th man, too, that must be defeated — and Seattle's 12th man is so involved that they trademarked the phrase.
Every time an opposing offense jumps offsides, they get louder. Every delay of game. Every obvious miscommunication. Every quarterback who shakes his head then points to his helmet. It elicits a frenzied roar that can feel like a tidal wave coming to bury you. Your mistakes embolden the frothing fans to scream louder and harder, making the ever-important communication of tactics harder to accomplish.
One thing that Europeans find hard to understand about American football is all of the starting and stopping, the huddles and discussions.
"What could they possibly be talking about?" they wonder. "Just play the game!"
But that's not how football works. The tactics contain so much detail and nuance that robust language is created to choreograph the movement of every one of the 22 players on the field, and this must be constantly communicated. You can't "just play". If you tried, the other side wouldn't need a crowd to bury you — you'd do it to yourself.
Crowd noise matters. How much? In 2020, the COVID year, we gained an interesting perspective. Games were played with no fans in the stands — which meant no crowd noise — and the result was the best year for quarterbacks in the history of the sport.
Why?
Because the quarterback stepped to the line of scrimmage with the game on the line, on the road, and instead of hearing the deafening cries of the opposition, there was silence. He could work the snap-count, get the defense to jump, audible the play, call out the coverages and give last second instructions to his teammates, all game long, all in an indoor voice.
It was a quarterback's dream, but it tipped the scales toward the offense. And that's not how football was meant to be played.
In places like Seattle, with the fans in the stands, it isn't a dream to play quarterback. It can be a nightmare. Unless, that is, you're prepared. Unless you have practiced with crowd noise. You've perfected your silent count. You know all the hand signals, the game plan is fairly simple, and you are confident you can execute it. When everyone is on the same page, it is a lot easier going into a hostile environment. But if one guy on offense is confused, it can spell disaster.
The Seahawks are hoping the guy they confuse is Broncos quarterback, Bo Nix, and they'll be counting on the 12th Man to help them do it.
But there is another way to handle the noise that will make your silent count unnecessary and your hand signals go unused: cut the power. From the opening kickoff, dominate the opponent. Run away with it. Go up by two touchdowns in the first quarter and make it obvious to everyone at Lumen Field who the better team is.
Make 70,000 Lloyd Christmases fall silent. You do that, and there will be no sweeter sound.
About the Author:
Former NFL wide receiver and tight end Nate Jackson played six seasons for the Broncos and is the author of the New York Times Best Selling book "Slow Getting Up."
