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like it was going right into wide receiver
Ricardo Lockette’s hands. Instead, Patriots
cornerback Malcolm Butler stepped up and
snatched the ball—and tore the hearts out
of Seahawks fans. It was jaw-dropping.
No matter how many times you replayed
it, it seemed unfathomable.
After the play, Wilson clapped his
hands nonchalantly. Shoot. Even today, he
refuses to dwell on it. “Life is really about
adjusting to adversity—and adversity is
only temporary,” he tells me. “I’m a neutral
thinker. It’s great to be positive and I am
very positive, but positivity sometimes
doesn’t work. The thing about negativ-
it y, though, is that it always works. And
it always works negatively.”
This is Wilson’s mental coach, Trevor
Moawad, at work. Moawad met Wilson in
2009 when he was t he director of perfor-
mance for the IMG Academy in Bradenton,
Florida, and started working with him
in 2012. Now, in addition to engineering
Wilson’s mental game, he’s also a partner
in yet another venture, a coaching f irm
for CEOs called Limitless Minds.
“We never talked about that moment,”
Moawad says. “I k new t he cit y of Seatt le
would struggle to get over it. But I never
worried for a moment that Russell would.”
Instead of watching the play over and over
and analyzing what could have been done
differently, Moawad assembled a greatest-
hits reel of successful plays, going as far
back as Wilson’s high school and college
days. The idea was to reinforce the notion
that Wilson is a fourth-quarter finisher,
that The Interception was a f luke, one
of many plays that would happen over
a lifetime career—not the def ining one.
“We didn’t pretend it didn’t happen—it
happened,” Moawad says. “But we didn’t
give it more power than it deser ved.”
Moawad’s mental voodoo seems to
work. “I haven’t seen anything shake him,”
says Cliff Avril, who played with Wilson
through the Super Bowl years and retired
in 2018 due to an injur y. “Honest ly, not h-
ing moves him. He will stay consistent.”
So consistent that just two days after
the crushing Super Bowl defeat, Wilson
showed up to meet w it h cancer patients at
the Children’s Hospital, right on schedule.
“I don’t think anybody thought he would
come,” says Allison Broadgate, director
of the Strong Against Cancer initiative.
“Showing up after something like that
shows our families exactly what he had
been telling them for so many years—that
perseverance is key.”
football and baseball at the University of
Richmond and a younger sister who plays
basketball for Stanford. His mother worked
as a nurse, and his late father, Harrison,
played football and baseball at Dartmouth
and brief ly made the San Diego Chargers,
but was cut and became a lawyer.
Until sixth grade, he was a “bad” kid,
he tells me, a bully. (I have a hard time
ever believing that Wilson has ever been
a bad anything.) “I was going to church to
see the cute girls,” he says, impishly, “and
then in sixth grade, I had a dream that my
dad passed away. And that Sunday, I went
to church, and I just start bawling all of
sudden. And that’s when my life kind of
changed.” That, he says, is when he fell in
love with Jesus.
Wilson grew up playing football and
baseball; a star second baseman, he was
drafted by the Baltimore Orioles following
high school but went to college instead,
playing both sports at North Carolina State
before transferring to the University of
Wisconsin for his senior year. He remains
a dual threat: His professional baseball
rights are held by the New York Yankees,
and he attended spring training the past
two seasons.
In the 2012 NFL draft, he wasn’t cho-
sen until the third round. Listed at 5'10"
and 5/8 inches, he was largely considered
too short for an NFL quarterback, but
Seahawks general manager John Schneider
convinced head coach Pete Carroll to take
a chance. It paid off: Wilson beat out Matt
Flynn, who the Seahawks had just signed
as a free agent for $19.5 million. The next
season, the Seahawks clobbered the Denver
Broncos and a fading Peyton Manning,
43–8 at the Super Bowl.
The Seahawks never looked back. In
April, the team agreed to pay Wilson $140
million ($107 million guaranteed) to keep
him in town until 2023. (Whether he’s the
highest- or second-highest-paid player
depends on how you do the numbers:
Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Carson
Wentz’s $128 million contract comes with
$900,000 more guaranteed money.)
Wilson’s new contract was preceded
by some drama. There had been rumors
that he was looking to be traded to the
New York Giants, since New York made
more sense for Ciara’s career, too. The
rumors were getting loud enough to keep
the Seahawks’ Twitter awake at night. But
on April 15, he announced his new deal, in
his unusual way, in a now-famous social
media video made in his bed, with Ciara
nestled up against him.“Yo, Seattle,” he
said, conjuring a Barry White baritone,
“We got a deal.” Ciara, peeking from the
covers, murmurs, “Go Hawks.”
Not long after, teammates Tyler Lockett
and D.J. Fluker released their version.
(Ciara was played by Fluker, an offen-
sive guard who weighs 342 pounds.) “Go
Hawks!” Fluker says, popping out from
behind a blanket.
“That’s a nightmare to see,” Wilson
laughs, “but hilarious. It was a good time.”
Key to Wilson’s success has been his
relationship with wide receiver Doug
Baldwin, who has an uncanny ability
to catch seemingly impossible throws
hurled downfield in a game’s dwindling
moments. But Baldwin unexpectedly
retired at the end of last season due to
multiple injuries. Now, Wilson will be
throwing to former number-two receiver
Tyler Lockett and rookie D.K. Metcalf, a
second-round pick from Ole Miss. If he
can connect with them the way he did
with Baldwin, the Seahawks f igure to
be ver y dangerous in 2019.
Yet Wilson does not always get the
respect afforded to, say, Aaron Rodgers
or Drew Brees. Maybe it’s because the
Seahawks’ style of play—run f irst, spread-
ing around the targets to multiple receiv-
ers—isn’t the kind that makes the critics
and sports fans drool.
Or it could be because of the play that
led to arguably the worst interception in
Super Bowl history.
“AMNESIA ,” WILSON SAYS. “YOU’VE GOT TA
have amnesia. You’ve gotta be able to
focus on one play at a time.”
Amnesia is how Wilson keeps his mind
on the play that is happening right now,
not the one before or the next one. It’s
also how he puts that 2015 Super Bowl
interception behind him, an error against
the New England Patriots so shocking
that it spawned memes, documentaries,
and endless debates about the wisdom of
attempting a slant pass from the 1-yard
line when Marshaw n Ly nch is your run-
ning back.
The game was a brawl, with three lead
changes and a heavily injured Seahawks
squad taking more hits with each quarter.
(Cornerback Jeremy Lane broke his arm
and tore his ACL; defensive end Cliff
Avril was taken out with a concussion.)
With 26 seconds left, the Seahawks were
four points down on the 1-yard line. Pete
Carroll called for a pass. The slant looked
