I am no expert on football, but I know enough to realize the Seahawks killed it in the Super Bowl. I could have guessed that even without watching the game—the bonfire and chant-filled streets of Capitol Hill (of the entire city, really) said it all. The Seahawks had done it—the 12th man had triumphed and the victory was sweet.

But not as sweet as the vanilla cupcakes I ate.

The thing is, I willingly admit I wouldn’t know a good game from a bad game in terms of technicality on the field. The hard hits and butt slaps all look pretty much the same to me. Players run, players crash, players do weird dances in the end zone and suddenly there are Skittles everywhere. The Legion of Boom sounds like an episode of Game of Thrones to me.

I have never been taught football strategy. I honestly hadn’t watched a single game the entire way through without falling asleep until this Super Bowl—the only thing I know about last year’s match is that Beyoncé won. So, really, I’m probably the last person an avid sports reader would want to see writing about the Seahawk triumph.

But for those of you tired of the football shop talk and procedural jargon, I can give you a very brief, digestible recap from an observer—the game from the perspective of a Super Bowl newbie.

To me, football appears to be something like really aggressive hugging. It takes some strategy and a lot of head butting. And the Seattle Seahawks are really good at it.

Moments into Sunday’s game, we got points without even really trying. Apparently, this can happen to the defensive team with something called a “safety.” Complex explanation aside, the offense screwed up—a poorly timed snap made the football fly past the quarterback and into the end zone. A mistake to be set on replay about 200 times. Twelve seconds into the game, the Seahawks had already made two points—the quickest ever in Super Bowl history.

From that point on, it felt that all screen time of the Broncos—particularly of their quarterback Peyton Manning—was simply footage of deep, troubling, painful despair. As the game progressed, and the Seahawks slowly went from winning to pulverizing, I legitimately wanted the Broncos to score just to see a few of those frowns upside-down for a fleeting moment of joy.

We went on to win with bursts and booms of more confetti than I had ever seen in one place at one time in my entire life. The crowd slipped into a frenzy, 12th man flags flew proudly, and through it all, Manning sulked sadly into the locker rooms.

Despite our win, his face will forever haunt my first Super Bowl memory.