Who Dat Nation continues to celebrate after the Saints' spectacular win over the much-touted Cardinals in the Dome on Saturday. Moving on to a championship play-off game has never happened in all of franchise history, so the fans and the players are totally psyched. (Although former Saints quarterback -- and famous crybaby -- Bobby Hebert pointed out before the game that current Saints players weren't even born or were mere infants back when the Saints were a reliably bad team, always, as one wag said, "Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory," so maybe they don't feel the press of past history the way the fans do.)
Throughout the city in the days before the game, the sense of excitement and anticipation was nearly palpable. Sacred Heart, a costly Catholic private schools for girls on St. Charles Avenue, had apparently declared Friday Saints Day, and the schoolyard was filled at recess with little-bitty white girls in black and gold jerseys. (I assume the teachers were similarly attired.) Grocery shopping and gas getting on Saturday early afternoon was a madhouse scene, stores and gas stations being PACKED with all the folks who were going to desert the streets at exactly 3:30 pm. (The Times-Picayune reported that crime drops in New Orleans during Saints games, because even thugs and gang-bangers are plunked in front of their TV sets for the duration.) Nearly every person we saw was sporting Saints attire, as I was. (Big Man was saving his for the gig Saturday night; he said it felt weird NOT to be wearing something Saints, like he was naked in public or something.)
In the Dome on Saturday, it was like Mardi Gras came early. Judging from the TV coverage on several channels (stations that didn't have the right to broadcast the game aired everything that happened beforehand, outside the Dome), fans NOT wearing costumes were vastly outnumbered by those who did. There were nuns and clowns and skeletons and Vodou orishas. There were men with painted faces, painted bald (or shaved?) heads, and painted chests. There were wigs galore on both sexes, and there mustn't have been a feather boa left anywhere in the Quarter. Lots of home-made hats -- towering fleur de lis, top hats, dome hats, football hats. (I expect that folks seated behind the hat-wearers at some point must have politely requested the hat to be set aside.) Black and gold sequins sparkled in every camera shot, and there were tons of home-made signs. "No place like Dome." "This house believes." "Going to Miami." "Cardinal gumbo." And on and on.
That first touchdown by the Cards in the first damn play of the game was a stunner, and caused many hearts to flutter with something like doubt. But the way the Saints came roaring back and completely dominated the game, made Big Man say that maybe they LET the Cardinals have that first one in order to build up momentum. I dunno. But it was a wonderful game -- and the fans went wild. Many of us, even at home, were hoarse from screaming afterwards. In sports reports, the anchors and sportscasters were calling the team "Our Saints" over and over and never just "the Saints."
The TV stations interviewed as many members of the Who Dat Nation as they could grab. There was the requisite amounts of "Woo-hoo"ing and hollering, but some of the quotes were really, really poignant. One man choked up when he spoke of going to Saints games in Tulane stadium with his father, now deceased, and how much this win would've meant to his dad. One fan was asked what would happen if the Saints won the Superbowl and the answer brought tears to my eyes.
"If we win the Superbowl, the city will double in size!" "Why?' asked the reporter. "Because then everyone from New Orleans will come home."
If the Saints win the Superbowl, we will all come home. May it be so.
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