I really have to admire those bloggers who seem to be able to keep posting no matter what. Me, I easily become discombobulated by events, and end up way behind on writing updates for this blog. My hat's off to the other bloggers, and I apologize to my regular readers (most of whom know what's going on, and why I haven't been able to post lately). This omnibus post will have to serve for the bunches I missed.
The Super, Really Super Superbowl
Big Man and I had a few friends over to watch the Big Game -- my son's parain and a friend of ours from New York City. Parain R is a gigantic Saints fan, since like Year One, but our Manhattanite was a "New Dat" -- a person who is a freshly minted member of the Who Dat Nation. We had some fairly trashy but delicious snacks to eat, and good stuff to drink. We actually had re-arranged the furniture in the living room so that everyone had a good view. The three of us New Orleanians were wearing our Saints gear (I had on my new light-up Saints T-shirt that Big Man brought home from Bourbon Street -- the battery pack is something of a pain, but it's worth it, it's so flashy), but our friend from New York didn't own any Saints stuff (yet), so he was just wearing black with a gold scarf.
The game, as everyone in the universe knows by now, was totally amazing, the most watched TV show since records have been kept, and the most interesting Superbowl game ever. We screamed and hollered and hugged each other. Whether the onside kick or Tracy Porter's interception was the game changer and the point at which we knew it was over is still debatable, but it doesn't matter. We won the Superbowl!! It was unbelievable. We laughed, we cried, we called relatives and friends and laughed and cried with them. My son in Atlanta, who doesn't even LIKE football, for God's sake, texted me "OMG." We opened the front door and could hear the horns blowing on boats on the river, car horns blaring, and people all over the neighborhood screaming, and fireworks booming. We could not sit still, and since Big Man had to go to work on Bourbon Street, we hurried out of the house and into the car and into the streets with the other Saints fans.
People driving by us were waving their arms and yelling, "We won! We won!" Other people stepped out into the street and were high-fiving strangers in cars. People had tears streaming down their happy faces. Kids were packed into the backs of pick-up trucks and had their heads poking out of moon-roofs. Even though it was chilly, we rolled down our windows and joined in the general celebrating, hollering and waving our arms too. As we got closer to the Quarter, we could tell there was not going to be any on-street parking -- indeed, some people were abandoning their cars on neutral grounds and weird places -- but we managed to get into the back door of the old Orpheum Theater garage, across the street from the Roosevelt. The NOPD had already blocked off Canal Street like it was Mardi Gras, and there were thousands of Saints fans on the streets, all of them obviously and tremendously happy. (Big Man said later that he had never seen so many people that happy in public in his life.) You couldn't even GET into Bourbon Street, it was already so packed. We skirted the issue by going through the Ritz lobby and out the back door, getting to the 200 block of Bourbon, and threading our way through the whooping, ecstatic crowd -- high-fiving, hugging and kissing strangers the whole way. It was the most amazing experience, and we were still high on the Saints when Big Man got off the stage that night at 1 am -- and believe me, the streets were still full, no one wanting to leave off celebrating. I will always be glad to have been "in that number, when the Saints went marchin' in" to history.
Saints Homecoming
All regular TV programming on three channels was interrupted on the Monday after the Superbowl when the team and the coaches arrived at the New Orleans Airport. Tens of thousands of people, men, women and children of every race and culture (by the way, schools and many businesses had let out early for this) lined the route the Saints' personal cars would take on leaving the airport. Jefferson Parish police had set up barricades to hold the crowds back. People wore their Saints jerseys and T-shirts and jackets (even the media folks), and many held up home-made signs ("Bless You Boys" was common but also "Thank You Saints" as well as "Superbowl Champs").
Big Man and I sat and watched the coverage, flipping between the channels to make sure we didn't miss a thing. Some of the "minor" players stopped to talk to the media, but the headliners just smiled and waved as they headed home (poor things, they're probably sick of talking to the media). The exception was Coach Sean Payton, slowly driving his car with only one hand, as his other hand held the Lombardi trophy aloft, so the crowd could ogle it as he went by. Very, very cool -- and a harbinger of what would happen later on, as you will see. Like nearly everyone else in the city, we had tears in our eyes.
Lombardi Gras
My family made plans for all of us to go to the big Saints celebration parade. The weather was miserable -- cold, low 40s, with a nasty wind blowing, but we were determined to go and be part of it all. Jefferson and Orleans Carnival krewes had loaned floats -- THIS year's floats! -- to make up the parade, and there was going to be both military and high schools marching bands. We packed a couple of folding chairs, bundled up in layers so we all looked like Pillsbury Doughboys, and headed to Poydras Street, near where our sister D's law firm is located. Unfortunately, this was NOT a good spot, as the NOPD had decided to keep Poydras from from crowds in case they needed an emergency route. Boo-hiss. But we were packed on the sidewalk with hundreds of other dedicated Saints fans, with their kids and grandparents, and there was a party atmosphere, even more so than a regular Carnival parade.
Vendors came through the crowd, selling T-shirts and hats and "Bring the Wood" bats (Coach Payton had given every player engraved bats before the Big Game saying the same thing). There were concession stands with hot dogs and burgers and nachos -- if only there had been a hot soup or hot toddy booth they would have made a fortune. Despite our many layers of clothing, we were bloody freezing, but excited and happy. In the crowd, a rumor went around that a mere *11* people had waited to greet the Colts at their airport, and while we conceded that there had been a blizzard up there in Minnesota, we all thought that was just SAD. We all agreed that we would have been there for the Saints, even if they had lost, and even if there had been snow.
The first band in the parade was the Marine Band, and to the crowd's delight and excitement, they played "Let's Get Crunk" and just rocked out -- breaking out of formation and shaking their booties like mad! We all screamed and hollered, we couldn't believe it! When Drew Brees went by, he looked so happy, we were thrilled for him. Stuff was thrown, but we were too far back, and it didn't matter anyway, it wasn't important to catch anything, it was just being there. The Who Dat chant was of course ubiquitous -- and of course, we all joined in.
On the news that night, "Mr. Mardi Gras" Blaine Kern said that it had been the largest crowd for any parade he had ever seen in more than 60 years of parades in New Orleans. The New Orleans police estimated that approximately *800,000 people* were along the Saints parade route -- which is just about the number of the current population of the entire city of New Orleans. Believe dat!
Sean Payton in Orpheus
Coach Sean Payton was the Grand Marshal of the Orpheus Parade and of course the Lombardi trophy rode with him. As he went past Sophie Gumbel Guild, my family's favorite parade spot, he waved it at the crowd. But I learned later, that when the parade reached the part of St. Charles Avenue where the police barricades line the street, Sean stopped the parade, and, with only two security guards to walk with him, carried the trophy along the barricade, letting folks in the crowd touch it. That was emotional enough, but then he did again on *Canal Street*. I heard he told people it was "their" trophy. I got all choked up when I heard it. (I also heard that the trophy spends the night in the home of a different Saints player every night. When Big Man heard, he said he was surprised it wasn't being lent out to every household in New Orleans -- like when was OUR turn??)
Best Mardi Gras Ever
Years and years ago, Pete Fountain told reporter Rosemary James that "every Mardi Gras is the best one ever," and to us natives and afficionados, that is certainly true. But this Mardi Gras, this Superbowl Mardi Gras, really WAS the best one ever. It was certainly the happiest -- and the next day the NOPD reported that crime was down 35% from the year before, even though there were about twice the number of people in the streets. There were lots and lots of flying pigs and frozen devils from Hell being frozen over. Big Man and I counted 13 Lombardi trophies -- costumes, not props -- in the French Quarter and the Marigny, and the general Mardi Gras color scheme was black and gold instead of purple, green, and gold. (I admit that Big Man and I were a part of that.) Even the weather cooperated and was warmer than expected and the sky was bright blue and the sun shone like a blessing. I kept saying over and over, "I'm so happy, I'm so happy" and so I was -- and so was everyone else.
Saints Grinches
I just want to briefly address the few vocal Saints nay-sayers that have received a little attention in the media (letters to the editor, mass emails, blogs, etc.). There are apparently a few individuals who have been saying publicly nasty things about Tom Benson and company being greedy and holding the city over a barrel, and that the Superbowl was "only a football game" and that the win and the euphoria over it will be short-lived, and not mean anything in the larger scheme of things in the life of the city -- that it will have no real effect on the recovery or on race relations or on anything important.
I hope that no one who knows me and the work I have participated in for various social justice causes for the past 30-odd years will find cause to fault me. But these remarks show a complete misunderstanding of what the Saints win has done for the people of the city, for our sense of ourselves, for our hope and expectations of the future. For nearly everyone, the feeling is, If this can happen, anything is possible. This is not to be despised. There is also an undeniable positive effect on the way the rest of the country perceives the city, and this too, should not be underestimated.
Finally, publicly disparaging the Saints and the Superbowl euphoria is elitist. It's saying that while the great unwashed masses are stupid and easily fooled by something worthless like football, these hoity-toity know-it-alls are the ones who REALLY know what's going on. It's bull***t, and mean.
There really is a better, more hopeful feeling in the city. It really does mean something. I, for one, am very very glad to join in the rejoicing and the happiness. It's up to us to make it last, and to make it mean even more. But I won't let those grinches steal our joy and hope.
