Crazy Town: NFL Opener

The NFL, in their wisdom, chose New Orleans and the Saints to officially open the 2010-2011 professional football season, and last Thursday, September 9, as the date. (I assume the NFL was trying to avoid the 9/11 anniversary weekend and so chose a weekday.) They planned a concert with nationally-known recording artists -- pretty little Taylor Swift and the perennial Dave Mathews. There were, of course, complaints that more local acts were not featured. We were told that the NFL made these particular choices so there would be "wide national appeal for their national audience"! Like our New Orleans musicians don't have "wide national appeal"! What a crock!

While their choice of this city and this team for this event was sensible, yes, even wise, then they dropped the ball by figuring that they could run the thing themselves. No matter what you can criticize New Orleans for, and of course there are many things, we know how to run musical festivals and, for God's sake, parades! But apparently nobody at the NFL saw fit to use our expertise in these areas.

The giant concert stage took several days to build, over the granite steps of Washington Artillery Park over Decatur Street looking toward Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral. It was high-tech to nth degree, with fancy lights and what looked like millions of miles of cables. It was very impressive. The thing was, the parade was also supposed to go right down Decatur Street -- how was that supposed to work?? In order to stand in front of the stage, there was a lottery ticket process, in addition to the VIP-only area. Because of the parade, extra police and security had to posted on the day of the parade so that the crowd could be efficiently moved away from the stage for the parade to pass -- because the NFL wanted the concert AND the parade to go on *at the exact time and place*. (I guess to save on TV cameras?) It was a crazy idea.

On the days leading up to Thursday, the city went crazy. Stores on Magazine Street, from swanky dress stores to erotic lingerie shops, had window displays of black and gold merchandise. Even the expensive bridal shop was showing wedding dresses topped with Saints jerseys!! Saints banners -- Two Dat, Bless You Boys, World Champions, Do It Again, Our City/Our Boys, and of course, dozens of Who Dats -- fluttered from homes and businesses. The best was the giant handmade banner on the fence of Eleanor McMain School, which, besides the inevitable Who Dat sign, had done a portrait of Vikings quarterback Brett Favre sitting splay-legged on the football field, with the legend, "I've fallen and can't get up." (Big Man said it was cruel, but I thought it was funny.)

To make things a little more crazy in terms of logistics, it rained Thursday afternoon, pretty much straight up to the time the parade was supposed to roll. Of course, this being New Orleans, the town had taken this very, very seriously. City Hall was closed; most schools closed by 12 noon; even some law firms shut early. (Yes, I'll confess now: I cancelled a church meeting on Thursday evening.) When the rain finally stopped about 4:45 pm, officials started the parade early to take advantage of the stoppage. But they needn't have worried -- the clouds sped past and blue skies reigned til the sun set. The rain didn't matter at all, because Who Dat Nation was out in force.

Big Man and I parked the car in the area where he usually would've parked for a night at his Bourbon Street gig (100 block of Carondelet or St. Charles are his usual spots) and walked to the nightclub for Big Man to store his horn case til needed. Then we walked over to Decatur, corner Iberville. Along the way, indeed, starting at Poydras as folks streamed to the Superdome, there were crowds and crowds of people dressed in Saints jerseys, black and gold outfits, and various kinds of costumes. (There were also a few brave Minnesota fans in purple and the occasional blonde Viking wig, but they were vastly outnumbered.) Many people had created Saints themed outfits for their babies and small children, and thus there were big and little Reggie Bushes and Drew Breeses and Jeremy Shockeys. In other cases, moms had gone all out and decked little bitty girls in black and gold tutus, studding their hair with shiny fleur de lis barrettes and/or giant lamé bows. Some people had treated it like a mini-Mardi Gras, with big shiny black and gold beads and even some costumes.

There was a real spirit of comaraderie and community among the Saints fans along the parade route. A family near us had brought their elderly paw-paw in his wheelchair (and with his oxygen tanks!), pushed to the front by the barricade so he wouldn't miss a thing. Despite the signs saying "No chairs along the parade route" (I'm sure an NFL rule -- which cruelly prevents the elderly and disabled not in wheelchairs from hanging), two pretty Creole girls across the street were standing dangerously on folding chairs, shaking their booties to the bands as they went by. (By the way, Big Man says he thinks saying "pretty Creole girls" is redundant, since it's his considered opinion that all Creole women are, by definition, attractive.)

But the end result of this excitement and craziness was a big dud. The NFL staged the parade and concert for the benefit of their TV audience (and sponsors) and we, the New Orleans Saints fans on the street, were mere props. It was the choppiest, cheesiest parade I have ever not seen the end of. For one thing, the NFL decreed the parade had to stop *for every commercial*. Second, the parade also had to stop for the concert -- and the crowd on the street for the parade carefully stage-managed in front, and then just as artificially, moved back out of the way for the parade to continue after number. For us poor peons on the street, this meant in practice that the damn parade ground to a halt like every five minutes. It was awful. It was worse than Bacchus on its worst night.

We might have been able to stand it if the parade itself had been anything good. But even the bands didn't play when they got stuck in front of you, and the floats were nothing special, all floats we had seen before, with no signs to let us know who was supposed to be on board. And each and every float was marred by disgusting corporate logos and signs and banners (and those corporations won't get a boost from ME by complaining about them by name), and the throws, such as they were, were all cheesy corporate beads (that didn't even light up!) and a few NFL visors. I tell you, it sure brought home why we never, ever, ever want to allow corporate sponsorship of Carnival. It would ruin it for good.

We could only stand a little of this stupid start-for-a-little-while-and-then-stop-for-a-much-longer-while parade. (High point to me: seeing Deuce Macalister hoofing it hard down Decatur, to get to the Dome on time, because of course, with all this stop and start, nobody at the parade was gonna make kick-off.) Big Man and I caught a handful of stuff which we promptly gave away, and then we walked back to the good ol' Country Flame, a marvelously inexpensive and delicious restaurant on the edge of the Quarter. We got them to turn on the game channel and watched the end of the pre-game festivities on TV, seeing Dave Mathews joined onstage by Trombone Shorty and Kermit (so they did allow a few locals, after all), just before the gigantic fireworks finale. (They were sure impressive, and we could hear them clearly on Iberville.)

The NFL loaded so many damn commercials at the start of the game that we missed the coin toss and the start of the new Who Dat chant tradition, but we were able to view the handshake of the team captains and quarterbacks and all the raised forefingers to symbolize "we're all unified" that Drew Brees devised (that sweet young man must really like ritual).

The game was almost TOO exciting, with all the back and forth, and wasn't particularly pretty (but there's no such thing as an ugly win!), but the Boys did pull it out. Bourbon Street, which had been empty during the game, erupted and the fun began. It was like a mini-Carnival or mini-Superbowl on Bourbon, and Big Man and the band at the Blues Club played til 2 am. (And I stayed the whole time! But I can't do *that* too often, not as young as I used to be.)