I have been a Saints fan since I moved to New Orleans in 1985. Definitely a carpetbagger fan but a fan nonetheless. It was hard not to adopt the Saints as my NFC team (they didn’t completely replace my Pats, but close). The Saints play in the Superdome, which is the same stadium as Tulane uses for football. Depending on the schedules of home/away one can go to a Tulane game on Saturday night and stay out in the French Quarter all night, then roll into the Saints game on Sunday. Of course, bloody mary’s are involved…very spicy blody mary’s with lots of celery and other ingredients not easily found outside of Louisiana.
Side note about bloody mary’s: I think of them like sushi. I don’t eat sushi outside of Japan, and I cannot drink drink bloody mary’s outside of New Orleans. They aren’t as fresh, don’t taste right, and not nearly enough love (or bushido) went into making them.
Some of the most fun experiences in my life occurred in the Superdome. The Tulane home game parties were fun, of coure. But the Saints game were incredible. I remember clearly going to a Saints game that was on Monday Night Football and the Saints were already out of playoff contention (of course) but were a good team. This was in the days when their divisional rivals the 49ers (Montana, Young, Rice, et al) and the (Los Angeles) Rams were really good. Philadelphia was going to the playoffs if they won. But the Saints played hard behind Bobby Hebert (from Cutoff, La…a side note later on herein) and won. It was the #1 electric sporting event in my life and totally surpasses any Super Bowl I have ever been to. The crowd was insane, and the game didn’t even matter.
The Saints were never supposed to win. I don’t mean the Super Bowl. They were never supposed to get nearly this far…barley above .500 was the most they were ever supposed to hope for. This was part of being a Saints fan. It was understood. Now, they have actually won the whole shebang. This is relatively equivalent to waking up and learning that interstellar travel is a piece of cake. Seriously, I think the world is going to feel like a different place tomorrow. It’s probably how Red Sox fans feel these days. Anything is possible.
Side note on Cutoff, La: we used to go fishing down in Grand Isle. This was a small island that is in the delta of the Mississippii River as it rolls into the Gulf of Mexico. The current is incredibly strong there and we would fish for enormous catfish and sheepshead and anything else that would bite the hook. Anyway, on the way down to Grand Isle, which was exactly 100 miles from New Orleans down a long and winding road through the bayou, we would pass through the burning sugar cane fields and Cutoff, the home of QB Bobby Hebert. We stopped off in Cutoff, as an homage to Bobby, for gas and a poboy at a tiny little hole in the wall greasy spoon. I ordered a catfish poboy as I was wont to do. We ordered Dixie longnecks and it was damn near frozen in the bottle. The waitress asked us if we wanted to try the turtle soup which was just made. Normally, I think we would have said “no” because we were in a hurry to get our hooks in the water but we said “sure.” The turtle soup came straightaway and the waitress brought dry vermouth and poured about a shot over the soup. I picked up the spoon and then had the single greatest meal I have ever had in my life. Bar none.
That’s why I love New Orleans and Louisiana. There was interesting people and situations all around you. You just had to stop and partake. The Saints win takes me back to all of that and makes me think of all of those people who are overwhelmed and thrilled by all of this “Super Bowl champion” stuff. The Saints fanship truly provided a cohesion down there and they must be going silly now. Not just on Bourbon Street but in Cutoff and Grand Isle and every other place I had the pleasure to visit.
The Tulane school of architecture would throw and annual costume party in the French Quarter called the Beaux Arts Ball. It was a pretty big deal, as I recall. Of course we went for reasons unclear now. I was dressed as the remaining Blues Brother, briefcase, Raybans, and all. In the end, we were onstage with the band (Guadalcanal Diary) and hanging with the kicker from the Saints. I’ll leave his name out of this because we later went to an after-party at his house and he was supposed to be at practice the next day.
It’s hard to imagine that Mardi Gras will actually feel like downtime this year in NOLA.
Anyway…Who Dat?!
