This afternoon, Dan and I ventured across Lake Pontchartrain to my father’s lakeside house for a family football gathering. In attendance were my dad, my stepmom, my stepsister and her husband and young daughter, Dan, and you-know-who. As with most football shindigs, munchies were present (tortilla chips and salsa, pita chips and hummus, beer and wine, and a dinner that included fried trout, sautéed cabbage, French fries, and blueberry crumble).
In addition, some of the attendees were less enthused than others. My stepsister, for instance, couldn’t care less about the game, while my father and step-brother-in-law couldn’t stop screaming at the television. Although I certainly cared about the outcome, I found it difficult to step away from my laptop long enough to watch more than one play at a time.
I’ll give you three chances to guess which team that we, as a family, were supporting. Here’s a hint: It might have something to do with the sticker on my minivan. Here’s another hint: The team’s catchphrase is "Who Dat" (which even my two-year-old step-niece can say). Here’s yet another: There’s only one football team in New Orleans.
Of course, it looked pretty grim for our undefeated team in the first half of the game. In fact, my father – who’s used to the “jinx” that has plagued the Big Easy for decades – was utterly convinced that the team should just pack it up and head on home. Although the rest of us tried to cheer him up and put the game into perspective, he was beginning to wish he hadn’t cut his morning fishing trip short, just to watch this particular match. Nevertheless, despite a less-than-stellar performance from the defense, our boys pulled it off in the end, beating the Miami Dolphins 46-34.
And all I can say is "The Saints won, the Saints won!" My father’s faith has been restored... again. What does it say about me that, in spite of a lukewarm interest in football, my faith in these particular "saints" never once wavered?
9 hours ago