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For those of you who know that I'm from the Big Easy, it might come as no surprise that I was celebrating in the French Quarter on Sunday night, following the New Orleans Saints' historic Super Bowl win against the Indianapolis Colts. Normally, Dan and I would be in Los Angeles by now, preparing for our Beverly Hills Shorts Festival, but as soon as we knew that the Saints were going to be in the Super Bowl for the first time ever, our plans inevitably changed. After all, we were determined to be a part of this once-in-a-lifetime event – and we knew that celebrating with our fellow New Orleanians in the Quarter would be far more memorable than seeing the game in Miami.
And, man, oh, man, was it ever a memorable experience. Although we were invited to two different Super Bowl parties – one at my godfather's house in Metairie, the other at my stepbrother's place in Mid City – we opted instead to see the big game from the comfort of The Kerry Irish Pub, our favorite watering hole in the French Quarter. Of course, we were a little late to the party – traffic, as you might have guessed, was a nightmare in downtown New Orleans. But, luckily, after being in the car for over an hour and a half, and beginning to believe we were going to miss the kick-off, we finally found a parking spot at the Harrah's Casino garage on Poydras Street.
Soon afterward, we were making a beeline for the Kerry, where the owner, Doris, had laid out a spread of hot dogs, chili, salsa, chips, brownies, and the like for her regular customers as well as the out-of-towners (many of whom were dressed in team jerseys). Happily, we were just in time for the pre-game show, so we grabbed some vittles, bought a couple of beers, took our place beside the covered pool table, and waited – with a whole mess of other die-hard Saints fans – for the game to begin.
Although it didn't look so promising for the Saints during the first quarter, Dan and I remained hopeful. After all, despite widespread predictions that the Colts were going to wipe the floor with the Saints, the score wasn't all that high, and by the start of the second half, it was clear that the Saints were going to fight hard for this one. As Coach Sean Payton, Quarterback Drew Brees, and the other Saints have been saying for a while now, this Super Bowl wasn't just significant for the team – a win would mean something to the entire city of New Orleans, perhaps signifying that, despite the death and destruction that Hurricane Katrina left behind in 2005, the spirit of this unique place couldn't be broken.
As the fourth quarter progressed, the tension and excitement continued to grow inside the Kerry – and, no doubt, in bars, hotels, and homes throughout the city. Everyone – including me and Dan – were alternately jumping up and down and shaking our heads in disbelief. Moments before the Saints scored their final touchdown, Dan sent a text to his brother (who, by the way, was rooting for the Colts) that read, “watch out... pic six coming!” Even today, he's still tickled that he called the game-winning play before it happened.
Of course, when it happened, there were still a few minutes left in the game, and everyone in the Kerry knew that, with Peyton Manning on the other side, anything was possible. Our adrenaline was pumping, our eyes were glued to the television, and a few of us looked as though fainting was a high probability. But our boys did it – they managed to rattle the mighty Colts, the team that had been favored by many analysts, broadcasters, and former coaches. And you should have heard the collective cheer when the Colts missed their chance for a comeback, and the Saints were declared the winners of the 44th Super Bowl.
Naturally, the cheers didn't stop there. Once the game had ended, people poured out of bars and hotels throughout the Quarter, like streams of black-and-gold cockroaches, and all night long, car horns were honking, Mardi Gras beads were flying, and people were singing “When the Saints Go Marching In,” shouting “Who Dat!” and dancing in the streets. Dan and I have never seen the Quarter so crowded before – not even for Mardi Gras. By midnight, Royal Street was so packed that it resembled Bourbon Street on a normal weekend, and Bourbon Street itself was teeming with so many revelers that Dan and I decided to watch all the action from the relative safety of a Lucky Dog cart at the corner of Bourbon and Conti. For a long time, we stood there, watching strangers (some of whom were dressed in crazy outfits, like black tutus and a black-and-gold Boba Fett costume) hug and high-five one another. It was the only night that people actually wanted to touch a cop – I saw many people (drunk or simply elated) embrace them, too.
As on any other night, we saw a few unhappy folks – girls with tear-stained cheeks, men yelling at their girlfriends. Alcohol, unfortunately, can bring out the worst in some people. But, most of the folks we saw were delighted – stunned but thrilled that the Saints had managed to achieve the ultimate win – not just for themselves, but for a city still on the mend. The win offered a spiritual boost that will resonate for a long time. Even today, while Dan was at the grocery store, people were still shouting “Who Dat!” at one another.
I could go on and on, psychoanalyzing this incredible event, speculating on its lasting significance, and questioning Peyton Manning's choice not to shake Drew Brees's hand at the game's end (which, incidentally, seemed pretty classless to me, especially considering Peyton's personal connection to the Saints and the city of New Orleans), but better writers than I have already tackled all of the above over the past two days. So, I'll just leave you with this: Seeing that it's a “Monday Munchies” post, I could have focused on the food of Super Bowl Sunday, but sometimes, we need more than food to nourish us – sometimes, we require spiritual fulfillment, too. And that's what this win represented for me, Dan, my family, and everyone else who celebrated on Sunday night – the fulfillment of a decades-old wish and a citywide dream – something that many New Orleanians (whether former or current residents) believed would never happen in their lifetime, something that many of us craved in the wake of the storm that nearly destroyed the Crescent City.
While the Saints' Super Bowl win might not turn everything around in New Orleans, bring back every lost soul, and rebuild every devastated neighborhood, it certainly gives us hope in the face of adversity and makes us realize that anything – and I mean, anything – is possible, and that sort of nourishment lasts a lot longer than the food we ate on Sunday – no matter how much we enjoyed our post-game seafood gumbo at the Oceana Grill. Of course, if the record-breaking television viewership is any indication, New Orleanians weren't the only ones curious about this historic game – which means, no matter who you were rooting for on Sunday night, you probably sensed that this game was part of a larger story – a story that will continue to play out tomorrow at the special Saints parade downtown... and long after that.
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P.S. Forgive my terribly grainy photos – my camera broke just before kick-off, so I had to rely on my cell phone, which is, well, less than reliable. Nevertheless, I persevered.
Lately, I haven't had much time for anything but travel research. I'm not complaining, mind you – I've really enjoyed traversing the Florida Keys, in search of little-known eateries and experiences – but I do miss having the time for other activities, like blogging, beta-reading, and playing with my kitty.
I've been working so hard on my Florida Keys travel guide, in fact, that my parents have both expressed concern. They each believe that I need to step away from the laptop for a little while, and they each suggested that I spend the break watching my beloved New Orleans Saints take on the Minnesota Vikings – which will be happening in a matter of minutes. After all, this is a historic moment for native New Orleanians – the Saints have never gotten this close to the Superbowl before, and if Archie Manning's old team gets a chance to play Peyton Manning's current one, I can't even imagine the party that will erupt on the streets of the French Quarter.
So, perhaps I should take my parents' advice and embrace a little football break this evening. You think I should?
If you follow professional football at all, then you probably know that my beloved New Orleans Saints lost to the Dallas Cowboys last night, thus ending their 13-game winning streak. Dan and I watched the first half of the game at my dad's house north of Lake Pontchartrain, then when it seemed that the Saints' defense was crumbling under the pressure, we decided to head for home. We weren't bailing on the Saints (and we weren't trying to disappoint my dad), but we had a lengthy drive back into the city – and trying to park in the French Quarter on a Saturday night is hard enough without adding a Saints home game into the mix.
As it was, by the time we reached the Quarter, it was impossible to find a spot on the street, and we were stuck with the expensive lots on Decatur. Seriously, though, we were lucky to find a spot at all. Just as we pulled into the only lot left open, an attendant dragged the “Lot Full” sign across the driveway behind us. Of course, if we hadn't found a spot, we were fully prepared to catch another showing of Avatar – just to let the herds thin out in the Quarter.
After parking, we wandered several blocks to our apartment on Ursulines, passing several crowded bars along the way. The televisions in each bar were all naturally tuned to the Saints game, and we stopped at every open doorway, hoping against hope that our beloved black-and-gold could pull off another near-miss. In the final quarter, as we reached the TVs at Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, the Saints had nearly caught up, but once we made it home and flipped on the radio, we learned it wasn't meant to be. When the final score was announced, we were no longer in earshot of the bars, but I suspect most New Orleanians were as disappointed as we were.
Despite such disappointment, it's important to be honest – even when it comes to sports. And the fact is, while the Saints' 13-1 record is impressive, numbers can be deceiving. After all, the Saints' defense has been rocky all year, and the offense has often had to pull off a veritable miracle toward the end of each game. Now, before you accuse me of besmirching the Saints' good name, I'm simply saying that this season's performance, while incredible, has certainly been far from flawless – so a loss was indeed long in coming. And, hey, it's only one loss. Who knows what next week will bring?
I just hope Coach Payton can inspire the Saints' defense – goodness knows, the boys were languid yesterday. And as my hubby often says, “The offense can win a season, but it's the defense that usually wins championships.” For the Saints' sake, I hope that that's not always the case.
But even if they falter in the playoffs and fail to win a Super Bowl, they're still superheroes in my eyes – and they'll always be my favorite team. Apparently, I'm not the only die-hard fan of this underdog outfit – last night, in the Superdome, the Saints fans (my stepsister's husband among them) loudly cheered the players off the field, despite the upsetting loss – once again affirming my belief that New Orleanians, if nothing else, are a loyal lot.
Okay, so it was another close game – perhaps closer than it should have been, especially for a team that could be headed for the Superbowl. But, nonetheless, my beloved Saints won! They won, they won, they won! A 13-0 season is absolutely unprecedented for them, and I couldn’t be happier – or prouder. From the many hoots, hollers, cab horns, and “Who Dat!” whoops that Dan and I heard this afternoon in the French Quarter, it seems that other New Orleanians are just as pleased.
Geaux get ‘em, Saints!
Well, that was one mighty exciting football match today. Until the New Orleans Saints nailed the touchdown that threw the game into overtime, I seriously thought their perfect record was in jeopardy. And I could feel the tension everywhere – my heart, my head, my feet. In fact, I kept scurrying out of the room where the hubby was listening to a radio broadcast of this nail-biter. And while I’m happy – ecstatically so! – that the Saints won in overtime by three points, I can’t help but wonder... is it healthy to internalize something like this? A game over which I have absolutely no control.
Probably not. But then, don’t we all do that at times? Don’t we all get nervous about things beyond our influence – everything from Best Picture winners to presidential elections? Even which agents will respond favorably to our queries. Well, at least in that case, we have some amount of influence. After all, it’s up to each of us to prepare the best manuscript, the most compelling query, the most enticing website and/or blog, the most meaningful connections in the social networking universe... But even with all that, we still have to leave a bit of this publishing stuff up to chance – and the so-called will of the publishing gods.
So, what in this crazy world gets your heart and head thumping with anticipation?
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?
Soon afterward, we were making a beeline for the Kerry, where the owner, Doris, had laid out a spread of hot dogs, chili, salsa, chips, brownies, and the like for her regular customers as well as the out-of-towners (many of whom were dressed in team jerseys). Happily, we were just in time for the pre-game show, so we grabbed some vittles, bought a couple of beers, took our place beside the covered pool table, and waited – with a whole mess of other die-hard Saints fans – for the game to begin.
As the fourth quarter progressed, the tension and excitement continued to grow inside the Kerry – and, no doubt, in bars, hotels, and homes throughout the city. Everyone – including me and Dan – were alternately jumping up and down and shaking our heads in disbelief. Moments before the Saints scored their final touchdown, Dan sent a text to his brother (who, by the way, was rooting for the Colts) that read, “watch out... pic six coming!” Even today, he's still tickled that he called the game-winning play before it happened.
Of course, when it happened, there were still a few minutes left in the game, and everyone in the Kerry knew that, with Peyton Manning on the other side, anything was possible. Our adrenaline was pumping, our eyes were glued to the television, and a few of us looked as though fainting was a high probability. But our boys did it – they managed to rattle the mighty Colts, the team that had been favored by many analysts, broadcasters, and former coaches. And you should have heard the collective cheer when the Colts missed their chance for a comeback, and the Saints were declared the winners of the 44th Super Bowl.
Naturally, the cheers didn't stop there. Once the game had ended, people poured out of bars and hotels throughout the Quarter, like streams of black-and-gold cockroaches, and all night long, car horns were honking, Mardi Gras beads were flying, and people were singing “When the Saints Go Marching In,” shouting “Who Dat!” and dancing in the streets. Dan and I have never seen the Quarter so crowded before – not even for Mardi Gras. By midnight, Royal Street was so packed that it resembled Bourbon Street on a normal weekend, and Bourbon Street itself was teeming with so many revelers that Dan and I decided to watch all the action from the relative safety of a Lucky Dog cart at the corner of Bourbon and Conti. For a long time, we stood there, watching strangers (some of whom were dressed in crazy outfits, like black tutus and a black-and-gold Boba Fett costume) hug and high-five one another. It was the only night that people actually wanted to touch a cop – I saw many people (drunk or simply elated) embrace them, too.
I could go on and on, psychoanalyzing this incredible event, speculating on its lasting significance, and questioning Peyton Manning's choice not to shake Drew Brees's hand at the game's end (which, incidentally, seemed pretty classless to me, especially considering Peyton's personal connection to the Saints and the city of New Orleans), but better writers than I have already tackled all of the above over the past two days. So, I'll just leave you with this: Seeing that it's a “Monday Munchies” post, I could have focused on the food of Super Bowl Sunday, but sometimes, we need more than food to nourish us – sometimes, we require spiritual fulfillment, too. And that's what this win represented for me, Dan, my family, and everyone else who celebrated on Sunday night – the fulfillment of a decades-old wish and a citywide dream – something that many New Orleanians (whether former or current residents) believed would never happen in their lifetime, something that many of us craved in the wake of the storm that nearly destroyed the Crescent City. 
