Black and gold
Football is in my blood.
More specifically, though, the Saints are in my blood. My grandparents were among the first season-ticket holders when the city was granted a football team, in the 1967 season. They were in Tulane Stadium when John Gilliam returned their franchise-opening kick-off for a touchdown. They were in Tulane Stadium to see Tom Dempsey kick a 63-yard field goal.
Soon afterward, the interest those grandparents, my mom’s parents, had in the Saints faded. The team was horrible, after all. But in 1971, my dad’s family arrived in New Orleans from Jackson, Miss., and it was they who became the real die-hard fans.
Before the destruction of New Orleans, my dad’s parents had season tickets in the lower level near the 50-yard-line. They were in the Superdome for the Saints’ epic playoff victory against the Rams in 2000, the franchise’s only postseason win. When Hurricane Katrina hit, one of the few possessions my grandparents made sure to bring with them might be their most highly prized: My grandmother’s football with Saints wide receiver Joe Horn’s autograph. The sight of it, in their bare new house in Austin, moved me to tears.
As a child, we didn’t see very many Saints games. For better or worse, when you live in Detroit and Portland, you’re not going to get football games from New Orleans. My parents, committed fans that they are, bought a satellite TV package in 1997 that would allow us to see every Saints game. From 1997 through 2001, I watched every game on TV, each Sunday morning. In 2000, while the Saints were rolling along to a divisional title, my mom and I flew to San Francisco to see the Saints play — and came home exulting in a win.
Just like New Orleanians will tell you that the Saints are the pulse of the city in the fall, so too are they my pulse in the fall. Over the years I’ve danced, I’ve cheered, I’ve screamed my lungs out in victory or in defeat.
But never in my life have I cried during a football game. Until last night, that is. When the Saints took the field, and all I could see was a sold-out Superdome with people who had come to New Orleans from all around the country just to see their team return… I could barely even look at the screen. All I could see was the scenes of misery in the week following the hurricane, and somehow it had been replaced with screaming, cheering, adoring fans.
It was last night, on Monday Night Football — in other words, for a nationally televised audience — that the Saints returned to the Superdome for the first time since before Hurricane Katrina. Since December 26, 2004, in fact. In the eyes of the world, the Superdome had become a place of catastrophe and human misery, and a symbol of what had become of New Orleans when the levees failed her. It was heartbreaking to see the building returned to its original purpose, its silver walls and shining white roof and brand-new turf all ready for the game.
And after last night, when the Saints won handily, 23-3, dominating the Atlanta Falcons the entire game… Well, a lot of people have said that last night’s game was like a dream. It seems that the Saints will be judged against last year’s performance.
I disagree. I think last season was the dream — nightmare, really. The Saints are right back where they were in the 2004 season, with Aaron Brooks and Jim Haslett. In Haslett’s first five years with the franchise, the team was 10-6, 7-9, 9-7, 8-8 and 8-8, and they were always on the verge of the playoffs. In December 2004, the Saints were three feet — that would be how wide ex-Saints kicker Doug Brien’s field goal attempt for the Jets was — from going to the playoffs.
And now the Saints are 3-0, and somehow they’re going to be judged against last season. This is a team that was on its way up, before the hurricane. Last season was rough, but if the Saints have another 8-8 season, that would be clear continuity.
I’ll be wearing black and gold a lot this season, I think. I hope.
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