Not just for world affairs, which is much more, um, worldly that our sad excuses for news outlets in the US; but also things like sports, which is called sport in their papers, for some reason. I've been trying to learn where things are with the World Cup, why I need to despise Man U and Chelsea, and in general how to talk about sport(s) over there without belittling cricket. This is all made much more difficult by the fact that in my heart of hearts I adore American Football, which I understand is often, and perhaps not unjustly, referred to as Armoured Catch. But I don't care. I think it is just the best sport ever since jousting went out of style. It is the only form of competition my hippy-dippy self embraces. And the two football teams that I love, great or terrible, but usually terrible, are my father's New York Giants, and my New Orleans Saints. So tonight was kind of a big deal.
It's very hard to explain what the Saints are and what they mean post-Katrina. It's something you either feel and understand or you don't. There's a very good, and very long, article on Espn that tries to get it across. But it's hard. There is no community anywhere in this country that is more in love with a sports team, more dependent on them for its emotional gratification and even its sense of self. There is no sports team anywhere in this country that knowingly positions itself to be not just a franchise but a symbol of, by, and for its community. From Rita Benson to Sean Payton to Drew Brees on down, the team's mission, comportment, and rhetoric are all about winning, but aren't. It's also about service, about working, about the city.
There's a reason Drew Brees' "Finish Strong" t-shirts, to benefit nola charities, have sold more 40,000 times over. There's a reason why there are billboards that simply say "Bless You, Boys!" and bumper stickers that say "Believe." This isn't Philly or Boston or New York, where fans get off on hitting the quarterback in the mouth or pummeling anyone wearing the opposing team's jersey. Our fans inundate Youtube with raps and pop singles (I love, because it is a cover of a bizarre Miley Cyrus song and refuses to always rhyme, Party in the MIA), wear pope hats, and drink and y'at and just plain have a party. What the Saints do every Sunday isn't football, although of course it is. It's become an expression of us.
I'm glad I decided to keep driving down St. Charles tonight after the game ended instead of going straight home. There were a great many people dancing on the neutral ground and honking over potholes and radio stations were playing dyi fan anthems or Rebirth Brass Band. I couldn't stop smiling. People are flooding Bourbon Street like it's the last Mardi Gras ever, and everyone's getting hella
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