11/21/24
January 16, 2007
Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez!: Don't hate them because they're beautiful. Even if they do win the NFC Championship, even if, wonder of wonders, they win the Super Bowl, you shouldn't hate the New Orleans Saints. Sportsfilter's own The_Black_Hand explains why he's giving some love to the Saints, and why you should, too.
Years ago, I was a fresh-faced E-3 in the United States Navy when I met Master Chief Cooper. He was an old-timer, with twenty-plus years in This Man’s Navy, and he took no shit from anybody, whether they outranked him or not. He may have been the perfect sailor, razor sharp in every respect; he was, in my opinion, the perfect Master Chief, because he was completely unemotional about everything. He approached every problem, every conflict, with an utter lack of passion, bias and emotion that would have made a Supreme Court Justice jealous. Master Chief Cooper’s desk was a reflection of his no-nonsense approach to life in the Navy and beyond. Everything in its place, everything straight, and only three signs of personality allowed. He had a picture of his wife and three kids. An ex-smoker, he also kept a cigarette and a safety match in a sealed glass beaker, with the obligatory “In case of emergency, break glass” sticker. The only other personal item he deemed worthy of his desktop was a hand grenade encased in a Plexiglas case with a small hammer attached. On the case, painted in Philadelphia Eagles Green: “In case of Cowboys fan, break glass.” Nearly every fan of team sports hates somebody. Might be another team, might be a specific player on that other team, doesn’t matter. I grew up a Dolphins fan, so I hate. I hate the New York Jets (specifically Richard Todd, Wesley Walker, Freeman McNeil, and Jumbo Elliott), I hate the New England Patriots (specifically a Man Named Brady), and when they used to be good, I hated the Andre Reed – Thurman Thomas – Jim Kelly Buffalo Bills. I’ve been a Red Sox Fan since 1978, so I hate. I hate the New York Yankees and I always will. I graduated from the University of Florida, so I hate. I hate Bobby Bowden and Florida State University, and I always will. Same thing with Michigan. I’m a Notre Dame fan, and I hate the Wolverines. It’s wrong to hate, I know this from Sunday School, but I do it anyway. Just about all of us do. The Browns hate the Steelers, the Cowboys hate Washington, the Bears hate the Packers, Philly fans hate, well, everyone. From college to the pros, from the Alouettes to the Zips, we all hate some player, we all hate some team. Except the New Orleans Saints. I’ve never in my life met anybody who hated the Saints. My entire life, they’ve been unhateable. As a kid, I grew up on the Gulf Coast of Florida. We had the Dolphins, and not much else. Atlanta Braves baseball was beamed in on WTCG in Atlanta, as were Hawks and Falcons games. Other than that, we caught the Saints, because they were the next closest regional team. The Saints were awful. I watched their bumbling under many coaches, including the immortal John North and Ernie Hefferle. Worse than these losers was when the Aints landed the “Big” coach, a name that everybody knew, a name that brought promise and excitement. I saw that happen when Hank Stram came to town, and again when the legendary Bum Phillips brought his cowboy hat to the Superdome. Jim Mora, fresh off his success in the USFL, took the team over in 1986 and racked up a .795 regular season winning percentage, including two 12-win seasons and the team’s first Division Championship in 1991. Mora also took the Saints to their first ever playoff appearance. Four of ‘em, in fact, all losses, all in the Wild Card round. In the end, Mora left New Orleans disgusted halfway through the 1996 season, muttering “Diddly Poo.” Mike Ditka came in next, traded away an entire draft (and parts of another year’s, too!) for Ricky Williams, went 17-33, and was fired after the 1999 season, making way for Jim Haslett. Haslett promised a new beginning, and the Saints looked like believers, going 10-6 and winning the NFC West in Haslett’s first year. More importantly, they got the Saints’ first ever playoff win, a 31-28 defeat of the St. Louis Rams in the Wild Card game. Unfortunately, the Saints were trounced by the Vikings in the Divisional Playoff, and Haslett only finished above .500 one more time. The Saints’ tradition of being the NFL’s genial, yet bumbling, drunk uncle looked secure until August, 2005, when Hurricane Katrina came to town. Mother Nature cares not for the plans of man, and on August 29, 2005, she showed her disdain by smashing the Gulf Coast of the Southern United States flat. Hurricane Katrina made landfall nearly halfway between New Orleans and Biloxi, Mississippi, and provided the kind of devastation that Americans are not used to seeing in their own country. We’ve all seen earthquakes ravage the West Coast, especially Los Angeles and the Bay Area, but this was different. Katrina lashed the Gulf Coast for hours, and we all watched it happen on live TV. Houses washed away, occasionally with whole families still in them; the levees refusing to hold, swamping entire neighborhoods; the bodies of the dead floating in tainted storm water; the Superdome, home of the Saints, serving as a refuge for thousands of desperate storm victims, falling victim to the storm itself, as water seeped in and the roof began to crumble before 100+ mph winds. By some accounts, the horror outside in the storm was matched by the horror inside the dome. The Saints found themselves homeless, and staggered to a 3-13 season playing “home” games in Baton Rouge, San Antonio, and in one notable case, New Jersey. Head Coach Haslett was fired, and the future of the team seemed in doubt. Rumors flew that the team would be relocated to San Antonio, perhaps Los Angeles; team owner Tom Benson, upholding the finest stereotype of the used car salesman, kvetched and cajoled and refused to guarantee the Saints’ future in New Orleans, angering New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin, Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco, NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue, and thousands of Saints fans. Benson eventually extended his option to void his lease at the Superdome until, well, now (January 2007). On September 19, 2006, Benson announced that the Saints had sold out the newly refurbished and repaired Superdome for the entire season with season tickets alone for the first time in the team’s history. As victims of nature’s whim, it’s even harder to hate the Saints. Their first regular season game after Katrina saw the Saints in Carolina, taking on the Panthers in a game won by a 47-yard field goal by John Carney with three seconds left. The emotional release of many of the players, coaches and staff was palpable. Scan the stands after Carney’s game-winning kick, and you’ll see Panthers fans in full regalia crying like babies. Not because they lost, but because the Saints won. Same with the Panthers’ players and coaches, who, to a man, showed the Saints more respect, love and kindness than you’d ever expect to see in a competitive arena. It was just about the only bright spot in a 3-13 campaign that saw Haslett shown the door. The Saints are back in the Superdome now, and are heading for their first ever Conference Championship Game. No team in league history has ever reached such lofty heights after being 3-13 the year before. So, now the Saints are winners, but can you really hate them? Even you, Philly fans, who’ve hated on Mike Schmidt and Santa Claus, who’ve cheered career-ending injuries…even you can’t hate the Saints, even though they beat you in the playoffs. Well, not as much as you hate everybody else, anyway. Besides the Katrina angle to the story, unhateableness practically oozes from the Saints: Head Coach Sean Payton – A kid from Napierville, Illinois, who just wanted to be a quarterback, but never made it. He played at Eastern Illinois University, in the Arena Football League, in the Canadian Football League, as a replacement player for the Chicago Bears during the strike in 1987, and for the Leicester Panthers in something called the UK Budweiser National League. As Offensive Coordinator for the New York Giants, he was nearly fired by Head Coach Jim Fassel in 2002. Fassel, not known for his modesty or humility, publicly excoriated Payton for his play calling, and took the offensive duties over himself. Payton would have probably been fired, if not for the Dallas Cowboys, who hired him as Quarterbacks Coach. At last check, Fassel was running a Quizno’s in New Jersey…no, seriously! Quarterback Drew Brees – A genuinely nice kid from Texas, who went to Purdue University, where he re-wrote the Big Ten Conference record book, Brees has been somewhat of an afterthought nearly all of his NFL career. The San Diego Chargers desperately needed a quarterback in the 2001 draft, but took LaDainian Tomlinson with their first-round pick. Brees, still available in the second round, joined LT, a former high school rival and All-Star Team teammate, with the Chargers. Brees lost his job to journeyman Doug Flutie (unhateable in his own right), and looked to lose his job altogether when the Chargers drafted Eli Manning, then traded him to the Giants for former N.C. State stud Phillip Rivers. Brees played at a high level in 2004 and was labeled a franchise player for 2005, when he had a breakout season. In the last game of the 2005, Brees was tagged by Denver Broncos defensive tackle Gerald Warren, and suffered a turn labrum and rotator cuff in his right (throwing) shoulder. As a free agent coming off of major shoulder surgery, Brees was passed on by the Miami Dolphins, and signed a contract with the Saints. He led the league in passing yardage, finished third in touchdown passes, was named the starter for the NFC Pro Bowl squad, and finished second in MVP voting behind Tomlinson; Running Back Deuce McAllister – The Deuce is loose once again on the Superdome turf after tearing his ACL in 2005. The heart and soul of the Saints’ offense for years, McAllister suffered under the mercurial reign of Haslett, but wasn’t one to complain or throw fits. He simply came to work and did his job to the best of his ability, while privately frustrated at the direction the team went. After his injury, McAllister watched as the Saints drafted Reggie Bush, and heard the rumors that he was through in New Orleans. All he did was rehab harder, and his reemergence in the New Orleans backfield along with Bush resulted in another 1,000-yard season and eighth place in the NFL’s Comeback Player of the Year Award voting. How can you hate a guy name Deuce, fer chrissake? Especially after he donated one million dollars to his alma mater, the University of Mississippi? There are undoubtedly more stories from this year’s Saints that I just don’t have time to research or post at this point, but these three, I think, are pretty good. Add in the post-Katrina angle, and the Saints are more lovable than ever. I hope they beat Chicago, not because I don’t like the Bears, but I really, really do like the Saints. Okay, I might not really, really like ‘em, but I’ll never hate ‘em, and you shouldn’t either. Master Chief Cooper retired in 1994 with 30 years service to his country. At his retirement party, I asked him about the grenade under glass. He chuckled, and told me that no, he never had to use it. Either he’d never had a Cowboy fan in his office, he said, or they were too smart to identify themselves as such in his presence. Cowboys fans, he said…maybe they’re smarter than I’ve been givin’ ‘em credit for all these years. I’m quite sure there’s a life lesson in there for all of us. Geaux Saints.
posted by The_Black_Hand to commentary at 05:05 PM - 0 comments