The Contraband

Issue date: 2/1/10 Section: Opinion

Sometimes sports have the power to transcend from the X's and O's and become something much more powerful than just a game. It can bring grown men to their knees and cause people to do the outlandish and bizarre. And in case you don't know exactly what I'm talking about, then you obviously didn't see Garrett Hartley kick the New Orleans Saints into their first ever Super Bowl.

Being from New Orleans I can tell you first hand that the NFC championship was one of those rare occasions where a simple game meant much more than just a win or loss in the sports section the next day.

Growing up, the Saints were something we were all born into. No one in his or her right mind would CHOOSE to be a fan, but it was like going to church for us. When we were young, we just never questioned why our parents drug us into this black and gold nightmare, but we knew it was something much, much bigger than we were, so we accepted it.

Are we crazy for sticking around through 41 years of never making it to the big game? Probably. Are we out of our minds for still being optimistic after 20 straight losing seasons? Absolutely. But all of that was erased from my memory Sunday night.

My mother, who knows little to nothing about football, was sending me e-mails full of motivational Saints pictures the week before the game. Grandma Scardigli, who knows less than mom does, was calling me and giving me stats.

My apologies go out to my roommate. I kicked him out of our house. I didn't want him to see me going through the emotional roller coaster that ended up being an over time victory.

When the kick went through I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. I'm not too much of a man to admit I cried like a baby. A baby wearing a Drew Brees jersey and face paint. Then I did what all us true Saints fans do, I called my family.

I'm not sure if any of you tried calling someone from New Orleans after the game; you couldn't get through. Cell towers were at their capacity. By time I could get connected and talk to my Dad back in Metairie, I couldn't hear a word. The fireworks going off in the neighborhood were too loud.

More than anything Sunday's game brought people together. Sons drove for hundreds of miles to be with their fathers. Families that never spend time together were huddled over TVs in living rooms, all to pull for their 'Aints.

Now as Saints fans we have to deal with something we've never had to deal with before: the Bandwagon fan. But I'll take it. I'd rather deal with someone who doesn't know who the hell Deuce McAllister is than have to watch two OTHER teams in the Super Bowl. Our Super Bowl.

Now while some will argue that the match up in Miami against the Colts will be the biggest in Saints history, I have to disagree. For me, just getting to the game is a feat in and of it's self.

And to drive the point home reports are already coming out from the airlines that more people are flying TO New Orleans on Super Bowl Sunday than are flying out to be in Miami.

So for all the Who Dat's out there enjoy this. If our history proves anything this may not happen again for a long, long time. But for the time being lets all ride the Brees to cloud nine.

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