Saints Win!

Saints Win! The Times-Picayune called it a historic victory, and it certainly felt that way here. This was the Saints' first season playing in the Superdome, the devastated stadium that had served as a defacto refugee center after the storm, and there had been a lot of talk of the Saints' never coming back at all. But damn did it feel like victory last night.

My Cousin the Revolutionary, Drew and I had been carpeting a family's house all day, and we decided to watch the game at a place near where we're staying in the Garden District.

First we went to a place in the circle that turned out to be full of white hipsters, all full of ironic interest in the game. We hung around, watched the first half of the game and had what I would call "enough" drinks, but I think we all felt a little dirty. One woman there was actually rooting for the Eagles.


At the half, we walked back to a daiquiri place that looked pretty hopping before. Now, Drew and MCTR grew up in Atlanta, and they're basically half black, kind of like how Clinton was America's first black president. However, from the outside, we all look very, very white. In this point, at this bar, we were alone.

Thing is, this is exactly what we'd been looking for. Drew, who'd been following the team since that first kick off in the Superdome, said he wanted to root for the Saints "more than I've ever rooted for any team in my life." This daquiri place was full of really excited, really loud, really Southern people who really wanted the Saints to win.


Once it was clear that we were happy to be there, and we were perfectly comfortable being the only white people in an all-black bar, and that WE really wanted the Saints to win, too, people got used to us really quick.

Most everyone there was having a good time with their own friends, but a lot of people came up and talked to us briefly. Although not everyone was great at explaining it, the message I got was that everyone was very happy we'd chosen to be the only white people in an all-black bar and to root for their team.

You remember before that I mentioned we'd had "enough" drinks. Of course you realize we kept drinking. As Drew and I should have learned when 20 minutes and some Hurricanes at Pat O'Brien's had gotten us drunk for all of Friday night, the frozen daquiri is a deceptive drink.

It's sweet and cold, and although it tastes alcoholic, you almost can't bring yourself to believe that it is. I feel I should also point out, and I say this in the full knowledge that many if not all of the people I drank daquiris with last night could beat me up, but outside of the Gulf Coast, the daquiri is a girl's drink.


We started with a daquiri each, but they really taste better if you mix the flavors, and in any case, once the game looked to be both dramatic and in our favor, and once they barred the doors to new arrivals but kept the bar open, and especially once a guy dropped a Grant for a couple of gallons of frozen goodness and our glasses stopped ever getting close to empty, any alcohol accounting system we may have instinctively had in place broke down decisively.

There is no way to explain the joy in that bar as it became clear that we were going to win, except to say that every daquiri joint in New Orleans must have felt the same way. We yelled, we jumped up and down, we gave everyone high fives, and then we left the bar, happy, inconceivably drunk, and still carrying one to go cup each of sweet, cold danger.


We yelled at strangers and passing cars for awhile, briefly walked in the direction of the French Quarter, thought better of it and staggered back in the direction of the guest house where we were staying.

At some point it became clear that I was the sober one, or at least that MCTR was the drunk one and Drew was too happy to be of much help to anybody. MCTR kept saying "Rich, how did I get this drunk?," although the question had been asked and answered several times before.

I spent the rest of the night with my hands on my cousin's shoulders, literally steering him back to the hotel. Somehow, we all made it back to our beds, where we each fell immediately to sleep and slept soundly until this morning. I woke up early, Drew woke up really happy, and Joe woke up drunk (his first words were "Rich, how did you let me get this drunk?", a telling variation of the form.)

It was a great night.