New Orleans Saints: You Can't Predict a Hero Under a Voodoo Moon

"They call you lady luck,

but there is room for doubt. 

At times you've have a very unlady like way of running out"

-Frank Sinatra/Chrissie Hynde

Lady luck ran out after 13 games.

On a Saturday night, no less.

Ruined a great Saturday night party on Bourbon Street, no less.

Against the Dallas Cowboys, no less.

At the hands of Tony Romo, no less.

Who hangs out with the likes of Tiger Woods, no less.

Alas, they say you can never predict a hero, especially under one of those voodoo moons in New Orleans.

Who will it be this time? Who will be the one that stares down the face of defeat and leads the Saints back on the path to the Promised Land?

There has been no shortage of conquering heroes clad in black and gold this year.

And so who will it be on Sunday?

Mike Bell? He doesn't have what it takes, he's a fumbler, or he's not mentally tough, they said.

Darren Sharper? His best days are behind him, he's too old, he's lost a step, or he can't make plays on the ball anymore, they said.

Marques Colston? A seventh round draft pick, he's too slow, he played at Hofstra, or he's not ready for the primetime, they said.

Roman Harper? Another wasted high-draft pick, they said.

"You're just hangin' out in a local bar,

and you're wonderin' who the hell you are.

Are you a bum or are you a star?"

I related the story of these 2009 Saints to an elderly monsignor who lives out most of his days in a heavily sedated state and really couldn't give a bloody hoot about the NFL or the Saints or home-field advantage or any of that crap and he replied:

"Young man, that's a great story! That's a terrific story! But is it true?"

And I said, "Oh monsignor, even I couldn't make up a story like that."

And I surely couldn't.

With each passing year, it amazes me—the Grace of God—and how far he can lead a downtrodden NFL franchise when he wants to.

Tampa Bay is next on the schedule. Things didn't start out well against them all those years ago.

In December of 1977, they visited the Superdome in the midst of a 26-game losing streak.

They had never won a single damned game in the history of the franchise. That added more pressure to a talented, but star-crossed Saints team coached by Hank Stram.

Indeed, the pressure was so great that many Saints players just pissed that Saturday night away on Bourbon Street...literally pissed it away.

"He drinks a whisky drink
He drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink
He drinks a cider drink"

Archie Manning had a foreboding of what was to come.

"I don't want to be the laughing stock of the league, and that's what it will be if we don't beat Tampa Bay," said Manning.

Stram said, "We have to approach this game with a positive attitude."

As former voice of the Saints, Wayne Mack, remembers, "They did [approach it with a positive attitude.] All week the Saints were "positive" they were going to lose to a Tampa Bay team that had been shut out six times."

The Final: Tampa Bay 33, Saints 14.

Tampa Bay Coach John McKay plopped his feet up on the desk, lit up a big, fat, smelly cigar and called it "the greatest victory in the history of the world."

A bit of a stretch, I think. Nevertheless, I can understand why he said it.

Stram set the game tape on fire sometime before midnight, and I can understand why he did it.

Alas, times have changed.

There will be no repeat of that debacle Sunday. The football gods will never allow it.

Take notice, Raheem and Josh.

Cinderella has finally arrived in New Orleans.

A little late, maybe. Better late than never.