Anatomy of a Saints' Fan

I spent my wedding night in a seedy sports bar in the Florida Keys watching the Saints defeat our division rivals Atlanta Falcons 23-3.  The wedding was at noon, so it was a stroke of luck, or fate that the game (that had playoff implications) was nationally televised with an 8pm kickoff. 

My husband of eight hours was a native of Queens and a die-hard New York Rangers fan.  I gently tried to draw him into the game, secretly hoping to convert him into a fan, but he was more interested in the roasted peanuts and the tradition of tossing the cracked shells onto the bar’s wooden floor.

I’ve somehow managed to watch Saints games in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, Paradise Island, Bahamas, Rome, Amsterdam, Los Angeles, Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Columbus, Chicago, Miami, Vermont, Philadelphia, a hick town in West Virginia that I can’t recall the name of, New York City, and of course, New Orleans.

My passion, which borders on insanity, began on December 8, 1974 at Tulane Stadium on an unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon with my father.  Being one of eight kids, it was a badge of honor to spend one on one time with him.  Archie Manning threw for 315 yards and the Saints trounced the Cardinals 14-0 that day.

In retrospect, my father’s patience was astounding.  I bombarded him with endless questions during crucial moments:  “You said the offense gets three plays, but this time it’s four. How come?  What does ‘holding mean?” It looks like everybody’s doing it. Why are the cheerleader’s skirts so short?  Why is the man in front of us holding a sign with a D, a plus sign and a white picket fence on it?”

He calmly explained the rules of the game in a colorful, lucid fashion comprehensible to a seven-year-old girl.  My father was a true Saint that day.  He should have gotten the game ball.

The following year the Saints moved to the Dome and Tulane stadium was razed.

In July 1975 the stadium opened its doors to the public for the first time for fan appreciation day. Saints' players mingled with the season ticket holders in the massive, 52-acre sports facility.

When Saints running back Alvin Maxson helped me and my father locate our new seats in the Plaza Level, Section 106, it solidified my status as a Saints' fan.  The previous year Maxson ran for 714 yards and hauled in 42 receptions.

The awkward tweens and rebellious high school years ensued and the relationship with my father swayed from volatile to problematic to hostile.  But on game day we put our differences aside and focused on stats, the opposing teams defensive line, bone-headed front office moves, and slim playoff chances.

I eventually moved to New York City and my older brother took over the seat next to my father in the plaza level in section 106 and thanks to the NFL Sunday ticket on DirecTV, was able to keep up with the team.

It’s been nine years since my wedding night and I’m still trying to convert my husband into a Saints' Fan.  The last game we attended together was on November 24,2008 on a Monday night in the dome.  It was a sheer stroke of luck that we were in town to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. 

In a dazzling display of offensive prowess quarterback Drew Brees threw four touchdowns for 323 yards and the Saints pummeled the Packers 51-29.  It was the third highest point output in Monday night football history.

When running back Deuce Mcallister muscled his way through the line for a three-yard run scoring his 54 touchdown and setting a franchise record, the stadium erupted, and I swear to this day, I felt the Dome gently sway to the right.

In the midst of the madness, during one of the greatest shows on turf, my husband appeared to be more interested in the alligator sausage sandwiches, brisket baked potatoes, and gumbo than the action taking place on the field.  He might not be a fan of the black and gold, but he sure enjoys the concession stands.