• I’ve had a sore throat all week.  I can’t decide if it’s illness or if I broke it by repeatedly screaming, “FALL ON THE DAMN BALL” last Sunday.
• I’m still thrilled that my fate will not involve being that old woman in the nursing home, still waiting for her team to get into the super bowl.
• On the other hand, I’m feeling a bit melancholy.   I know my daughter loves being a little who dat, but she’ll never really know what this feels like, because she was 11 and had only been waiting about 3 years by the time her team got to the big dance for the first time.
• We had a non-ice-storm event yesterday.   First, the weather fiends predicted that we would get some snow, sleet and ice, but not until after midnight.   No sooner than my daughter’s field trip arrived in Birmingham (2 hours south), it started sleeting like a mo-fo.  Glops of snow and ice were falling out of the sky so heavily, the schools closed up early, and they told the busses to head back.   The weather fiends said we’d get 2 to 4 inches, perhaps an inch or two of ice.  By the time my daughter got back to town, it was just raining again.
• My daughter came in from said field trip grumbling that they essentially drove 4 hours to go to mass, but did not get to do anything fun except eat on the bus.
• Guess what, we woke up to nothing but more rain this morning.
• Watched Miss Congeniality again on TV.  I can watch that one over and over, which is exceedingly rare for me.  I don’t rewatch most movies.
• I am imagining what Miami, most especially South Beach, will be like when the Who Dat Nation arrives.  He he.
• I am working on my taxes.   Because I started freelancing this year, I’ve had to do estimated taxes.   Because I didn’t pay them evenly over the year, the IRS thinks I owe a $70 penalty for not paying on time.   But, there is a very complicated form that I can fill out to show them that I averaged out the estimates over the amounts I was paid.  I didn’t start receiving income from this job until June, so there was no way to pay estimates before that.  I hate the IRS.  This form is going to take me  hours to fill out.  If I work those hours instead, then I’ll have more than the money I owe the fine.   I hate the tax laws.
• I hate tax software.  This is the one thing the software will not automate for me. It even opened the window containing the long-ass form so I can enter the computations manually.  They suck.
• I just finished reading The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played With Fire.   Fantastic books.   I love Sweden.  I love crazy 4′ 11″ psychopath investigators.  This is why I am so tired; I stayed up until 2am finishing the second book.
• My throat hurts.

This week, the NFL began serving cease and desist orders to local New Orleans merchants who were selling t-shirts and other items using the phrase Who Dat and the image of a Fleur-de-lis.

Let’s address the Fleur-de-Lis, first.   While I do understand the NFL and the official Saints organization does have a claim to the particular fleur-logo used on uniforms and helmets,  the NFL does not have claim to just any fleur de lis in existance.   That particular symbol originated with French royalty long before America was even a place the world knew of.   It’s on the Quebec national flag.  Is the NFL going to sue them for trademark infringement?   How about the Boy Scouts, Roger, you going to sue them, too?

The Fleur de Lis has been a symbol of the city of New Orleans for hundreds of years – THAT’S WHY THE THING IS ON THE TEAM’S UNIFORMS IN THE FIRST  PLACE.    Look around, every wrought iron fence in town has fleur de lis toppers.

Good luck with claiming the fleur de lis as yours, NFL.

That’s the image, now let’s address the phrase, “who dat.”   One could argue that the cheer version of Who Dat may possibly belong to the team.  But, words?  How do you trademark “who dat?”   It’s no different than trying to claim complete ownership of  “hi”, “howareya”, “comment-ca-va,” or “where y’at?”     My grandfather always hollered out “who dat?!” when someone entered his apartment to visit.   How does one register a greeting as their property?

Interestingly enough, in the early ’80s, a group who wrote a song and basically, maybe, probably, created the words for the cheer, has already  trademarked Who Dat.     Whatcha gonna do ’bout that NFL?   That was done a quarter of a century ago.

Bite me, NFL.   Oh, and “WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  DAT!”

Updated to add: link to a very good letter to the NFL.

Still giddy here in seesterland, but I have some things on my mind that I need to work out.

First, I am just about to give up explaining to people how much this win means to New Orleans. Yes, it’s just a game; but, it’s also much more. The Saints have a long, and storied, history of being terrible, awful, ugly. But, their fans stuck with them. There’s been more than one time in my life when we feared the team would move away. Even after multiple losing seasons, I could not bear the thought. Even though they were so bad, we still loved them, like family.

Guido, Hokie, Archie, Pat, Sam, Ricky, Deuce, Bobby, and on, and on.

Because the Saints are loved like family, we could talk bad about them, but, boy were our feathers ruffled when an outsider criticized the team. No respect, we’d scream, even though they had never really earned much of it.

Then Katrina came. The federal levees failed to protect the city (that is mostly NOT below sea level). Half of the population were driven out, many never to return. Imagine that for a moment. Think about all of the people you interact with on a daily basis. Get them in your head. Now, imagine that overnight, half of them vanished out of your life. The people you work with, your neighbors, your kids’ best friends, that check-out gal who is friendly every time you go in the store. So many missing faces.

There was a great deal of fear that the team owner was going to move the Saints in 2005. Real fear. Dread. Not OUR family. Not Our Saints. They stayed, thank God, for the time-being, at least.

“It’s only football.” “How can spending millions to renovate the dome be justified when homes haven’t been rebuilt?” “New Orleans is under sea level, it should never be rebuilt.” “It’s so violent there. Why do you go back?”

I’ve given up fighting the Katrina / New Orleans myths. I can only point out the fortitude of the people who STAY, who against everything they have to fight for, schools, roads, public transportation, job losses, fear of another flood, worry about the crime, and on, and, on, and on, STAY in spite of it all. They STAY because there is a deep connection between the people and the city.

The Saints are part of that connection. The Saints provide a diversion. When you lose hope that the potholes will be fixed this year, or that the falling down houses will be restored, or that the crime rates will go down, there’s still the possibility that things will improve. They DO improve. Because of the people. Everyone needs a time where they can lose themselves in something outside of themself; when the Saints win, it makes people feel good. A winning season is just downright FUN!

I’ve loved New Orleans for 40 years. My first trip there was when I was 4 years old. I still have the pastel drawing my dad had done of me in the French Quarter by a street artist. I lived there for 4 years during the ’80s. I went to my first Saints game when I was around 10 or 11, it’s hard to remember, exactly. During NONE of the years before 2006 did I ever imagine the Saints would make it.

It started to change in 2006. The people of New Orleans had to develop a new sort of focus just to survive and stay sane. The team echoes that focus.

I broke down  yesterday in an inexplicable combination of joy and grief.  I will admit, I don’t know how to adjust. It will NEVER be the same as it was.

The times are changing. Somewhere, yesterday, I read a quote that will stick with me forever, I think.

“There’s no room in New Orleans for lukewarm people.”

Dear Mr. President,

Please do not root for the Saints; I read today that you were pulling for them. Since your recent track record on helping people win important things is in the area of 0 and 5, please abstain. My Roman Harper picture will take care of it for us.

KTHXBAI.

About 30 seconds into this video, you will see the people pour out onto Bourbon street after the field goal that won the game last night. Then a parade, wall-to-wall with people, including a brass band. Just like that.

Joie de vivre, we gots it. True Dat. It was a very long wait.

It finally, really hit me. I’m sitting here weeping my head off this morning, longing, longing to be there.

This Saints fan had a wee party last night where she was surrounded by good food and even better friends. I hope my manners were not too shockingly rude because by the time the 4th quarter of the game rolled around, I was too wrapped up in it to interact civilly. I would especially like to thank Three Girly Girls for bringing this fabulous baked brie WITH a fleur de lis on top. (She also grabbed my camera and snapped some photos for me).

The game was close, boy was it close. Early on, as I was answering the door, the Vikings scored their first touch down. I was immediately told to stop answering the door. Thus, began a series of rituals that I am not sure even I could replicate today. Thanks, Bo. As non-superstitious as you are, you sure knew how to play along!

Speaking of superstition, late in the 4th quarter the game was tied and the Vikes were driving, my friend Paul turned to me and asked, “don’t you have any voodoo or something?” I told him about the candles of mojo my sister and I have used, but they didn’t work the last time and I didn’t want to get them out. (I did find out later my sister did have her voodoo candles going.) We also had decided that no one could enter or leave the room in which I was watching, because, you know, that would upset the balance and cause the Saints to lose. So, I searched around the room and my eyes lit on the autographed photo I have of #41, Roman Harper. The photo that I stuffed the raffle box last year to win. That I was made fun of for doing, recently.

I hopped up, grapped Roman, and made everyone rub him for luck. Good things started happening. The Saints were on Fire. Keep rubbing Roman! This went around the room over and over, I was a maniac. I was screaming. I am sure the parents of my friends children weren’t too sure about coming to this shindig.

I cannot even remember what happened after that, other than we won. You can see Roman in this next photo where, yes, I am getting ready to go into the ugly face where I am crying but trying not to cry. My daughter had run up the stairs and jumped on me.

And here is my boy child, who, when the Saints intercepted Favre at the end of the 4th quarter, threw his hands into the air, with a cup of water, dousing Three Girly Girls. Sorry about that!

I look a tad bit insane in this next one. I’m calling my seester right after the game, and when she picked up we both just SCREAMED into the phone. Also, my hair obviously thought we were in humid New Orleans. Crazy, man. But not as crazy as the men-in-dresses parade will be in New Orleans (insiders will get this).

And, for those of you who know Flickr, this picture I took the other day, reached the Explore set yesterday (the 500 interesting pictures of the day). Fitting.

I suppose #41 will have to come with me wherever I go to watch the Superbowl.

I am also very, very happy that I will NOT be an old woman, in a nursing home, still awaiting this day.