New Orleanian Christian Sauska was there, too, and he sends us the following account:
Super Bowl Sunday started for me in Florida. While for many that may have been the place to me, there was no doubt that I needed to leave and get back home to New Orleans for the main event. The day itself gave signals of different kinds of things happening from the get go, so it all made sense that it would end with the strangest of all being the Saints finally winning the Super Bowl.
I spent an hour of the morning with my father at a Starbucks, (That was the second strangest event of the day) before I headed to the airport. I was upgraded to first class, undoubtedly because I was wearing a Saints shirt, on my first leg to Atlanta. That's when I saw out of the corner of my eye John Bell, lead singer for Widespread Panic. While this isn't the first time I met him (The first was in a hotel lobby 5 years ago at 2am with half my pants ripped off and a phone cord wrapped around my head. I don't think he recognized me though) I was a bit nervous. I am known to make a fool of myself in front of famous or even quasi famous people. A couple of free vodkas in and I was ready to make my move. Still slightly shaking I went up and told him I look forward to seeing him at Jazzfest and would he mind a quick picture. Score! If I could summon the courage for this certainly the Saints could dig deep to stop Peyton Manning.
I made it home in time for kick off and shot over to my buddies house to join my wife and kids for the game. My 3 month old, a future footballer for sure, was showing his spirit and embrace of local flavor by drooling on his "Poo Dat" onesie. It's things like this that make a father proud.
After the onside kick and we knew the Saints would win creating the perfect trifecta of weird events for the day we started planning the assault on the French Quarter because,well because it is the French Quarter. Driving downtown was a trip in and of itself. Fireworks going off, people dancing and falling in the streets and the closer we got to the quarter the louder the ensemble of car horns blowing became. Only in New Orleans could all the horn blowing be in rhythm.
The closer we got the crazier it became. Coming up on Canal Street the police were in full force and smiling. This clearly had a different vibe than Mardi Gras. The streets were packed, people were dancing and drinking (obviously) and standing up and getting Crunk. A lot. Funny how that song doesn't get old down here and drives everyone nuts. Apparently it is an aphrodisiac as well because several of the tricked out and pimped out rides blaring the song were scoring with several women and it was the first time I actually saw women making out with cars. It was either the song or the Sprewell Rims on the car. I may never know.
From grown up man mime saints dressed as nuns scaring people from the windows of their French Quarter boutiques to the obligatory Bourbon Street rites of passage of a skinny black man in his underwear ...
... and a woman throwing up on the street ...
... I knew all was going to be okay and normalcy was soon to return.
Oh what a day and oh what a time to be in New Orleans. I hope the passion of the people comes through because it had been building for ever. There is a special bond that exists, the Saints went through Katrina and came back like a lot of these people. I love special things and this was special.
I can't believe my kids get to grow up here.
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