Geux Saints!

I am not what you'd consider a football fan, and I really never watch the Super Bowl... I mean sure, I've been in the presence of people who were, plenty of times. But I myself never watch it... because who cares, really? For most people, the team does not represent the city you live in or even the city you are from. And even if it does, then chances are that most (if not all) of the players on the team aren't even FROM the city they represent. So why does it even matter? Well it never has... UNTIL THIS YEAR!

The day before we arrived in New Orleans, the Saints had won the game that earns them the right to play in the Super Bowl in Miami. Now I come from a city where not everybody is dedicated to their city's football team. Don't get me wrong, San Francisco loves their 49ers... but not the same way that New Orleans loves their Saints. I would say that in San Francisco, there is a large group of people who really couldn't care less what the 49ers were up to. That is definitely not the case in New Orleans. This is a city that supports their team perhaps more than any other city in the country, and has great pride in them even when they lose. So, for their sake, and since I was actually here in New Orleans to get caught up in the excitement... I was really hoping for a Saints victory. Really, really hoping. Almost nervously.

Some coworkers of Michael's were kind enough to throw a Super Bowl party, so that is where we watched the game. We decided mid-game that if the Saints didn't win, we would just head home after that (it is Sunday night, after all). But if they did win, we would just have to go to the French Quarter and celebrate with everyone else. We'd just HAVE to. And as soon as they did win, and people were done screaming, everyone grabbed a "to go cup" (plastic cup that you can legally drink alcohol with in public), filled it with beer, and completely abandoned the party within two minutes.

Well we thought the best idea was, since we drove to the party, to just drive as close as we could to the French Quarter and park. After lots of honking, people screaming, and dodging fireworks in the road, I decided I had to start filming from my car window:






Unfortunately, by the time I shot this next video, I had accidentally knocked a dial on my camera which changed the film setting to record in a terrible quality. And by the time we had parked and walked to Canal Street, the area was so flooded with people they had to shut the road down. The cops were celebrating in their own way:




When we finally got to the outskirts of the FQ, the crowds were already piling up:




And by the time we got to Bourbon Street, people were going crazy. This is probably an hour, to an hour and a half after the Saints won... and people were just getting started. They're chanting the same thing people have been chanting for two weeks and continued to chant the rest of the night: "WHO DAT SAYIN' GONNA BEAT THEM SAINTS? WHO DAT?? WHO DAT??" The phrase "who dat" is a New Orleans thing that I'm still unclear about, but, at least I'm familiar with it now...



So, walking around the streets of the French Quarter was difficult not only because of the dense crowds but also because they were slowly parading behind various marching bands such as the one featured in this clip:





Lots of musicians did not form marching bands but contributed to the spirit of the celebration just as well:




It was a lot of fun to be so involved in the post-victory celebration, but, we left after only an hour. The French Quarter is not a very large area and truly could not accommodate all the fans that flooded the streets that night. It was literally a wall of people, a sea of empty plastic cups, and plumes of cigarette smoke amongst blaring brass instruments. It was pretty insane. Fun, but, only for a little while (especially if you were sober like we were). I mean one can only tolerate such dense crowds and noise for so long. But I'm glad we went and it was fun while it lasted. Making the decision to leave was a good one because when we did finally manage to escape the craziness, there were still literally hundreds of people flooding into the FQ. Even though there was NO MORE ROOM on Bourbon Street, they just kept coming and coming. It took us a good 20 minutes to walk three blocks out of that place.

In the French Quarter.

On Bourbon Street.

On Canal Street, outside the French Quarter.

Finally walking home.

I definitely enjoyed myself and was very grateful to have been in New Orleans at that particular time, but, I was also glad to have been in bed before midnight that evening.