I was never a fan of the 1960s. Maybe it was because I was not born until 24 years later, but there is one song from that era that sums up my feelings of a certain team. In 1966, the Monkees sang a song written by Neil Diamond, propelling the group to superstar status worldwide. Smash Mouth then covered the song for the movie “Shrek,” and ironically enough, it propelled the group into relative obscurity. The song is “I’m A Believer,” and the team is the New Orleans Saints.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think one day I would publicly announce to the world I was becoming a Saints fan. Especially since the Saints have been one of the most downtrodden, cursed franchises in the history of professional sports.
Growing up, my grandfather Murphy was a staunch Cowboys fan, which meant on Sundays we all crowded around the television to watch “America’s team” while surrounded by signed pictures of Tom Landry, Herschel Walker and Tony Dorsett.
Although my grandfather is one of the reasons I love football, I hated Dallas more than anything.
It was not until I was older and went to my first Saints game that I realized how much fun the NFL atmosphere was. But I still did not like the Saints, even though the team was right up the road.
In my youthful following of the Packers, I did not understand that in my aspirations to play sports like Brett Favre it wasn’t the team I was following; it was one of the NFL’s best players.
Everything changed when I began university life in New Orleans. I started listening to Saints games on the radio while watching the muted TV broadcast mainly because I wanted to listen to the way announcer Jim Henderson called the games. I knew sports casting was in my future, but I was still unable to find a love for the Saints.
That was until three key things happened. The first was the team’s firing Head Coach Jim Haslett. Haslett had much promise when he first started his tenure as coach. He guided the Saints to the playoffs and was named the 2000 NFL Coach of the Year. Then it went downhill as Haslett never got back to the playoffs and lost the respect of the team in the locker room.
The second thing that happened was New Orleans cutting the no-talent, backwards-passing, interception-smiling Aaron Brooks out of the organization. His number two jersey fit him well because that was the number of interceptions or fumbles he had almost every game.
The third thing, which I find was the sealer for me, was the Houston Texans’ taking Mario Williams first in the draft instead of Reggie Bush. I hope this proves to be the equivalent of the Portland Trailblazers trading Michael Jordan to the Chicago Bulls for Sam Bowie in the 1984 NBA Draft.
Not only did the people in Texas want to tear down the Reliant Center piece by piece, but they also wanted Genral Manager Charlie Casserly’s head on a platter, which the city of Houston finally got when he resigned over the summer. Once Bush has that spectacular run the entire league is waiting to see, it’ll hurt Houston even worse.
Although those changes to the team caught my attention, it was nothing compared to what I witnessed Monday night.
Some people watching the Saints-Falcons game outside the state of Louisiana may have just watched a football game, but what we saw was a city, a people, all converging in the Superdome, a building once viewed by many as a symbol of despair and fear.
That was until a blocked punt by Steve Gleason on the fifth play of the game was recovered by Curtis Deloatch in the end zone changed that building of despair into a symbol of what New Orleans is today and what it will be forever known for–hope.
A 23-3 victory does not hurt either.
With the way the team is playing so far, it is easy to see why the return of the Saints to New Orleans is so monumental. Not only is it a renewing of the New Orleans spirit, it is the rebirth of the Saints as an organization. Hopefully this can be the turning point the Saints need to become one of the more elite teams in the league. And at least for now, I’m a believer.
