On behalf of my fellow New Orleanians, I would like to extend a hearty man-hug welcome to all invading Vikings fans.
As you may have noticed, you're not in Minneapolis any more. For starters, the ground here is not frozen.
As is spelled out in the pages of this publication, New Orleans abounds with more first-rate food, music and distraction than just about anywhere.
Musically speaking, Minnesota gave the world Prince, Bob Dylan and the Replacements. Not bad.
New Orleans gave the world basically everything else, from Louis Armstrong to Lil Wayne.
Over the weekend, please sample the sights and sounds of Frenchmen and Bourbon streets, and fill your Viking bellies to capacity. (But remove the Helga hats before dining at, say, Restaurant August. And keep the pillaging to a minimum.)
We hope you have a fine, intoxicating time.
Until Sunday at 5:40 p.m.
Because as you know, when story lines collide, only one can prevail.
We know all about the noble Brett Favre and his quest for a final (maybe) trip to the Super Bowl.
And we know your Vikings have an inauspicious Super Bowl history. We feel your pain. We understand your hunger.
But you have not felt a hunger like ours.
We'll see your no-Super Bowl-appearances-in-33-years and we'll raise it no-Super Bowls-in-the-entire-42-year-history-of-our-franchise.
We have wandered in the wilderness longer than the Old Testament's Israelites.
Last weekend, you had your way with the Cowboys. Meanwhile, we had our way with the Cardinals.
Distracted as you were with your own game, you may not fully appreciate the forces we brought to bear.
In a move worthy of Knute Rockne, Saints coach Sean Payton re-signed sainted running back Deuce McAllister the day before the Cardinals game. The ploy electrified the Who Dat Nation and the team.
Who might Payton activate this weekend?
Rickey Jackson?
Archie Manning?
Tom Dempsey?
Whatever it takes.
During pre-game warm-ups, running back Reggie Bush hob-nobbed with Brad Pitt and Spike Lee, both of whom have a history with New Orleans. Actress Patricia Clarkson and rock 'n' roll founding father Fats Domino were also in the house.
Bush went on to torch the Cardinals for 217 all-purpose yards.
Which New Orleans-centric celebrities might the Saints recruit for sideline inspiration this Sunday? Harry Connick Jr.? John Goodman? Pete Fountain? Al Scramuzza? The Canal Street Madam? The ghost of Buddy Diliberto?
Bring 'em all.
As game-time approached, Bush charged from the tunnel armed with a baseball bat, as if bound for a gang fight.
What weapon will he wield against your Vikings? Nunchucks? Or would a battle axe be more appropriate?
The Cardinals scored on the first play from scrimmage. For the Black & Gold, it was like tearing off a Band-Aid -- quick, painful, and done.
The Cardinals peaked in those first 19 seconds. After that, the Who Dats got crunk, and then got crunk again, and again, and again, and again. The Ying Yang Twins' "Halftime (Stand Up and Get Crunk)" is our unofficial anthem. It blasts from the Superdome P.A. system as the Saints prepare to kick off following a touchdown.
You'll hear it a lot on Sunday.
By the end of the third quarter, the Cardinals game was a Mary J. Blige song: No more drama. It was over.
Admittedly, the mountain the Saints face this time around is much steeper. Your Vikings are solid. If the Cardinals showdown resolved as a leisurely uphill jog, this will be more akin to rock-climbing.
But metaphorically speaking, we are accustomed to steep climbs around here.
Yes, Favre is a Hall of Fame-bound legend embarking on one final (maybe) campaign.
But as he has demonstrated time and again, he is mortal. Under pressure, he makes mistakes.
Has he ever attempted to audible in the middle of a Metallica concert?
Because on Sunday, he will. When the opposition breaks huddle, the Dome gets loud. Metallica loud.
Last week, the Saints smacked down Cardinals quarterback Kurt Warner -- like Favre, a survivor from the days of leather helmets and no face masks -- in a way that makes a broadcasting job look mighty appealing.
How much abuse will Favre take Sunday? How much can he take?
This is only the second time the Saints have reached the NFC Championship Game. Our previous appearance three years ago against the Bears on a frigid January afternoon did not go so well.
But this ain't 2007, and the Superdome sure ain't Soldier Field.
This is Crunk Town.
And this is our time.
Sorry, Vikings fans. Try to have fun, anyway.
:sadwave:
As you may have noticed, you're not in Minneapolis any more. For starters, the ground here is not frozen.
As is spelled out in the pages of this publication, New Orleans abounds with more first-rate food, music and distraction than just about anywhere.
Musically speaking, Minnesota gave the world Prince, Bob Dylan and the Replacements. Not bad.
New Orleans gave the world basically everything else, from Louis Armstrong to Lil Wayne.
Over the weekend, please sample the sights and sounds of Frenchmen and Bourbon streets, and fill your Viking bellies to capacity. (But remove the Helga hats before dining at, say, Restaurant August. And keep the pillaging to a minimum.)
We hope you have a fine, intoxicating time.
Until Sunday at 5:40 p.m.
Because as you know, when story lines collide, only one can prevail.
We know all about the noble Brett Favre and his quest for a final (maybe) trip to the Super Bowl.
And we know your Vikings have an inauspicious Super Bowl history. We feel your pain. We understand your hunger.
But you have not felt a hunger like ours.
We'll see your no-Super Bowl-appearances-in-33-years and we'll raise it no-Super Bowls-in-the-entire-42-year-history-of-our-franchise.
We have wandered in the wilderness longer than the Old Testament's Israelites.
Last weekend, you had your way with the Cowboys. Meanwhile, we had our way with the Cardinals.
Distracted as you were with your own game, you may not fully appreciate the forces we brought to bear.
In a move worthy of Knute Rockne, Saints coach Sean Payton re-signed sainted running back Deuce McAllister the day before the Cardinals game. The ploy electrified the Who Dat Nation and the team.
Who might Payton activate this weekend?
Rickey Jackson?
Archie Manning?
Tom Dempsey?
Whatever it takes.
During pre-game warm-ups, running back Reggie Bush hob-nobbed with Brad Pitt and Spike Lee, both of whom have a history with New Orleans. Actress Patricia Clarkson and rock 'n' roll founding father Fats Domino were also in the house.
Bush went on to torch the Cardinals for 217 all-purpose yards.
Which New Orleans-centric celebrities might the Saints recruit for sideline inspiration this Sunday? Harry Connick Jr.? John Goodman? Pete Fountain? Al Scramuzza? The Canal Street Madam? The ghost of Buddy Diliberto?
Bring 'em all.
As game-time approached, Bush charged from the tunnel armed with a baseball bat, as if bound for a gang fight.
What weapon will he wield against your Vikings? Nunchucks? Or would a battle axe be more appropriate?
The Cardinals scored on the first play from scrimmage. For the Black & Gold, it was like tearing off a Band-Aid -- quick, painful, and done.
The Cardinals peaked in those first 19 seconds. After that, the Who Dats got crunk, and then got crunk again, and again, and again, and again. The Ying Yang Twins' "Halftime (Stand Up and Get Crunk)" is our unofficial anthem. It blasts from the Superdome P.A. system as the Saints prepare to kick off following a touchdown.
You'll hear it a lot on Sunday.
By the end of the third quarter, the Cardinals game was a Mary J. Blige song: No more drama. It was over.
Admittedly, the mountain the Saints face this time around is much steeper. Your Vikings are solid. If the Cardinals showdown resolved as a leisurely uphill jog, this will be more akin to rock-climbing.
But metaphorically speaking, we are accustomed to steep climbs around here.
Yes, Favre is a Hall of Fame-bound legend embarking on one final (maybe) campaign.
But as he has demonstrated time and again, he is mortal. Under pressure, he makes mistakes.
Has he ever attempted to audible in the middle of a Metallica concert?
Because on Sunday, he will. When the opposition breaks huddle, the Dome gets loud. Metallica loud.
Last week, the Saints smacked down Cardinals quarterback Kurt Warner -- like Favre, a survivor from the days of leather helmets and no face masks -- in a way that makes a broadcasting job look mighty appealing.
How much abuse will Favre take Sunday? How much can he take?
This is only the second time the Saints have reached the NFC Championship Game. Our previous appearance three years ago against the Bears on a frigid January afternoon did not go so well.
But this ain't 2007, and the Superdome sure ain't Soldier Field.
This is Crunk Town.
And this is our time.
Sorry, Vikings fans. Try to have fun, anyway.
:sadwave:
