BY ANTHONY LOPOPOLO
Follow Anthony Lopopolo on Twitter at @SportsCaddy
FUNNY HOW THE New Orleans Saints were elevated by the sweeping support of a continent – maybe the world – and were still considered the underdogs.
Casual observers, diehard loyalists and common residents inside and outside Louisiana borders – all but, assuredly, those in the blue-and-white state of Indiana – carried the fleur-de-lis emblem on their bodies, in their minds for the archetypal comeback story to reiterate.
A shameful team in years prior, begrudgingly recognized for the better part of 43 years as an NFL franchise, the Saints were buried under mounds of dirty disbelief. A ravaging Hurricane Katrina in 2005 sent the city into further defeat.
Yet on Sunday, most of the football populace cast their vote of confidence for the Saints. Four years after the team’s reconstruction, literally assembled by a core of misfits who, like New Orleans, had seen their identity washed away.
Jeremy Shockey, the rehabilitated tight-end who fell out of the New York Giants’ championship roster, found a home in 2008. Drew Brees, a patron saint in New Orleans surely by way of his 32 completions – tying a Super Bowl record – and consistent play up-field Sunday, stated emphatically how the city saved him, not vice-versa.
And Sean Payton, the offensive coordinator turned head coach who instilled dignity in the New Orleans jersey, played tapes of the tragedy-stricken region they represent over and over to his players upon their arrival. Never mind his outrageous coaching this weekend, the envy of the league.
It’s difficult for anyone who hasn’t experienced New Orleans post-Katrina to really quantify the meaning of this victory. Pictures don’t quite do justice. When photos of the devastating disaster pervaded news outlets, levels of distress couldn’t be calculated. As well as now, when parades filter through the same streets that once served as mats to floods, levels of elation can’t be measured.
A feature story wouldn’t capture it. A one-week stay on Bourbon Street, detached from the struggles and plight of a city in flux, can’t bear witness to the city’s redemption. Really, only New Orleans and citizens of Louisiana need to relish and revel in it, to understand the folklore qualities of their team’s evolution from damaged to destined.
Even still, Sun Life Stadium – the host venue of Super Bowl XLIV – became a political arena, where political undertones became overtones and a vote against the Saints would be demonic and diabolical.
The Colts were – let’s face it – unfairly vilified throughout the two weeks before the Vince Lombardi trophy was revealed, complicating the nation’s heartthrob. All the while, Peyton Manning was being mooted as the greatest quarterback of all-time. Some already had Brees slotted in a future Hall-of-Fame ballot, ring or no ring.
Tracy Porter, who made the desperate interception on one of Manning’s late but routine long-yard drives, hadn’t received that kind of pre-game coverage. Garrett Hartley, still underappreciated for hitting three kicks beyond 40 yards, kept the Saints within earshot of a resilient return when down 10-0.
And Thomas Morstead, a 23-year-old rookie kicker who had been notified before game time that an onside kick would be requested, made a play forever iconic in Super Bowl history if not for its surprise, then for its execution.
Eight different receivers caught the ball, were targeted by a versatile Brees unwilling to wilt in what he called a defining moment. Reggie Bush, limited to five runs and 25 yards, didn’t detract or add much to the victory and made it all the more glorious because of it.
Girlfriend Kim Kardashian wasn’t a regular cutaway on CBS and, between her and Bush’s knack for luring the entertainment industry to the team, the Saints win remained as pure as filtered water.
It was a fittingly workmanlike result for a team whose city has personified the ability to preserve collectively. Brees, one must imagine, would have it no other way.
And just like the Black Power salute is iconic of the 1968 Olympics, just as boxing promoter Don King and his spiky hair reflects the days of the sport’s reign, Brees’ moment with his one-year-old son Baylen will tie itself to this Super Bowl eternally.
It will serve as a token of what culminated after a team played the old narrative and beat the odds.
Yet on Sunday, most of the football populace cast their vote of confidence for the Saints. Four years after the team’s reconstruction, literally assembled by a core of misfits who, like New Orleans, had seen their identity washed away.
Jeremy Shockey, the rehabilitated tight-end who fell out of the New York Giants’ championship roster, found a home in 2008. Drew Brees, a patron saint in New Orleans surely by way of his 32 completions – tying a Super Bowl record – and consistent play up-field Sunday, stated emphatically how the city saved him, not vice-versa.
And Sean Payton, the offensive coordinator turned head coach who instilled dignity in the New Orleans jersey, played tapes of the tragedy-stricken region they represent over and over to his players upon their arrival. Never mind his outrageous coaching this weekend, the envy of the league.
It’s difficult for anyone who hasn’t experienced New Orleans post-Katrina to really quantify the meaning of this victory. Pictures don’t quite do justice. When photos of the devastating disaster pervaded news outlets, levels of distress couldn’t be calculated. As well as now, when parades filter through the same streets that once served as mats to floods, levels of elation can’t be measured.
A feature story wouldn’t capture it. A one-week stay on Bourbon Street, detached from the struggles and plight of a city in flux, can’t bear witness to the city’s redemption. Really, only New Orleans and citizens of Louisiana need to relish and revel in it, to understand the folklore qualities of their team’s evolution from damaged to destined.
Even still, Sun Life Stadium – the host venue of Super Bowl XLIV – became a political arena, where political undertones became overtones and a vote against the Saints would be demonic and diabolical.
The Colts were – let’s face it – unfairly vilified throughout the two weeks before the Vince Lombardi trophy was revealed, complicating the nation’s heartthrob. All the while, Peyton Manning was being mooted as the greatest quarterback of all-time. Some already had Brees slotted in a future Hall-of-Fame ballot, ring or no ring.
Tracy Porter, who made the desperate interception on one of Manning’s late but routine long-yard drives, hadn’t received that kind of pre-game coverage. Garrett Hartley, still underappreciated for hitting three kicks beyond 40 yards, kept the Saints within earshot of a resilient return when down 10-0.
And Thomas Morstead, a 23-year-old rookie kicker who had been notified before game time that an onside kick would be requested, made a play forever iconic in Super Bowl history if not for its surprise, then for its execution.
Girlfriend Kim Kardashian wasn’t a regular cutaway on CBS and, between her and Bush’s knack for luring the entertainment industry to the team, the Saints win remained as pure as filtered water.
It was a fittingly workmanlike result for a team whose city has personified the ability to preserve collectively. Brees, one must imagine, would have it no other way.
And just like the Black Power salute is iconic of the 1968 Olympics, just as boxing promoter Don King and his spiky hair reflects the days of the sport’s reign, Brees’ moment with his one-year-old son Baylen will tie itself to this Super Bowl eternally.
It will serve as a token of what culminated after a team played the old narrative and beat the odds.
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