Bandwagon

I cannot claim to be a Saints fan.

There has never been, nor will there ever be, an NFL franchise in Birmingham, where I grew up, so I was free to pick a team. I never cottoned to the Atlanta Falcons, so that left the Miami Dolphins and New Orleans Saints in the South (and I guess the Bucs, but that was just too much to ask). The first year I was really aware of the NFL was 1982, and the Dolphins went to the Super Bowl. A year later, a fellow named Dan Marino came on the scene, and that was that.

I was only dimly aware of the Saints; they were so bad I don't think they were ever on television that much. That was about the time they featured Ken Stabler, Earl Campbell, and coach Bud Phillips, but they were limping out of the league then, and the Saints were little better for their presence.

Birmingham did have a pro team, though, at least for a few years: the Stallions of the USFL. Once that league folded, the best players invaded the NFL, and I rooted for a lot of those guys--even quarterback Bobby Hebert and head coach Jim Mora, who had both spent three years beating up on my Stallions. Now they were both on the Saints, and suddenly the Saints were good.

This was just a few years before my dad succumbed to depression and then dementia. I was in high school, and watching football was one of the few things left that we did together. For some reason, he was fascinated by Hebert. "Look at that Hebert," he would say. Hebert was good, but I don't know why my dad liked him so much. I think mainly he liked saying his name.

I still rooted for the Saints after Mora ("Playoffs? Playoffs?!?!") and Hebert moved on. And after getting a BA and MA at Auburn, I attended the MFA program at one of Auburn's arch enemies, LSU. I'd been to Louisiana a number of times before. My uncle and his family had lived there for several years around the time I was born. I was told that I slept through a Mardi Gras parade when I was less than a year old. My cousin was fond of saying about the Saints that "John Gilliam returned the opening kickoff in their very first game for a touchdown, and they haven't done anything since."

The family went to New Orleans a couple of times when I was a kid. All I remembered were the pictures outside the tittie bars and the old architecture. New Orleans isn't much of a town for visiting kids. I didn't realize what fun could be had in New Orleans until I was at LSU. I regret not making the trip more than I did, but when I did go I had great fun. And I came to realize that New Orleans was as passionate about the Saints as LSU or Auburn fans were about their team.

It was at LSU, probably while making the drive to New Orleans or back and forth from Birmingham, that I discovered the Buddy "Buddy D" Dilberto radio show. The Saints were terrible at the time, which always makes for better sports radio, and Buddy was leading the charge for the hiring of Mike Ditka. Ditka didn't work out so well, which continued to make for fun listening. I still vividly remember one caller, in absolute agony after another Saints debacle:

"I don't know what to do, Buddy, I don't know what to do," the fan said.

"There's not much you can do," Buddy said, "except go into the bathroom, lift up the lid, and throw up."

My wife and I moved to Kentucky after finishing at LSU, and it wasn't until we moved to Chicago that I found sports radio just as amusing as Buddy D's show. Every once in a while I could somehow pick up AM 870 (I think that was the channel) to get another taste of Buddy, and I was saddened to hear of his death in 2005.

I still have friends in New Orleans, friends I worried about when Katrina hit in 2005. They didn't suffer like some people, perhaps, but they had their share of trouble, and they had stories. And like the rest of the country, like anyone who had any connection to that town and that state, I watched it all unfold, shocked, horrified, and depressed. I haven't been back since it happened, something I intend to correct soon.

I can't buy into the hype that a sports team can cure what ails a city or region. But because I grew up in Alabama, and went to Auburn and LSU, and listened to Buddy D's show, and lived in Chicago, I do know that, absurd though it may be, a sports team can provide an exuberant, irrational joy that makes you forget your troubles for just a moment. "Rock 'n' roll won't solve your problems," Pete Townshend once said (fittingly, playing at the Super Bowl halftime this Sunday). "But it will let you sort of dance all over them." The same could be said for sports.

There have been times when I rooted against the Saints. For a few years they beat up on my newly adopted team, the Rams (my wife is from St. Louis). And though I was a bit torn, I rooted for the Bears a few years ago when they and the Saints both met in the NFC Championship. I lived in Chicago for four years, never in New Orleans.

Who did the Bears lose to in the Super Bowl that year? Why, the Indianapolis Colts. Never one of my favorite teams, going back to my days as a passionate Dolphins fan. And while Peyton Manning seems to be a good guy, I've been sick of him since he was at Tennessee, lining up against Auburn and LSU.

So who will I be rooting for this Sunday?

I cannot claim to be a Saints fan.