A Taste of Normal

14 Jul

A Falcon fan reacts to news of Drew Brees’s signing.

Holy fuck. Thank you, [insert diety of your choice here].

Yesterday was a beautiful day, wasn’t it? I don’t have to tell you that. It was magical, exhiliarating, normal.

I know, normal is a troublesome word for a day in which a franchise that’s never really had a great quarterback signs a quarterback to the richest deal in the history of tackle football, but I think it makes sense.

This offseason has been such shit. “Oh, goddamn, what is this? Angry Who Dat states the obvious?” Yeah, I know, I’m getting to it, but you’re still reading, aren’t you? You are, because right now we have less than a month to the first preseason game, training camp is just around the corner, and you want to read every fucking thing on the internet with “Saints” or “Who Dat” in the title, because you’re so pumped up about the coming season you can’t sit still.

Does that sound anything like your state of mind for the last 4 months?  Didn’t think so.

That’s what I’m talking about. Fuck the bounties, fuck the 49ers and Gregg Williams and a 6-man blitz with 40 seconds to go, fuck the commissioner, fuck Jason Cole and Jeff Duncan and that Barr motherfucker. None of that matters anymore. Loomis is a supernatural being after all. 10.4 million dollar cap hit in 2012 – suck on that, NFL. Drew Brees is going to take the field this year, we’re looking at A HOME SUPERBOWL, and fuck and YES!

See what a little big ole heap of good news can do for your Who Dat soul? We’re back to normal, just like that. It’s all about September 9 now, getting this thing started, and what are we going to cook on that first tailgate, anyway? Within hours, I was drunk in my own home, toasting Drew Brees to a baffled basset hound, posting mostly nonsensical shit on twitter, and looking up flights on Orbitz (#spon). If you care, it’ll be Denver in 2012, with my tailgating partner and traveling Who Dat soldier @rafcastillo79, along with a couple friends if I can talk them in (that means you, Brad, Jonathan, what the hell is the problem here? Let’s go).

That’s the offseason I love. The stubborn optimism, the ridiculous message-board threads asking for suggestions for a new Drew Brees chant, the flight-booking for out of towners making their annual pilgrimage to the Holy Benz. That’s what we’ve been missing for these long, trying months. That’s what has made us so angry.

But it’s all over now. Yeah, players are still suspended. Vilma will continue to fight the good fight, the commish is still a dick, and Jeff Duncan still reports on the team he hates. Yet, sometime during the afternoon yesterday, the refresh bar on my twitter feed went from “3 new tweets” to “44 new tweets,” my heart raced, my palms got sweaty, I clicked, and all was healed – at least for a moment. Bless you, Mort.

Now we can stop worrying about what will happen on July 17. Nothing – not a damn thing – will happen on July 17. The date toward which the entire fanbase looked with so much dread was instantaneously rendered as blissfully irrelevant as Roddy White’s opinion of child rappists. [sigh of relief here]

And then, suddenly, something weird happened. It wasn’t entirely unexpected – at least, it shouldn’t have been – but it caught me off guard. I’m not sure why. I guess I’ve just been so focused on our internal struggles that I sometimes forgot one of the integral, beautiful attributes of the common Saints fan.

falcons Hate.

Oh, blissful, exhilirating, soul-healing is the power of my falcon hate, and it wasn’t even on my mind yesterday. But, and bless you Who Dats for this, twitter didn’t forget. Who Dat Twitter, glorious as it is, chose to celebrate the Brees signing by berating falcon fans. I’m getting goosebumps writing this. It was just a knee-jerk embrace of one of the things that makes Saints fandom great. I don’t want to get too pop-psych on you folks, but I can’t help but wonder if, subconsciously, that’s exactly what happened. This was our chance to have a normal offseason for a few minutes. What do we do in normal offseasons? Trend #2pts on twitter, that’s what.

I won’t attempt to capture the mood here. Normally I’d post a few tweets representative of the general trend, the best and the funniest, for you to enjoy. Sorry, but I can’t do that. The beauty was in sheer volume. I will, however, offer this extraordinary example, a video of @Danchrism screaming the day’s tweets into a webcam. Turn down your volume if you have children. This is sublime:

 

 

That’s what yesterday was about. Saints Nation enjoying a day of celebration the likes of which we haven’t seen since early 2010. You know I hate to dwell on past posts (yeah, right) but I found myself thinking about my recent off-topic diatribe on social media.  Therein, I posited that social media, regardless of the lack of face-to-face interaction it offers, has made my life – especially the part of my life that revolves around the Saints – richer. Yesterday, I felt validated as I sat in my office and got nothing productive done on a Friday afternoon, reading twitter, combing through message board celebration, and watching goofy YouTube fan reactions. I work with zero NFL fans. None. There’s one guy from fucking Idaho who follows Boise State. That’s all I have. But there, in the solitude of my office, I was able to enjoy the party virtually.

I thank you all for that.

Don’t get me wrong, I found time to walk down an empty hallway in my building after lunch, and I took the opportunity to perform a gratuitous Sean Payton Fist Pump, and I got celebratorily drunk later that evening, so my real-life celebration is covered (looks pointedly at ‘Himself’).

Fuck you, WordPress. Celebratorily is a word if I want it to be one.

I vow to embrace this newfound normality as long as possible, directly into the regular season if at all possible. I will berate falcon fans, I will mock the local media, I will scream after a good preseason showing that the Super Bowl is ours, I will worry after a bad one that the season is over before it began. That’s what we do, after all. That’s normal for this neurotic, paranoid, never-self-conscious fanbase. It’s why I love this shit.

I’ll find something to be Angry about soon. I promise. Maybe I’ll even use less I’s in the next post. I don’t apologize, though, because damnit, we’ve suffered through enough nonsense to have earned the right to celebrate some dude’s 60-million-dollar payday with selfish, narcissistic glee. That’s fandom, baby. Until then, I’ll let Grandmaster Wang pick up my slack like only he can. I gratefully submit this deconstruction of Jason Cole’s very soul for your enjoyment, with a humble acknowledgement that the legend does Anger far, far better than yours truly, regardless of any self-assigned nom de plume.

Grandmaster Wang takes apart a member of the media for a ridiculous anti-Saints article.

Now that, my friends, is wonderfully normal.

 

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