BEFORE THE GAME

New Orleans and surrounding parts are all agog today. The Saints are playing the Philadelphia Eagles tonight for the NFL division championship. The winner goes to the NFC championship next weekend, and the winner of that to the Super Bowl in Miami on February 4.

You’d think we’ve never been here before.

We haven’t. Well, we’ve played in post-season playoff games. Four of them, to be exact, in 40 years of Saints football. And we’ve won exactly one. But this year figures to be different.

It feels different. The other times in previous years, honestly, we felt like impostors. Maybe the ball will bounce our way, anything can happen, we might luck up. This time, Saints fans feel like the team is honestly good enough to go all the way.

Today’s Times-Picayune splashed a headline across the front page: “All Saints Day!” It is indeed. Everywhere you look–and I put in 65 miles around this town today–people are wearing their Saints regalia. Even the doormen at swanky hotels. My son Neil took his three children to Academy Sports and let them buy Saints jerseys. Two opted for quarterback Drew Brees and the other for Reggie Bush’s shirts.

The paper ran a feature about Jackson, Mississippi, today, how the citizens are rooting for the Saints and buying up all the team’s caps and shirts they can find, a direct result of the team holding their training camp at Millsaps College last summer. Couple of funny stories….

Con Maloney owns an appliance store in Jackson. Last summer he ran a promotion to sell HDTV sets, and promised that if the Saints win the Super Bowl, he will refund the price of the set minus the sales tax. He sold a million dollars worth. At the time, of course, no one gave the Saints even a slim chance. They’re still a long way out, but it has become a distinct possibility.

Maloney confesses he has bought a half-million dollars of insurance in case he has to fork out those big bucks. He says the publicity will be worth the other $500,000 if it does indeed come to pass.

A bar owner in Jackson decided to buy a couple of season tickets for 2007-08 and run a promotional contest. The Saints ticket office said they’d have to put him on a waiting list. He’s number 2,600.

This has been a big day for us.

At 10 o’clock this morning, Global Maritime Ministries on Tchoupitoulas held their annual “board and friends” meeting, followed by a dedication of the new port ministry center at 1:30 pm. This big building is incredibly beautiful and well-furnished. As we gathered, you could see a number of foreign-looking men sitting before computers. “They’re off the Carnival cruise ship ‘Fantasy,'” Philip Vandercook told us. “Normally, they’ll have 25 crew members to drop by the center when they’re in town.”

Freddie Arnold chaired the building committee for Global Maritime, so had to be present at the afternoon dedication, while I drove to Chalmette for the 2 pm ground-breaking service for the “new” First Baptist Church. I would estimate 150-200 people gathered inside the gutted out sanctuary, many of them coming an hour early, just to dream about re-establishing their beloved church. Pastor John Jeffries has done a masterful job working with architects, Builders for Christ, and the Louisiana Baptist Builders.

By the time the nearly 2 hour service ended, Freddie Arnold had arrived and was able to address the crowd. Among the guests were several St. Bernard Parish leaders, Missouri Baptist leaders, and Dr. David Hankins, the executive director of Louisiana Baptists.

At one point, when they ran a video showing photos of the flooded sanctuary with its mildewed pews and ruined walls, as well as the destroyed educational building, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Someone might be tempted to say this were just so much lumber and material, but don’t tell them that. This was their church and it was precious to them.

Some of the members drove in a long way to be present. The hymn leader said, “This is my first time back.”

The national sports people say the Saints are America’s sentimental favorite as a result of all the city has been through. Good. We can use all the emotional support we can get.

Everyone around here remembers September 25 as the red-letter day (okay, evening) when the Saints played their first game back in the Dome and gave the Atlanta Falcons the whupping of their lives, and how excited everyone was. If the phone calls to local talk shows are any indication, tonight’s noise should outstrip that. Excited does not come close to describing how people are feeling around here. Hyper. Overdosing on excitement.

A scary thought. Every sports writer in these parts and Pennsylvania too seem to have predicted the Saints to win. Not sure if that’s good.

Chris Rose, local humor columnist, journeyed to Philadelphia this week and walked around town wearing a Saints shirt and engaging the locals in conversation. One person said, “We are the City of Brotherly Love except on game day.” Rose walked into the mayor’s office and, because hizzoner was out, ended up talking to his press secretary about this contest. No, the mayor of New Orleans and Philadelphia did not have a wager on the outcome of the game, he said. So Rose suggested one. If Philadelphia wins, New Orleans will send enough gumbo for a year. If New Orleans wins, Philadelphia has to take our mayor. The press secretary–apparently a serious type–did not see any humor in that. Shucks.

DURING THE GAME.

At halftime, the Eagles are 14 and the Saints 13. It’s anybody’s game. Unfortunately. The Saints have outplayed the Eagles except in the Red Zone, which is football lingo for “inside the opponent’s 20 yard line.” Had they scored each time instead of kicking two field goals, the Saints would have 21. So, this does not bode well.

What does “bode well” is that in previous games this season, Saints coach Sean Payton has made adjustments and the team has come out stronger than previously.

I don’t need a nerve-racking game. I eat. In the first half, I wiped out an entire bag of “Bit-O-Honey” candy. “Well,” I justified to myself, “it isn’t chocolate, so it doesn’t have caffeine and won’t keep me awake.”

Funny how we can find ways of rationalizing anything we want to do.

At today’s Chalmette groundbreaking, several speakers made the point that church members should accept that their church will never be the same. You’ve lost members, you’ll gain other members, things will be different. Katrina’s devastation has not only displaced the entire community–permanently for many–it has changed priorities and outlooks of those who return. Even if you could assemble all the former members and try to pick up as before, it would not be the same. Everyone has changed. Some good ways and some not so good. Tragedy and stress do that to people.

Driving through the communities of Arabi and Chalmette is a sad business. Most of the shopping centers are still boarded up. A new house or business is going up occasionally, but a great many stores and restaurants are closed and show no sign anyone has repaired the building. Wal-Mart is closed, as are several entire shopping centers. Their parking lots have been landing areas for giant machines and huge trucks.

To rebuild your church in such a time and place is a tremendous act of faith. No wonder the St. Bernard Parish leaders turned out today to thank Pastor Jeffries and First Baptist for rebuilding.

State Senator Walter Boasso was on hand, although he didn’t speak. I shook his hand and said, “You’re one of my heroes.” He was the lone voice after Katrina’s devastation who started agitating for one central levee board instead of the multiplication of boards, each filled with political patronage, each one doing everything in the world except safeguarding the security of the levees. When the first special session of the legislature failed to take up the issue and when the governor did not see the need either, it was Senator Boasso who made the noise which the citizenry heard and took up the cause. A few days ago, the two new boards went into effect, putting out of business permanently that other jumble of levee boards.

Anyone can join a parade already in progress. It takes a special person to start one.

AFTER THE GAME.

Ah man. I can’t quit smiling. That was so beautiful.

The old Saints–the ones who constantly broke our hearts over four decades–would have found a way to lose it there at the end. But even after Reggie Bush fumbled a pitchback from Drew Brees and the Eagles took over with more than 3 minutes remaining, our defense still held and they had to punt. What can you say? It was simply beautiful and so satisfying.

I mean, it’s been a long time coming.

They say the Saints are the first team in NFL history to win a divisional championship after losing 13 games the previous season. And tonight’s score (Saints 27, Eagles 24) is the identical score to their regular season game a few weeks back.

Put it down in big letters, Saints fans: this is NOT your father’s Saints. These guys are winners, and so much fun to root for.

For a while there I thought I was going to have to crank up the computer and say something about how the Saints outplayed the Eagles, but the object is not to outplay them but to outscore them, while trying to salve my bruised feelings over losing the game. I will admit here that even though I was alone in my den watching this game, I watched the entire second half standing up, walking around. That’s called nerves.

The Fox television people showed Bourbon Street a few times, people crowding the streets, beginning to celebrate. It grieves me somewhat that friends in other states will see that and conclude that all New Orleanians are down there, that the entire city is liquoring up and debauching itself. Not so. Bourbon is one little bitty street in the French Quarter, a section (Wow! What was that? Excuse me–my neighbors are putting off fireworks) of residences, historical buildings, restaurants, t-shirt shops, and antique stores. Yes, it’s seedy in places, and yes, it can be dangerous particularly at night, and yes, it will be raucous down there tonight. But most of the folks in the Superdome will go out to a late supper or to Morning Call for cafe au lait and beignets or head back to their rooms or homes and be excited and try to sleep tonight. I guarantee you a good number will be in church tomorrow. (Praying for the Seahawks to beat Chicago tomorrow afternoon? Maybe so.)

Okay. Anything the Saints do from now on is gravy. Lagniappe. (Cajun French for “a little extra.”) More than we have a right to ask or expect. But we’ll take it, of course, if they win next Sunday too. It’s just that this is heady stuff, territory we’ve never traveled before.

One of our young pastors was in my office this week saying he had seen a guy on the news who had driven something like 700 miles to get here for the game, but doesn’t have a ticket and can’t find one. We laughed about that, but I hear that it happens in every big game anywhere, college or pro. Some people just want to be near the action, even if they don’t get inside the arena. Those people will now mix and mingle with the fans filing out of the Dome, will listen to their stories and enjoy their excitement. And I guarantee you, when they return home to Des Moines or Peoria or Charleston, they will feel for all the world like they were at that game. In time, they will tell their grandchildren they were at the game. And they’ll even believe it themselves. I feel like I was there.

There’s a sermon there incidentally–about people who never go inside but hang around the back door–but I’ll save it for another time. It’s past my bedtime.

Like I’ll be able to sleep.

THE MORNING AFTER

The headline in Sunday morning’s paper blasted “DREAMLAND” across the front page. It is indeed.

I thought of that wonderful line from Psalm 126. “When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter and our tongue with joyful shouting. Then they said…’The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us, whereof we are glad.”

I was thinking somebody in our family should have bought a Deuce McAllister shirt. He was the star running back Saturday night.

Sunday morning’s sports pages gives credit to a dozen Saints players for making key plays. At each one, the sportswriter would say, “Perhaps the biggest play of the game” or “Possibly making the winning difference for the Saints.” The point: everyone has a role, each person’s task is essential. Just like in any winning organization from your business to your church.

“Our hearts beat as one,” said a player, quoting Coach Sean Payton. Blending the personalities and idiosyncracies of 45 players into a unity is no little feat, but apparently Payton has pulled it off.

Everyone around here is pulling for the Seattle Seahawks against the Chicago Bears Sunday afternoon. If Seattle wins, the Saints will host them next Sunday afternoon in the Superdome. If Chicago wins, by merit of their better record, they will host the NFC championship game and the Saints will have to play in outdoor frigid Soldiers Field. It figures to be 30 degrees there today with the possibility of sleet and snow. Fun to watch; murderous to play in.

I hope no one will find it strange that we’re all giving thanks to God for that victory last night. It’s not that we think “God heard our prayers and let us win.” It’s more that this is so important to this struggling city that needs an emotional lift as badly as any place has ever, and now that the blessing has come, we feel the need to thank Someone.

Baseball fans will recall something Yogi Berra said once. A player on the opposing team walked up to the plate carrying a bat and as he settled into the batter’s box, he made the sign of the cross. Yogi said, “Hey buddy, let’s just let the Almighty enjoy the game.”

If you saw the way the ball bounced last night, you get the impression He did. We certainly did.