It was only the first day of regular (or, at least the new "regular") streetcar service along St. Charles Avenue and already my eyes were rolling. We were on our way to Sunday's Saints-Rams game and, since Menckles still isn't overly confident in her injured left knee, we left the bikes at home and headed out to the car stop. It seemed like a good idea. What better way to reacquaint oneself with the iconic green Perley Thomas cars than on the way down to the Superdome on a Sunday morning?
Having lived one block off the streetcar route for... goodness... eight years now... I've greatly missed the sight and sound of the old cars rattling by at (officially) fifteen minute intervals. During the time when I worked in the French Quarter as a lower level peon peg in New Orleans's soul-sucking hospitality industry, I rode the cars down to work regularly. Once I exhausted my tolerance for the fact that the streetcar as a means of commuting transit is only slightly less reliable than walking, I bought a bicycle and never looked back.
I suppose that's not all I lost tolerance for, though. The annoying conversations with the tourists along the way had something to do with it as well. Typically, such encounters would follow this form (What I ususally wanted to say is in parentheses):
Tourist Bobblehead: Does this trolley go to the French Quarter?
Me: (Fuck you) The line ends at Canal Street. Just walk across and you're there.
T B: Oh so you must live here! Can you tell me where the Voodoo shops are in the French Quarter?
Me: (You fucking condescending prick. Go back to Ohio) Umm... well I... no, not really. Mostly you'll find T-shirt shops and antique stores. There are a couple of "Voodoo-themed" T-shirt shops where you might find a souvenir or two you'd like.
T B: Okay. So where is Patty O'Brien's then? Is that the best place for food and jazz?
Me: Pat O'Brien's is on St. Peter Street between Bourbon and Royal. (It's the best place for over-priced drinks, puking frat brothers, and a stale piano lounge act)
T B: I'm in town for my husband's/wife's Cardiologist/Insurance Sales/Banker's convention. We want to get some authentic New Orleans Cajun food. But I don't want anything too spicy. Do you know anything good?
Me: Well it's hard to go wrong. (It won't matter anyway)
T B: So how long have you lived here?
Me: All my life.
T B: Do you like it here?
Me: (Sure when I'm not at work being chastised for not kissing enough ass to people like you for seven bucks an hour) It's the best place. I'll never live anywhere else.
T B: You're not afraid?
Me: Of?
T B: Well... you know the crime. It's terrible.
Me: It's just like any other major city. Not good, but you're likely to be okay if you use common sense (That's a big if, I know)
T B: Well, I don't think I could live here. It seems a bit wild for me. I'll bet it gets crazy at Mardi Gras, huh.
Me: We do alright, I guess.
T B: You know, you don't sound like you're from here.
Me: (Fuck you) Sure, I do.
Sometimes I'd have to explain further that New Orleanians typically don't speak like Scarlett O'Hara, but by that point the tourist has usually decided that since I'm not playing the stereotypical "N'awlins" game with them that I must not know what I'm talking about anyway.
It had been over two years since I'd had to the opportunity to engage streetcar tourists in this fashion. And here I am only just arrived at the car stop in my Sammy Knight jersey and already I'm a prop in some schmuck's vacationland photo. The predictable exchange:
Camera Guy: So do you guys ride the trolley to all the games?
Me: Actually, this is the first weekend the cars have been in service since the flood.
Camera Guy: (Exchanging a knowing look with his companion) I don't know if I could live here.
Le plus ca change....
As long as you leave early enough to account for the wait and then the six block walk up Girod Street, the streetcar gets you to the game on time... and with more cash left in your pocket than would a cab which is good because.... well... we drink at the game and that ain't cheap. Unlike last week, the Superdome gate staff had its act together this time so we were in our seats with drinks in hand in time for warm-ups.
After a year and a half in the same section, most fans establish a cordial rapport with the folks seated near them. Each Sunday morning brings the same greetings, the obligatory questions about whether or not the habitually late r is coming this week, the random talk that slowly segues into speculation about the game we're all about to see. All of this inevitably leads to the part where I say, "Here's what I don't like..." and everyone braces for something stupid or ominous or both.
As folks are already guessing, this week's something stupid and ominous was pants-related. My displeasure with the black unitards was met with mixed reactions from our section. Some folks actually enjoy the look, some are indifferent. But then I rattled off bigshot's Payton-era pants stats adding that, since the Rams were wearing their gold pants, this week's game would determine the merits of gold vs black pants in an actual head to head matchup, and the mood became a bit more serious.
Showing up at Pants Bowl 2007 with the numbers running against you; always a bad sign
And so at least the folks in section 617 were properly braced for what was to come. Unfortunately, we can't say the same for the black-panted home team.
Pants Bowl highlights (The photos, they are stolen, stolen, I tells ya! From the T-P/NOLA.com gallery):
- Sunday morning, the Times-Picayune issued the Saints a set of "Mid-season Grades" Oddly the paper awarded the Offense a B and the Defense a C+. If anything, those grades should be reversed (and probably adjusted downward). Sure, the defense gives up too many big plays (or, at least, this one guy on the defense does that) but they've also managed to hold seven of their first nine opponents below 100 yards rushing and, more often than not, come up with big stops in crucial situations. They haven't dominated anyone but they've done enough to win when the offense isn't sputtering.
That offense, on the other hand, has been one dimensional and erratic. Without Deuce McAllister in the lineup, the Saints' attack consists mainly of short, rhythm passing. Most competent defenses should be able to disrupt that to some degree. Sunday, the gold panted Rams did this by blitzing aggressively and forcing Drew Brees into his 11th and 12th interceptions of the season. (Last year he threw 11 total) Saints fans have been wondering out loud all season "What's wrong with Drew?" The answer is, nothing, really, it's just easier to stop a one-armed man when he's running a one-trick offense.
Brees, looking very sad and dare I say "gloomy" in his black pants - Not helping matters was the perhaps premature return of center Jeff Faine. Faine, who has been out with an injured pectoral muscle, twice botched snaps in the shotgun formation with disastrous results.
Brees (black pants) is sacked by former LSU tiger Claude Wroten (gold pants) Brees was harassed all day. - Rams' offensive strategy: 1st Down: run for no gain, 2nd Down: run or pass for minimal yardage, 3rd Down: Hmmmm... who is Jason David covering?
Okay so it hasn't been a very good year for the Saints' marquee free agent acquisition of 2007. Every week, Saints fans show up to watch David be short and fall down a lot, but this game was a masterpiece of anti-craftsmanship. The Rams were 8 out of 13 on 3rd down, mostly throwing at David.
Jason David (black pants) was picked on mercilessly by Rams receivers. - Saints' offensive strategy: 4th and 1: Reggie Bush off tackle. Really? No... really?
Bush (black pants) 7 carries 17 yards - With 14 minutes left to play, Rams Quarterback Marc Bulger hit Drew Bennet for a touchdown putting the Rams up 34 to 7. To my amazement, Saints fans... all of whom have paid hundreds, and in many cases thousands, of dollars to watch professional football this season, began heading for the exits with nearly a full quarter of the game remaining. I will never understand this behavior. It is bad value, bad karma, bad... manners, just bad all around.
We actually had a party to get to after the game and r, who had offered us a ride, was up and making like she wanted to take off with the rest of the early-departing fans. I didn't want to lose my ride, so I started the negotiations at, "I just want to see if they score here" Six plays later, Billy Miller was in the end-zone. r, who had relocated to the concourse in order to perhaps encourage folks to follow her, continued the negotiations via text message, "U coming or no?" I ignored it until the Saints got the ball back on their own 4. More texting, "This is over. I am leaving." I gave her a "Hold up a sec" and then the Saints went 96 yards through Jim Haslett's prevent defense on a drive that included a bizarre reception by Marques Colston that was disallowed, challenged, and then inexplicably still ruled incomplete and another play where Reggie Bush was hit very hard in the head by a gold panted Ram.
Ughh.. Too.. much... cheese.
The score is 34-21 with about five minutes left and now I'm interested. Mare's onside kick goes out of bounds putting the Rams in position for a field goal. At the two minute warning, and with the score 37-21, Menckles says, "Okay now it's impossible, right?" Well, no, it's not impossible. Unlikely but not impossible. Seven plays later, Brees has found Eric Johnson for another score. With the 2 point conversion, the Saints have 36 seconds, an 8 point deficit, and a shot at an onside kick.
Unlikely. Certainly not impossible.
Can there be any doubt that Josh (Never Mind The) Bullocks could have held onto that onside kick, had he only been wearing the appropriate pants?
Catch the ball! I can't, I'm wearing tights!
Time to panic? No, goddammit, for the last time, there will be no panicking this season. The Saints are a flawed team. They lack the dominating defense, the power running game, the deep passing game, and the good fashion sense necessary to set the football world on fire.
But they do have the fortuitous schedule, scrappy attitude, and weak divisional opponents that could allow them to fight their way into the playoffs. Nothing is guaranteed, but Saints fans should have every reason to believe that this season will be worth watching until the very last week... so long as they remember to stay in their seats.... and try to keep their pants on.
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