I managed to sleep in this morning, thanks to a certain sweet someone. But we started watching the pregame coverage, and my anxiety level began to grow. I wasn’t alone.
I went home, changed, and got some Ritz crackers (ht: Nabisco for sponsoring SB44) to make “white trash hors d’eouvres,” and went to my best friend’s house. Where I watch every game. Or at least, where I’ve watched every game that the Saints have WON this year.
The level of irrationality among otherwise very sane and reasonable people has been unreal. I am not a superstitious person. I owned a black cat. I’ve broken mirrors, walked under ladders. I don’t throw salt. But today, here I am in the same place I’ve watched every other winning game — not just for the gator chili — but because what if I didn’t come here and they lost? My best friend’s husband Jamie has already made the same s’mores confection that made us sick from nervous eating two weeks ago. Because, what if he didn’t and they lost? I’m wearing the same shirt I wore the last two wins, because what if I didn’t and they lost?
I know it’s all totally irrational. Between the four of us in this house, we easily have a combined IQ of over 500 (that includes the 3 yearold) — and yet, we are all COMPLETELY INSANE about this game. We’re anxious. We’re nervous eating. We’re doing anything to distract ourselves.
This morning at the coffeeshop, the man next to me ordered four shots of espresso in a small cup. He said he was a nervous wreck – so much so that he had woken up in a panic at 1am. He couldn’t sleep. “It’s been like this for days.”
Jamie admitted he had a nightmare that Drew Brees was injured, and they had replaced him with someone completely inept. He was heckling the stand-in, asking about McDaniel, when the player started chasing him. Their three yearold came into the bedroom this morning, half-asleep, saying “Hey mamma, guess what? Black and gold to the super bowl. Who dat.”
The city is electric today. We have a new mayor, but that’s not what anyone is talking about. Random chants of “WHODAT” chime through the streets.
When Jamie went to the grocery today to get usual Super Bowl grub, he was greeted with that chant. “This is why I love New Orleans,” he said. “As I left the store, the last ‘Whodat!’ I got was from a 300-pound black tranny in sequined fleur di lis.”
No matter what anybody has said about us before today, or will say about us after – today has been one of the most anxious, exhilarating, scary, exciting, craziest, best days in WhoDatVille.