Rooting for Brett, Rooting for the Saints
I’m torn between two lovers, as the song goes.
Brett Favre, an “old man,” a prima donna who couldn’t make up his mind, who bucked old age on the gridiron and the Packers to play for the Minnesota Vikings, and to play astoundingly well this season to bring his team almost to the Super Bowl. Perhaps then, he’ll retire permanently, with pride. To go on for too much longer would invite injuries that would mar his later years, but if he still has it in him, he should go on with the talent that is truly within him.
The New Orleans Saints, representatives of the city that drowned five years ago, an American city barely holding its own after Katrina, and many of its original inhabitants are still in exile, perhaps permanently. The Ninth Ward, like other areas in New Orleans, is still a wilderness, with speculators waiting to transform the community into golf courses. It’s nearly Carnival time in New Orleans, and da folx are already in a state of delirium that their boys might make it to the world championship at last. It’s the same state of joy I experienced years ago when the 49ers won the Super Bowl four years after the double tragedies of Jonestown and the Milk-Moscone City Hall assassinations. Suddenly, the city of San Francisco was united as never before, and proud that they were citizens of a great American city.
I know what it would mean for New Orleans to win; I know how it would be for Favre to win.
I’m rooting for them both. Go Favre. Geaux Saints.