Who Dat?

Okay, twenty-years as a New Orleans Saints fan has truly taken a toll on me. As a Saints fan you learn to live with little victories. A loss by only ten? A victory really. A back goes over a hundred yards? A win, regardless of final score. Quarterback only sacked seven times? Victory!
Now, suddenly, the world is a Saints fan. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
Last night, local sports bar, Monday Night Football. The stools around me, filled with meat-eating, red blooded, American males devouring anything and everything in their path. Burgers, steaks, Irish carbombs, fry it, serve it, down it.
There were mullets, guts, odd facial hair, and believe it or not, Saints gear.
For the first time in twenty-years, I see someone besides myself cheering for the team.
3-0, leading the division?
A Monday night domination of puny Falcon. The first win since the Cajun Cannon Bobby Hebert was at the helm. The days of Ironhead, the Aint's and the paper bags.
Things are looking up in The Easy.