A Gold Medal for ‘Who Dat’ Nation

Pardon me for veering off the Olympic train for a second, but there was something very Olympic-like about the Saints’ victory in Sunday night’s Super Bowl.

I think, on a general level, we all understand that a championship for a team means a celebration for a city. The Yankees win the World Series; the team parades in downtown Manhattan. The Lakers win the NBA Finals; Los Angeles revels in their glory.

But rarely do we truly place a city’s glory on par with a team’s title. What do we care if New Yorkers get to celebrate another championship, or if Pittsburgh natives get to rejoice in a Stanley Cup? For the most part, the unbiased sports-fan nation glorifies the team that wins the crown, not the region it represents.

Sunday was different.

Of the many defining shots of celebration, none could beat the revelry of Bourbon Street, packed to the brim with Saints fans going wild. It’s a celebration usually reserved for later in the month and Mardi Gras (although, if you’ve ever been to New Orleans in late January or early February, you know Mardi Gras is generally a season-long event anyway). This was exceptional, and this fan base definitely deserved it.

There’s been a lot of talk about how the Saints’ success has uplifted the city, and how their Super Bowl win — and the city’s fervor about it — proves how football is “more than just a game”. I’m a bit ambivalent about these sentiments, for a few reasons: first of all, the Saints’ victory doesn’t — by itself — get any homes rebuilt or neighborhoods rejuvenated. Secondly, a football team’s success shouldn’t validate a city’s self-worth. I mean, if the Saints had lost to the Colts, would that have tarnished New Orleans in any way? If they had never made the playoffs, would that somehow have been a pock mark on the city’s post-Katrina resilience?

But most importantly, the Saints’ success in some ways overshadows the determination and grit of the people of New Orleans, who have withstood the damage and held their ground amidst terrifying circumstances. I had the privilege of going down to the Crescent City last year at this time; I spent a week helping to rebuild a home through the very impressive St. Bernard Project. Amidst the many emotions I felt that week, I couldn’t help but be amazed at how the character and soul of the city still breathed so effervescently through it. That comes straight from the people — the small-town restaurant owners still making po’ boys, the street musicians rocking Canal St. at 4 pm on a Sunday, and the ordinary citizens who keep their smile and their heart through the worst of times.

It’s a testament to a city that will not be broken; in that respect, the Saints are almost as much of a reflection of their city as an inspiration to it.

(Although, let’s be clear, the Saints are absolutely an inspiration. The work of the players and coaches in the community has been absolutely stellar over the past few years; Drew Brees alone deserves all the accolades he gets for his off-field work. It’s truly impressive.)

And that’s why, ultimately, I’m so thrilled that New Orleans gets to celebrate this championship. It’s not because the city somehow needs it, or that the people are somehow validated by it. And it’s certainly not because a Super Bowl victory somehow makes the challenge of rebuilding any easier.

It’s because a city that has suffered through the worst of emotions now gets a chance to experience some of the best. And it’s because, in this rarest of moments, the joy of the championship team seems secondary to the joy of the city that gets to cherish it.