Lombardi Gras

I first moved to New Orleans in 2002 for school. Have you ever gone to a place and been struck with the feeling that you belonged there? That's what New Orleans felt like to me. But like most college kids, I didn't get all that involved with life outside of college and college bars. Function of the age I guess. In any case, I didn't care in the least about the Saints.

That changed for me after the storm. I moved to New Jersey for graduate school in 2006. It was lonelier than I expected, and I was surprised at how much I missed New Orleans. So even though I wasn't a huge football fan, I bought a six pack of Abita and sat down to watch the Saints play the first game in the dome. And it was amazing. From beginning to end. That's when I became a fan. Saints games were impossible to see in Jersey, so I watched the Giants. I'm not an expert; most football fans would call me a dilettante. But whatever, I watch the games and I enjoy them, so the armchair pundits can go mock somebody else.

Since then, I watched the Giants win the Superbowl. I can state from experience that fans in other places are kind of lackluster in comparison to the Who Dats. The ticker tape parade for the Giants was kind of cool, but not awesome enough to cancel school. And as an aside, after living in New Orleans, parades in other places aren't that interesting. No one throws you anything! In high school when I lived in Baltimore and the Ravens won the Superbowl, there wasn't nearly the level of excitement.

The night of the game, I went down to a neighborhood bar in the Bywater with my roommate and some friends. We sat and drank beer, and I brought my knitting since we joined our friends at the bar 2 hours before kickoff. The game was close, and emotions ran high. In those final moments, when it became clear that we won, the whole city erupted. I've never heard such noise. Cars honking in the streets, spontaneous jazz bands, people shouting, the whole works. We, along with everyone else, left the bar and walked to the French Quarter. Bourbon Street (a place I avoid) had Mardi Gras level crowds. Thing was, everyone was happy. The folk in this photo were hula hooping for joy. There wasn't much shoving, people were dressed up, and everyone was smiling. I was there. People hitchhiked in and brought their babies.

But what of the sock? The sock is a long term project. I began it last summer in New Jersey. It languished in my knitting bag, ignored for more interesting and complicated works. Technically, it's a Harry Potter sock. The yarn is German, Harry Potter branded. So JK Rowling is making money off my knitting. The sock got shoved in my bag in the post game euphoria, and it stayed there for a while. It came with me to the Saints Parade. I stood on Canal street with eight hundred thousand other people and saw Sean Payton fist pump the Vince Lombardi trophy. And the sock was there with me.

So now it's a Saints sock.