SUPERBOWL SUNDAY
The Saints vs. The Colts
Hoarsebox vs. The idea of being calm
Dog Parades vs. Mardi Gras
Self-preservation vs. Communal Spirit
Street marching bands vs. house music in a throbbing gay bar
Sleep vs. the thought that we might miss something
Free old rubbery hotdogs in the pub vs. an amazing pork sandwich Max kept from lunch hours before
Peppermint Schnapps vs. Miller High Life ( The Champagne of Beers)
No mobile phones or any way of contacting each other vs. allowing ourselves to get lost and see what would happen
One o'clock-ish:
Were supposed to go to a fancy restaurant where we needed our fancy man sport coats but fell out of the hotel a little too late to make it. Headed to meet Dennis and Aaron with some rough directions and not the phone we had left in the hotel. Walked to Bourbon Street, or Bon Bon Ave., or Custard Cream place or some such, everyone wearing the Saints' gold and black. Brees 9, Sharper 42, Thomas 23, Colston 12, Bush 25, Vilma 51...Throwing colourful beads all over the shop. Surprising really that no one lost an eye, or some teeth or.....something something.
Two o'clock-ish:
Dennis and Aaron were surveying the streets above Jackson Square on the balcony of an absolutely incredible restaurant called Muriel's. It looked like the kind of place where Scarlet O'Hara used to go to have a quick bite to eat before heading upstairs to take milk baths with moustachiod women dressed as Rhett Butler and drink absynthe out of an old slave's shoe before retiring for deep tissue massages and gumbo facials on the balcony, while watching the sun set on what was then probably known as "The Small Easy." Anyway, it was nice and considering we were dollied up to the nines in our sports coats and sunglasses and newly-acquired colourful beading we felt like we fit right in.
Three o'clock-ish:
Anyway, a shared and shaky-handed beer in a plastic cup later and we ventured to "Luke," an oddly-named but fine restaurant where we had the most scrumdiddlyumptious craw fish bisque, BLT with breaded crabmeat, pressed sandwich of cochon de lait (fancy way of saying pork in milk - sounds manky but it was rapid) and some other crap. Max held on to half his cochon de lait which came in handy about 8 hours later when himself and Kieran lashed into it during a time out in the 3rd quarter of the game. If it hadn't been for that cochon we would have been gonners.
Four o'clock-ish:
So from there to Kerry pub where there was a small but influential gathering of Oxford, Miss folks we knew. Not sure how we ended up in an Irish pub in New Orleans, maybe we missed our mums...we do miss our mums but to be honest it was the first place we went to and we found a good spot standing right under a huge telly. There was an incredible sense of well-being and excitement in the city. Like a big Christmas party where we were all related and we loved each other and were all looking forward to our favourite American football team destroying the Yankee Colt SCUM from the north...WHO DAT SAY DEY GONE BEAT DEM SAINTS?!!! WHO DAT, WHO DAT?!!!!!
This last sentiment was echoing around town like a communal mantra. Everywhere and anywhere. WHO DAT...WHO DAT???
The Game began at 5.30 and this is what followed:
Commercials, commercials, commercials...Beer, vodka and coke, gin and tonic, fat man, loud girl, WHO DAT, sausage, beer, commercial (old people getting bashed out of it on a football pitch)...kick-off, bedlam, WHO DAT, hot guy at bar, hot sauce, Peyton Manning, Freeney got a sack, Johnny annoyed lots of people by asking silly questions about the game, millions of bats circling outside, smoke, beers, touchdown...Philip to Johnny, "Here you have to come outside and see these f*cking bats!," girl on stool, WHO DAT, nearly bloody incident with girl's fingers and fan, our new friend Short Charlie screaming "Defense, offense, go stop play!!! Why good bad...WOOO!," more peppermint schnapps which leveled the head and eased the mind, Phil found a lovely clean toilet across the street, WHO DAT...Saints score and people are wrecked, we scream and hug things, interception, blood-curdling joy...SAINTS WIN, SAINTS WIN!!!, we start an ole ole chant and everyone joined in.....Then a brazilion people everywhere, bars, Bourbon Street, banging heads, primordial gutter soup, sausage soup?, schnapps, oldest bar in the world, aul one on piano singing "Piano Man" and "Piano in the wind," and "Bye bye steak and kidney pie," "Don't stop believin." We managed to sing "Oh when the saints go over there" over everything she sang, she had sad hair and a face like a well-chewed toffee or an Elvis peanut butter and banana sandwich, Adderall, the streets were once in a lifetime, congealed, confused, pandemonium, Sweat and tears and beads and plastic cups and old lads hugging each other in the jacks, dizzy gay bar, dizzy straight bar, straight gay bar and bar dizzy gay straight blah, Johnny walked into a truck's side mirror, Mother Cluckers for spicy spicy chicken served by that mad fat Chinese lad, Chrystal hot sauce and unison snoring in bed...sneaky pukes.
OVER.......we done dat.
