"Vikings, Dat Who!"
Those three little words have haunted me ever since January 3, 1988. I was just a young lass, cheering on the Saints in their first playoff game. The team got off to a great start, but fizzled fast. My dad convinced me to hold on to hope. He believed the Saints could pull off a comeback victory against the Vikings, despite going down 20 points at the half. But the ass whoopin' didn't let up. The Saints lost the game 44-10. The last thing I remembered, before running to my bedroom for a good cry, was a sign being hoisted over the head of some jack-hole. It read: "Vikings, Dat Who!" It was a direct jab at the throat of all us Saints fans and our beloved "Who Dat" saying. Needless to say, I took it personally.
So here we are, more than 20 years later. I'm a little older, a little wiser, a lot crazier, and definitely more capable of high-octane, booze-induced rage. Today, I can safely say I want nothing more than for the Saints to do the football equivalent of Elin Nordegren beating the crap out of Tiger Woods with a golf club, forcing him to crash his SUV and ruin his life. I want their boat sex party, hooker-tainted blood.
It's no offense to any Viking in particular. I loathe them all quite equally. You see I just can't stomach the thought of them coming into our house, silencing our fans and spoiling our Super Bowl run...again. No one wants a repeat of 1988. Do you remember 1988? I mean do we really want to relive the era of pleated, acid-washed jeans, no Prozac, and these dudes?
The football gods have hand delivered to us two elderly QBs in back to back weeks. Grampy Warner was knocked further along on the road to retirement after facing our defense but we'll need an even more aggressive attack if we want to end Brett Favre's purple reign. Safety Darren Sharper's chomping at the bit to "show out" against the team that cut him loose and he and Favre are former teammates from their Packer days. Count on Sharper to be at the right place, at the right time when Favre does...well, what Brett Favre does in these kinds of games.
Minnesota's defense had it's way with the Cowboys but Tony Romo is no Drew Brees. I mean, that's like comparing a Krystal burger with a steak from Ruth's Chris. What, too harsh? Okay fine. Tony Romo's more like, I dunno, a Wendy's double stack...extra cheesy? Plus, Brees has faced tough defenses before and while he's been slowed down, he's never fully been contained. Simply put, he is legend.
I don't know about you Saints fans, but Sunday can't get here fast enough. I'm just feeling it people. I believe this is the year...but I actually really mean it this time. All the signs are there. My tummy is toner and ready for the fleur de lis tattoo I pledged to get when the Saints make it to the Super Bowl. I've cleansed my karma to wipe away any bad mojo that may have carried over from taunting Falcons fans during the regular season. I even asked "The Special Man" if he can guarantee me a Saints victory on Sunday. Know what he said?
Breaking News: I interrupt this post to tell you that as I type, "30 Rock" just gave a shoutout to the Saints. Sure the character was a Pats fan that accused someone of jumping on that "b.s. Saints bandwagon." But still, it's always nice to be recognized and I'll take it as proof that everyone knows this is our year. We now return you to this regularly scheduled rant.
Suck it, Vikings! No blond wig wearing, village pilfering, lame fight song singing (Skol Vikings? BLAAAHHH!!!) not quite as pathetic sob story having, sorry excuse for a potential America's team is gonna stand in the way of the Saints' destiny. We say WHO DAT this year with a greater sense of passion and purpose and we'll be saying it all the way to Miami. Revenge is ours Minnesota...and "Dat's" the truth...don't cha know?
Article cross-published at Chicks in the Huddle