Answering the Question Behind My Saints Fandom

Yes, I'm a fan of the New Orleans Saints. I'm from New Jersey. I've never lived in New Orleans. I've never even been to New Orleans. So you might be asking yourself the question I get asked whenever discussing my favorite football team.

"Um, why?"

Usually the question is accompanied by a mixed look of confusion and pity, so I'll asume that's the visage you're sporting right now. No, I don't need you to feel sorry for me, although I understand why you might feel that way. After all, I could've picked the Giants, Phil Simms, Bill Parcells, Wellington Mara. I could've picked the Jets, Joe Namath, Curtis Martin, Fireman Ed, championship banners. But I picked the Saints, the "whodats," paper bags over the faces of ashamed fans, Aaron Brooks, and Archie Manning, who is so ashamed of the Saints he doesn't want to be connected to them and didn't want his kids to be quarterback them. So, that again brings up the question.

"Um, why?"

I never had a familial connection to football. My parents weren't into sports, not until I had already established connections with teams and dragged them into it by association. I don't have much contact with extended family, but they're all Steelers fans from Pittsburgh anyway, so it's probably for the best. I was birthed into football with no preconceived assocations. I had freedom of choice.

Of course, I could have picked the locals. But because I had no familial relationship with football growing up I got into the game a little late, far after I had developed my love of hockey. The time allowed me to observe the behavior of Giants and Jets fans in school, and one thing was for sure -- I did not want to have anything to do with those obnoxious idiots. And, entering the world of football when I did, I didn't want to pick a team like the 49ers. Even as a kid I had values, after all. So I watched for a season, took stock of the league, and picked the bad team that I liked the best. The New Orleans Saints.

Since then, I've developed other reasons for loving the Saints -- things like the actual city they play in, which is the only city in America with the gall to have its own identity. At the time, I probably just liked the colors. And as a long-standing Devils fan, I felt I had one shoulder occupied by the dark side and I might as well add something holy on the other. You know, for piety.

I was lucky enough to attach myself to the Saints during the Jim Mora days, and got to experience the Dome Patrol. I went through a myriad of Billy Joes at quarterback, as well as more than a few paper bag sightings, and the debacle that was Mike Ditka. I saw Aaron Brooks at his best, when he was a potential savior filling in for Jeff Blake, and at his worst, which you're well familiar with. And I'm still going.

I'm not sure why, but people seem to delegitimize a fan if you're not from the city you root for. There's a funny story my pal Kyle (my partner at The Out Route and the University of Maryland Fanhouse blogger) remember from early one football season. We were exiting our favorite sports bar when Kyle, a Rams fan who's never been to St. Louis, bumped into a kindred spirit who happened to actually be displaced from St. Louis. Instead of sharing a friendly moment -- "Hey, another Rams fan in New Jersey! Who woulda thunk?!" -- this, for lack of a better word, jerk questioned Kyle's fandom because he was born in New Jersey.

This is called a granfalloon (if you don't know what this means, for crying out loud, pick up a book). Your location has nothing to do with what or how you are as a fan. I just felt connected to the Saints, and that's a bond that's grown stronger as I interact every day with New Orleanians who love their team the same even as greater concerns have sadly arisen. I've been with my team through terrible years, and I've been with them through...well...slightly less terrible years. I'm well into the double digits as far as my career as a Saints fan goes, which is more than I can say for the on-again, off-again fans of the locals. While they're cursing Chad Pennington, vowing to never watch another Jets game and then following through with that until the Jets begin to win again, I'll be there every week covered in black and gold. I'm dedicated, and that's what makes a good fan. It just means I have to leave the house to be so.