I had expected to get a call Sunday night from at least one of my good friends.
Some kind of friends, eh?
You see, I knew they were in New Orleans, hopping from jazz club to jazz club in the French Quarter. They were there, in the heart of Saints country, enjoying the Super Bowl on television; they were hoping, praying and cheering for not just a team but for a city.
For if any city in America deserved to win a Super Bowl, if any city deserved to celebrate living, to turn its attention away from a decade of heartache, disaster and despair, hard-luck New Orleans would be that U.S. city.
The place has had its share of disappointment - more than its share, actually. Can any big city claim the kind of hardships that had visited this port city in the past decade? The place almost lost what had been its signature: the ability to party like it's 1999.
So we all mourned it. We all rooted for New Orleans to find some reason -- any reason at all -- for another grand celebration, for another day to wave banners and colorful streamers, for another day to trade hugs and high-fives, for another day to put into mothballs, if only for one night, the misery that had ripped this city at its seams.
Leave a comment