NEW ORLEANS — Where were you when the Saints won it all? It’s one of those questions — like, Where were you during the Apollo 11 moon landing? — that will be asked a lot in the decades to come by generations of sports fans trying to put their lives in the context of something far bigger.
Where was I? Inside Al and Patricia Jones‘s house in the Ninth Ward. I met them for the first time when I showed up on the doorstep early in the fourth quarter, just as the Colts missed what would’ve been a lead-extending field goal and the Saints were rearing to take everyone in this town on the ride of their lives.
New Orleans already had a singular reputation for hospitality, but during the Super Bowl the city eclipsed its own lofty standard. Even the most seasoned party crasher would’ve struggled to keep up with the Joneses, who didn’t go 10 minutes without offering me something to eat (I’m good), five minutes without checking on my drink situation (I’m good), or two minutes without apologizing for the rowdy family members that congested their living room. (Goodness, were they hilarious.)
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For some people being in Miami was it. You couldn’t have paid me to be there. That night in New Orleans was one a the greatest. It will be hard to top that, at least for many years to come. Go Saints!!