After a packed screening of the Saints’ NFC Championship victory at Uptown’s Prytania Theatre, co-owner Robert Brunet has had hundreds of requests for tickets to view the Super Bowl at the historic theater this Sunday.
But instead of preparing for the game, Brunet has been haggling with NFL lawyers for more than a week after he received a cease-and-desist letter telling him that the free screening had violated copyright laws.
A similar story played out at the Sheraton New Orleans hotel, whose managers had planned a massive projection of the game on the side of the Canal Street hotel but eventually ruled it out because of legal concerns.
Both smile, give each other a fist-bump and a hug, then move on.
That was an actual encounter in the French Quarter, hours after the New Orleans Saints earned their first NFC championship and the first Super Bowl berth in the team’s tortuous 43-year history. It could also prove to be emblematic of a turning point in the infinitely more tortured story of race in the Crescent City.
Nice song, great footage. Lots of recent footage included and it appears to be self shot video rather then just re editing NFL footage. I like the feel of it.
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Jerry Izenberg, The Star-Ledger’s columnist emeritus, is one of only three daily newspaper columnists to have covered every Super Bowl. That gives him 43 more appearances at the big game than the New Orleans Saints, who will finally step onto center stage next Sunday for Super Bowl XLIV against the Indianapolis Colts. He begins his coverage with this piece.
FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. — There are voices in the wind that ripple through the palm trees here . . . voices that had their genesis in the Land of the Mississippi River . . . voices that tiptoe through the narrow, winding streets of New Orleans’ French Quarter … voices that whisper from the above-ground cemeteries that are as much a part of the city’s unique lore as its garishly dressed local Mardi Gras krewes.
Go ahead and laugh, but don’t even try to tell me you ever dreamed the New Orleans Saints would one day make it to the Super Bowl. The days are long gone of Marie Laveau, the voodoo priestess whose name once stood alone as their city’s signature symbol at a time when chicken bones foretold the future.
There’s a new sorcerer in town. Sean Payton is the name and minor miracles are his game.
His football team gave the citizens of New Orleans a post-Katrina slice of hope in which to believe when the mayor, the governor of Louisiana and, most of all, FEMA could not.
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The Saints are coming. And so are we, their loyal, long-suffering and slightly discombobulated Super Bowl-bound fans.
While there’s still time to prepare — although a few hard-core Who Dats will begin trickling in Monday, most of us won’t arrive until Thursday or Friday — we thought we’d give you a heads-up about what you should expect.
First things first: You need more beer.
Yeah, we know. You ordered extra. You think you have more than any group of humans could possibly consume in one week. Trust us. You don’t.
New Orleans was a drinking town long before the Saints drove us to drink. But it turns out beer tastes better when you’re winning. (Who knew?) So let’s just say we’re thirsty for more than a championship; adjust your stockpiles accordingly.
And look. When we ask you for a go-cup, be nice to us. We don’t even know what “open container law” means. Is that anything like “last call”?
It’s Carnival season in New Orleans (that’s Mardi Gras to you), and we’ll be taking the celebration on the road. So don’t be startled if you walk past us and we throw stuff at you; that’s just our way of saying hello.
Oh, and sorry in advance about those beads we leave dangling from your palm trees. We just can’t help ourselves.
February is also crawfish season, and you can be sure that more than one enterprising tailgater will figure out a way to transport a couple sacks of live mudbugs and a boiling pot to Miami.
Read the rest of a great letter here!
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