My doorway in the Quarter

I have to preface this post by saying that until a year ago, I was not a college football fan. In college, my dad told me, you have to study. Excel. Make As. Work to pay for room and board. College is not about sports. Well, apparently some people disagree, and this week-end of purple and crimson was an extravaganza of college football. BCS. Ball Championship Series. This year, LSU versus Alabama, in the New Orleans Superdome. Could it get any better?

So in my head I started writing this blog around 2 pm today, when I realized that somehow mistakenly I had thought today was a normal work day. Not so in New Orleans. Not so in Baton Rouge either. I was going to write about the Voodoo magic that took place to help the Tigers. About the walk down Bourbon street to the Superdome – how I got a fabulous purple and gold boa. I was going to write about second-lining behind the band on Poydras street, singing along with the crowd. Then I was going to write about the annoying see of crimson red that has inundated New Orleans this entire week-end.

My new purple and gold boa

We walked into the Superdome, my husband, his brother Tatum, and Tatum’s girlfriend Amber. We almost got into a half dozen fights, just because of the energy and the fans’ respective passion for their teams. The two couples sitting in front of us were actually lovely, I felt bad throughout the entire game about making a snide comment to one of the ladies about her green shirt. Was she from Washington State? Did she not have anything red to wear in her closet? Clearly, the college football craziness was rubbing off on me.

In any case, rather than tell you about all that, I will tell you about the walk home. We left with about 5 minutes left in the game (then the score was still 15-0, thank goodness). We left with mostly LSU fans, which was good because we might have gotten in trouble if faced with red jerseys. As I was walking out of our section, I turned to the lady in green, shook her hand, and told her apparently her green shirt was a lucky shirt. And “good game.” It took all I could muster of good graces and proper manners, and she smiled and said thank you and I thought, this is just a game. Not a good game, but just a game. As we were exiting the stadium, we saw a woman in tears. We saw a couple completely silent, with the woman’s hand on her man’s shoulder. Apparently she knew that words were just not going to make him feel any better. We heard a man say “Well, now we can worry about the world and the unemployment rate.” We met two women while trying to hail a cab who told us “Well, they really should have put Jarrett Lee in the game.” We got in a cab, and the cabbie reminded us that Alabama was so helpful to New Orleans after Katrina. “They are our guests,” the cabbie said. “Please be kind to them.” Yes, we will be. There is not enough kindness to go around. Even with such a heart-breaking loss.

In the meantime, there is a fire going in the courtyard, so that we (actually, they) can all burn our shirts, which apparently weren’t our lucky shirts. Then, of course, there is next season. And before then, of course, there is the rest of the NFL playoffs, and there is the Superbowl.