drew-brees

Somebody sent me this Gay piece from the Wall Street Journal a couple days back and I didn’t really give it much thought at the time (I blame the meth), but the more I thought about it, the more I got irritated by this little passage on the front end of it:

May I root against the New Orleans Saints?

No, you may not. Rooting against the Saints is like rooting against Elin Nordegren. They’re the Sentimental Team of the Century; if Dick Enberg were calling the NFC championship game, he’d need a trailer truck of Kleenex. Even if you forget everything that New Orleans endured during Hurricane Katrina—and how could you?—they’re the Saints, the former Aints, one of the most hard-luck franchises in the history of hard luck. Not long ago, newborns came into the world in New Orleans hospitals with tiny grocery bags on their heads.

Root for us because we’ve been both perenially terrible and meteorologically challenged! And that’s not considering that Saints linebacker Jonathan Vilma has most of his immediate family in Haiti. Whatever. It’s laundry against laundry, so I say hate away. You don’t like that skid mark on Drew Brees’ face? Hate away? Reggie Bush’s attention-whore girlfriend? Hate away. Jeremy Shockey? You get the idea. Just remember that a cheer against the Saints this weekend is a cheer for Brett Favre. You’ve been warned.