Coming Back Stronger (18 page)

The win at Dallas put us at 9–4, and we were flying pretty high as we looked back on the pivotal goals we’d accomplished during the season. If we won the next week against the Washington Redskins, chances were good we would have the number two seed locked. What we forgot was that we weren’t there yet. We still had three games to play, and it was too early to let up.

We lost sight of that against the Redskins, and we paid for it. We lost 16–10 . . . and in front of our fans too. We had a chance to win at the end, but with the clock winding down, we failed to convert a fourth-down play. Game over. Our record fell to 9–5, and we were all disappointed. I remember walking into the locker room after the game and seeing shirts that read NFC South Champions in everyone’s lockers. I started fuming at the thought that the shirts had been put in our lockers after halftime with the assumption we would win. Now it was just adding insult to injury. It turned out that Carolina and Atlanta also lost, so we clinched the division title anyway. I was relieved, but I hated feeling like we’d backed our way into a championship. It was a wake-up call for us though, and we needed it. In order to be considered a great team, you have to be able to handle the success just like you do the defeats. Learn from them and get better because of them.

Some great memories from that year came even after the defeats. Each week after the game I would go into Sean’s office in the locker room and talk. We would discuss our verdict on the day’s game and what we would have done differently. This really helped build the bond, trust factor, and confidence level between us. I respected him very much and wanted to know how he felt, especially in the early stages of developing the team. Plus, coming off my injury, I needed some affirmation from him at times. And maybe that went both ways. I always tried to be positive, and I made sure Sean knew that no matter what the circumstances with our team, we would be okay. We had one of those moments after the Washington loss. We discussed the critical mistakes and missed opportunities in the game, and then he stated that we would find out what type of team we had by the way we handled a defeat like this.

The next week we headed to New York to play the Giants. It was a Christmas Eve game, and we were looking for momentum going into the playoffs. The pressure was on because the Giants were in a dogfight with four other teams for the last playoff spot. We needed that game to give us a first-round bye in the playoffs. In my eyes it was simple: we had to win.

On the Giants’ first drive, Eli Manning threw a fifty-five-yard touchdown pass to Plaxico Burress. At that moment we had a choice to make: either we could let that deflate us, or we could use it to motivate us.

As the final score showed, it was the latter. All cylinders were firing on offense, despite a 20 to 40 mph wind that blew throughout the game. We came back after Manning’s completion and scored thirty unanswered points. We rushed for more than two hundred yards and controlled the ball well. Our defense didn’t let New York cross the fifty yard line the rest of the night. We were at the top of our game, which is exactly how you want to close the season.

The next night the Eagles beat the Cowboys, and that sealed the number two seed for us. In our final game against the Panthers, Sean decided to pull the starters after we scored a quick touchdown on our first drive. Although we lost that game, bringing our record to 10–6, our fans couldn’t have been happier.

It’s amazing the difference a year makes in the NFL. In 2005 with the Chargers, we could have been 10–6 and not made the playoffs at all. In 2006 a 10–6 record gave us the number two seed and a first-round bye.

Philadelphia beat the Giants in the wild card game, which brought them to the Superdome for a huge matchup in the divisional round of the playoffs. It was only the second time in the history of the New Orleans Saints franchise that we had been in the divisional round, and it was our first time hosting. We were giving something special to our city—something they’d never experienced before.

The game against the Eagles earlier in the season had been a close one—we’d won an emotional thriller in the final moments of the game by only three points. It’s difficult to beat a team twice in the same year, particularly one as talented as Philadelphia, so we knew we would need to bring our best. Philly was rolling, and quarterback Jeff Garcia, who had taken over for Donovan McNabb due to a midseason injury, was playing lights out. Everybody expected an offensive showdown since ours were the two highest scoring offenses in the NFL.

We scored first, but by halftime the Eagles had taken the lead 14–13 and had some momentum. In the third quarter Brian Westbrook broke through our defense for a sixty-two-yard touchdown run. That put Philadelphia up 21–13. You could feel the tension in the Superdome. But just as they had done all season, the fans knew they needed to lift us up. They started cheering louder and louder, and we fed off their enthusiasm.

The linchpin in that game turned out to be our veteran running back, Deuce McAllister. He was really the heart and soul of our team. Joe Horn was one of the emotional leaders—very vocal and a fan favorite—but Deuce was the stalwart figure who kept us glued together.

Deuce had so much invested in our team. He had worked hard through a lot of tough seasons. He had watched Katrina slam into New Orleans. He had suffered an ACL injury and endured a grueling rehab to get back up to speed for 2006. A lot of people questioned whether he could return as the Saints’ number one running back. “He probably won’t be as strong,” they warned.

But not only did Deuce come back 100 percent that year, he arguably was giving one of the best performances of his career in this playoff game. And it’s a good thing, because this is when it counted. He was in front of the fans who loved him, in a city that could identify with his heart and drive and pure will.

Deuce had a five-yard touchdown run, dragging a pile of Eagles with him, to pull us to 21–20. To this day, that run is one of the best individual efforts I have ever seen. His will and desire to stay on his feet and get in the end zone were unparalleled. When we got the ball again, it was time to feed the horse one more time. I hit Deuce with a short pass that he took eleven yards to the end zone, showing great athleticism as he juked defenders in the open field. We had a 27–21 lead heading into the fourth quarter, thanks to two big touchdowns from number 26. Our defense held Philadelphia to a field goal on the next drive, and we kept our lead, 27–24, the same score from our earlier meeting that year.

When we took possession of the ball with a little more than eight minutes remaining, we had a golden opportunity to wind down the clock and score some points to put the game away for good, and Deuce was the man for the job. I fed him the ball six times, and we marched down the field methodically while the seconds continued to burn off the clock, getting us closer and closer to the NFC Championship Game. But with three minutes to go, we fumbled the ball on a botched pitchout to Reggie Bush, giving Philly another opportunity. They had the ball near midfield, but on fourth down they decided to punt rather than take a chance and go for it. They had enough time-outs that if they could force us to go three and out on offense and get the ball back quickly, they would have a better opportunity to tie the game.

Since we were inside the two-minute warning, all we needed was a first down and we’d be going to the NFC Championship Game—for the first time in Saints history. Once again Sean dialed it up for Number 26. I handed off to Deuce, and he gained four yards. On second down I handed it off to Deuce again. He got five more yards and forced Philly to use their final time-out. That brought us to third down, and we needed just one yard for a first down. Then we could take a knee to run out the clock and win the game. Deuce had carried us the whole way, and we weren’t about to abandon the plan now. Sean called Deuce’s number again. He crashed through the line and punched our ticket to the NFC Championship Game as the referee signaled a first down. The Superdome erupted.

When the game was over, our team went over to the stands, circling and high-fiving anyone reaching out to us. This victory belonged to them as much as it did to us.

We were one game from the Super Bowl.

We knew the road to the Super Bowl went through Chicago. The Bears had finished the regular season with a 13–3 record. If Seattle had beaten them in Chicago, they would have played us in the Superdome, but it wasn’t meant to be. As we mentally prepared for the next game, watching from the comfort of our couches, the Bears beat the Seahawks 27–24 in overtime. We’d be seeing them in the championship game.

All we heard that week was how dome teams can’t win on the road in the playoffs in hostile environments. We didn’t buy into that, but we did understand the importance of a fast start in those difficult weather conditions. Unfortunately, we started slowly in Chicago by doing all the things we said going into the game we wouldn’t do. We turned it over two times and made a few mental errors in the first half. By late in the second quarter we found ourselves down 16–0. We finally put together a drive during the last two minutes of the half and scored on a thirteen-yard pass to Marques Colston. That brought the score to 16–7, and it gave us a little momentum as we headed into the locker room.

On our first drive of the second half, I threw a pass to Reggie Bush that went for eighty-eight yards and another touchdown. Now we were only trailing by two. When we got the ball back, we really felt like this was going to be it. We finally had the opportunity to take the lead after being behind the whole game. This had been our modus operandi all season. Face the storm, and bounce back.

It was cold in Chicago. The wind was howling at Soldier Field, making the twenty-degree weather feel even more frigid. We drove into Bears territory and set up to kick a forty-seven-yard field goal. We missed. After that I was called for intentional grounding in the end zone, which gave the Bears two more points. In the fourth quarter the snow started coming down, and the harder it fell, the further the game slipped away from us. The Bears scored twenty-one unanswered points in the fourth quarter and ended up winning 39–14. They were on their way to the Super Bowl. We were on our way home.

It was tough to lose—especially after how far we’d come that season, after how much adversity we’d fought. As we headed back to the locker room, we all shared the same resolve: Next time we play this game, it’s going to be at our place. We had no problem going on the road and beating a team; we’d done it plenty of times. But we also knew what an energy and motivation our fans gave us and the confidence we could play with at home. We knew no one could win a game like that in our dome with our fans.

If you had told us before the season started, “You’re going to the NFC championship,” I think we all would have been a little shocked—and just happy to have made it that far. By all counts, it was such an unlikely scenario. A new coach. A 3–13 season. A hurricane. A busted shoulder. And now . . . we were only one game away from the big dance.

As we were walking off the field after the game, a photographer took a shot of a few of us from behind. All you could see was our jerseys and our heads hanging down a little. That photo made it onto the front page of the New Orleans Times-Picayune the next day. In big letters above the article, the headline read, “Thank You, Boys.”

To this day I still get people saying that to me. The guys and I will be walking down the street, and we’ll hear it from the vendors at the shops and from the people passing. They usually have that distinctive New Orleans accent. You can tell they’ve seen a lot and been through a lot, but they’d never trade this city for any other place in the world. It’s a regular chorus from folks like these: “Thank you, baby. We love you. Bless you, boys.”

When we returned, the city was still celebrating our season and expressing their appreciation. Because of a snow delay at the Chicago airport, we didn’t arrive in New Orleans until around 2 a.m. I didn’t know then that thousands of fans would be waiting for us when we arrived, clapping and cheering as we drove down the half-mile-long road to get back to the highway. It was an amazing sight. You could sense how much this season had meant to them.

It had been quite a year—the reopening of the Dome on that first Monday night, the nail-biter against Philadelphia, the Who Dat crowd in Dallas, the playoff win against Philly, and then the first NFC Championship Game appearance. I had desperately needed it. Our team had desperately needed it. And so had the fans.

A great stadium can do only so much. It takes great fans to create a home field advantage. They need passion, emotion, and faith . . . and our fans have plenty of that. We would need all three in large measure as our journey continued.

Who Dat?

There’s something you have to understand if you want to appreciate the unique culture of the Saints, and that’s the Who Dat phenomenon.

It’s difficult to explain Who Dat to people who aren’t from New Orleans. It’s so wrapped up in the city and the team and the people of this area. I’ve actually researched the phrase and found out it has its roots in jazz and was used in minstrel and vaudeville shows in the late 1800s and early 1900s. In comedy routines a character would become frightened and then say, “Who dat?” Literally, of course, it’s short for “Who is that?” But there’s more to it than just a contraction of words.

The phrase was used in songs, routines, and movies during the 1930s. Different sports teams in the South have used it over the years, and there was even a legal battle over who owned the rights to the phrase. According to Louisiana lore, the “Who dat?” cheer originated at Patterson High School football games and then made its way to LSU. Eventually fans brought it to the Saints, where it has stuck ever since. Sportscaster Ron Swoboda was the first to popularize the chant when he set it to music and put it on the radio in 1983. The phenomenon really took off in 2006, when Bobby Hebert, a quarterback with the Saints in the 1980s and early 1990s, talked about “Who Dat Nation” on his WWL radio program. He was referring to the Saints faithful all across the country who believed in our team no matter our record and had created a community-wide sense of ownership and pride in us.

The climate of New Orleans is infused just as strongly with Cajun culture as it is with its connection to the Saints. The French Acadians were driven out of Canada and wound up here in the mid-1700s. Their traditions and customs intermingled with those of Native Americans in the area and eventually those of freed slaves as well. There were a lot of different influences mixing together to make up the Cajun culture and dialect. You can always tell people of Cajun descent because of the unique way they speak. It’s part slang, part art, and part shortening words. So instead of saying, “Would you please hand me the water?” you would say, “Han’ me dat der wata.”

I bought my son, Baylen, a book called Petite Rouge. It’s the Cajun version of Little Red Riding Hood, written as a native from New Orleans would tell it. When I read it out loud to Baylen, it forces me to talk in that style. It’s a hilarious bedtime story because it offers a distinct Cajun interpretation of the familiar tale. A duck is sent by her mother to bring some gumbo to her grandmother, but she’s warned not to go through the swamp. And it’s not a wolf that’s after her—it’s a gator!

As far as our team goes, it’s hard to say exactly how the “Who dat?” chant came to be such a motto and defining mark. All I know is that it fits and it’s here to stay. If you’re walking down a street in New Orleans and you say “Who dat?” with the right intonation, anyone from Louisiana will give you a nod of approval to let you know you’re one of us.

“Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?”