Who Dat talkin' 'bout goin' to the Super Bowl? Everybody in New Orleans, dat's who

By Chris Rose September 29, 2009, 4:00AM

If there ever were a time in the history of this city that calls for remaining calm, level-headed and realistic -- that time is now. That said, consider the evidence thus far:

A series of unspectacular yet pivotal off-season acquisitions has made the team smarter, faster and deeper in talent than ever before.

Our team leader, unequivocally one of the top three players at his position in the league, somehow manages to get even better each year despite the fact that he has approached or broken some of his position's most prestigious records in recent seasons.

Our first-round draft pick -- blessed with speed, confidence and maturity beyond his years -- looks determined to make a formidable impact in his rookie season.

And for once, the team looks so deep in talent that even injuries to key players -- God forbid -- will not necessarily knock the team out of contention.

Team unity is at an all-time high. All the pieces are in place. The stars are aligned. Our time has come. It is not unreasonable to believe, to think -- or even to know -- that this is the year they win it all.

I am talking, of course, about the New Orleans Hornets, who open training camp today.

Now, about that other team in town, let me caution you: If there ever were a time in the history of this city that calls for remaining calm, level-headed and realistic, that time is now.

Arriving at work Monday morning to write this column, I was determined to remain above the fray and the rabble, to give wide berth to the impertinent conjecture of the fanatical masses and the crazed delusions and senseless zealotry of the Who Dat hoi polloi.

I am better than that. I am smarter than that. I have been to college. And I have been down this road before, the Trail of Tears, the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

Consider: The Saints have played but three of 16 games on the schedule. Surely you remember other fast starts this team has had. Surely you remember the heartbreak of late-season slumps, the ritualistic demise of our collective optimism.

People, please remain calm. Keep your poise. Remain intellectually grounded. Do not get carried away. This is no time to lose our heads.

BUT HOW 'BOUT DEM SAINTS, BABY!!!

I swore I was going to keep it real this week. Not fall into the trap of speculation. Things fall apart. The center cannot hold. When otherwise impartial observers start using "Saints" and "Super Bowl" in the same sentence, it's a world gone mad and I'll be no part of it. It is my professional obligation to maintain a healthy, nearly clinical, emotional distance from the subjects I write about.

I don't like all this talk. It scares me. I worry about the effects on the children. Everybody's getting all Angela Hill about the Saints, and it's only September. What if Marques Colston tears his ACL? What if Drew Brees gets busted for operating a meth lab on the batture? Or worse, what if we lose to the Jets?

You must remember this about this franchise: The most memorable play in team history was a field goal kicked by a guy with half a foot.

And for what other franchise could a man with a severe and nearly disabling speech impediment not only get a job in the field of communications but go on to become nothing short of a broadcasting legend?

Forget praying to St. Jude; I'm lighting my candles for Buddy D.

In other words: We don't do anything the way it's supposed to be done. And there's no reason to believe this season will be any different.

So I'm staying the course. Easy does it. Taking it one day at a time. Not counting my chickens. Not eating my cheese. And I'm clearing my calendar for January, canceling all appointments and booking a flight to Miami.

Because this is the year.

Our time has come.

And anyone who says otherwise is nothing but a squirrel.