[Stauffer] America’s Team

by Todd Stauffer
February 3, 2010

I have not been a New Orleans Saints fan my whole life.

While Archie Manning was making a name for himself in New Orleans, I was busily growing up in Dallas, writing every book report I could get away with on biographies of my hero, Roger Staubach of the Cowboys.

My hero was the fearless leader of America's Team. I would recount stories to jealous grade-school friends about how I had actually seen Mr. Staubach jog through our neighborhood on occasion—usually surrounded by an entourage, but sometimes with just one or two companions.

Once, when I was waiting at the bus stop near Dealey Elementary, Roger waved back.

After Roger came Danny White—and after a promising few years in the early 1980s that fizzled in the playoffs (damn that Joe Montana) came a gloomy period in my life when we had to count on the local radio powerhouse KVIL-FM to buy up the remaining tickets to Cowboy games in order that games wouldn't have to be blacked out on television.

When the station couldn't swing it, I'd listen to the games on radio; I remember shedding tears in my room after the season ended on what sounded like a game-tying toss to Drew Pearson—but that ended up just a few years short of the goal-line.

I got to see one game live in my youth—Mom's turn came up to buy tickets offered by her company—and I can still remember the sights and smells of what is now "old" Texas Stadium.

My most vivid Cowboys-related memory, though, was when we moved back to Dallas after a short (and unhappy) stint in Atlanta when I was a freshman in high school. We moved at the very end of the summer, back to our old house (which hadn't sold, despite my mother's fervent wishes) in the old neighborhood.

Mom let us stay out of school the second half of that first week, and we painted, mowed and generally cleaned up the place—and, on Sunday, we painted the hallway and listened to a preseason Cowboy game on the radio.

I was home.

The lean years came to an end when Jerry Jones took over the team (you could tell he was a scoundrel from the outset) and, after an unceremonious retiring of Tom Landry, Jimmy Johnson became the team's second-ever head coach.

Trading Hershel Walker to the Vikings in exchange for approximately 93-years worth of draft choices, the Cowboys' story culminated with the Aikman-led powerhouse team of the early 1990s that included great players like Emmett Smith, Michael Irvin, Jay Novacek and my personal favorite, Darrell "Moose" Johnston.

As an adult, I stayed a fan when I could. (Hey, it's been 15 years since an NFC championship game, and the left-right combo of Barry Switzer and Bill Parcells nearly soured me for good.) While my football fan "check-down" list had little room for any other NFC teams (maybe a little Chicago Cubs-style underdog love for the Packers), in the AFC, I'd root for Denver to do well.

Donna's fandom has long been fixed to the now-standard line: "I root for the New Orleans Saints and whatever team is playing the Dallas Cowboys." She's never really given an inch in that respect, occasionally making a great deal of noise in support of, say, a New York Giants victory over the Cowboys.

On occasions when the Cowboys play the Philadelphia Eagles, she'll take the implacable stance that she hopes both teams lose, especially now with Michael Vick in Philly.

When I moved to Mississippi, it was, of course, ridiculous for me to even consider being a Saints fan. Not only was I back in a time zone and market that would get nearly all the Cowboy games on TV, but the Saints' head coach had silly hair.

Then Katrina hit.

I was probably a Deuce McAllister fan before I realized I was a Saints fan; his local connections, style of smash-mouth football and straight-up class attracted me to Saints games during that time, even if that also meant I'd have to occasionally watch a game with Haslett coaching.

What began to emerge for me in 2006 was the fact that Sean Peyton and Drew Brees—along with being exciting football minds and talents to observe—were class acts just like Deuce. Reggie Bush brought exceptional talent and excitement—and more than a few hollers from me when he won't run UP the field. Even Jeremy Shockey seems to find his inner "team player" in New Orleans, working his teammates and proving to be a rather popular jersey with all kinds of folks in the Deep South.

I think I'm cribbing from Eckhart Tolle when I mention that when a typical sports franchise has a big championship win, it causes approximately 48 hours of peace, love and harmony in the winning city before people pretty much go back to the way things were. (The actual participants tend to get a longer glow.) I know Dallas was generally like that. But I feel that this Super Bowl berth for the Saints—regardless of whether they win on Sunday—has a little more to it.

Now that I've had a chance to visit New Orleans twice this season, I'd say it's remarkable how much that town loves these Saints players, coaches and even the ownership. (Rita Benson LeBlanc, the 30-something EVP granddaughter of Tom Benson appears to be both a capable executive and the toast of the town.)

There's a spirit and determination that the Saints symbolize and embody. In this case, I believe the team can honestly help promote progress and improvement for the city. They've got a lot of potential to do some good off the field as well as on it.

So I'm a Saints fan. I love watching Brees when he's in the groove, and I love watching the interceptions by the secondary and Reggie Bush's leaps for the pylon ... and I still dream about that strip-six by Meacham against the Redskins. All that talent combined with determination to alter the narrative both for their franchise and for their city makes 2009 the year that the New Orleans Saints' wonderful story inspires folks around the world.

And it's in that sense, for me, that things really haven't changed. The way I see it, I'm still rooting for America's Team.