Okay…is the Two-Minutes Hate over yet? As the Larry Keltner Era at Who Dat Social Club comes to a close, let us all simply put it behind us and get on with the business of loving us some kick-ass football.
And WhoDats are loving it, make no mistake. As boring as Thursday’s game was, it demonstrated something of importance, which is that the Spags Era is here, and it’s real. The internet is flooded with stories on the progress of the defense. As for the offense…come on, is anyone really worried? I mean, potential injuries aside (and that’s a sword that hangs over every team, every day), this offense lacks nothing, and will be at least as effective as it was last year.
No, the real story is the defense; and though it’s still very early, it looks to be shaping up to a happy ending. AngryWhoDat gives us his second installment of “Overanalyzing the Preseason,” and comes to exactly that conclusion, based on the play of Curtis Lofton, who tied up Brady’s outlet receiver and helped set up Will Smith’s strip-sack…recovered by Curtis Lofton.
Yeah, I know, it’s one play in one game of meaningless preseason, but it shows that Saints Defense 2012 is focusing on things that the three previous editions (yeah, asshole, I’m including 2009 in that number) willfully neglected even to attempt to address.
To that, I have only to add: it sure would be nice to know what he’s talking about. I mean, I did see that play, and it was easily the highlight of the night. But I don’t live in New Orleans anymore; I don’t get the games, and it won’t be until three this afternoon that I finally get to watch everything. All I can go by is what gets written up in the media…such as here, here, here, and here.
The consensus seems to be that something big is brewing. And notwithstanding Jeff Duncan’s kind reminder that these are just exhibition games (and to which I refuse to link), I would remind Jeff that the purpose of exhibition games is to find out what you have. We’re finding out just fine without you, thanks Jeff, you can go now.
Through all of this, though, there is one aspect oddly missing from media reports. I realize New Orleans is notoriously difficult to cover in the Sean Payton Era, but still…don’t these guys try? Or are they just clueless? What I mean is, where is any coverage telling us what it’s like to be there?
Think back to the generation that produced men like Edward R. Murrow. All that “this…is London” business. The idea of journalism not as “news,” but as instant history. Murrow didn’t wait until everything was over to write a book; he did his writing every day, and delivered it over the radio to millions of people breathlessly waiting to find out what it was like to be there. If today’s “journalists” had been there, they would have limited themselves to Churchill quotes and vacuous profiles of fighter pilots:
“I felt like ever since I’ve been in the RAF there’s been people who said I couldn’t shoot, that I wasn’t decisive enough, that I’m too small to fly. Well, I just took that as something to motivate me, fuel to my fire. And so when I climb in my Spitfire I feel like I’ve got to prove something every single time. I always want to prove those people wrong and fly the best I can for my squadron.”
You’d never even know London was being bombed.
Even if the Saints don’t win the Super Bowl this year, the entire story of this season will be a significant one in the annals of professional sport. If they do win a championship, it will be the greatest story ever. Has no one else thought of this? Does no one think it worthwhile to report this story as it happens? (And by “story,” I mean more than just what gets said at official press conferences.) Or is everyone simply compiling notes for the books they’ll write when it’s all over? If that’s the case, how can they call themselves jounalists?
You know who the real journalists are nowadays? Bloggers. That’s what the word means, after all: web log, a daily account of events kept on a website accessible to the general public. Screw news: I want history. So this goes out to my fellow bloggers, the ones who are actually on the scene in New Orleans (as opposed to living in exile in Panthers territory): try to give us a feel for what it’s actually like to be there. So we don’t have to wait until it’s all safely over, and then depend upon Jeff Duncan.
On the Jukebox
As we bid a fond adieu to our friend Larry, let us dedicate this song to his memory. My My, Hey Hey, this is so pitiful I want to puke. Hey, that doesn’t rhyme. Oh well, at least it isn’t vacuous.