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By Mike Rizzuto
Sun Times Editor

For years, in fact, 43 long years, the New Orleans Saints have been the laughing stock of the NFL. Since their initial season in 1967, they have been the poster boys for “how not to build a franchise.”

From trading first round draft picks for over the hill veterans, using first round picks for overrated youngsters, and trading all of their draft picks for just one player, the Saints have provided plenty of comical fodder for real football minds to gag over.

But not this year.

Finally, the Black and Gold from the Crescent City stumbled upon the right ingredients for a successful franchise. It took a used car salesman named Tom Benson with plenty of cash in his pockets to buy the club and set the wheels in motion toward respectability. Even though he allegedly threatened to move “his” club to destinations like Los Angeles, San Antonio, or any other large city that may or may not have promised him money to grease his fingers, Benson, like him or not, spent his money and started the ball rolling in the right direction.

Benson then brought in offensive guru Sean Payton, who looked more like a church choir boy than an NFL head coach.
Unlike his predecessors, Payton was able to separate the wheat from the chaff, getting rid of the dumb, riff-raff players that had been coddled by previous coaches and adding intelligent, talented players from winning programs to take their place.

Payton, a former NFL quarterback, knew a good signal-caller when he saw one and promptly gobbled up the then lame-armed, ex-San Diego Charger free agent Drew Brees to be the new “face of the franchise.”

Brees could have signed with Miami’s Dolphins, but fell in love with the downtrodden people of New Orleans, who were still reeling from the devastation wreaked upon them by that witch of a hurricane named Katrina.

Brees got his right arm well, took over the reigns of the Saint offense, and brought the leadership long missing from many previous Saint football teams. In his veery first year, Brees brought New Orleans within one game of the Super Bowl, losing in the NFC finals in the freezing snow and wind to the physical Bears of Chicago. Still, even after losing, Saints’ fans had real, tangible reasons to believe that a Super Bowl appearance was actually possible.

Fast forward to 2009 and the final ingredient. Payton, who had built the Saints’ offense into one of the league’s best, brings in defensive guru Gregg Williams, who has the philosophy of a General George S. Patton--attack, attack, attack! The Saints can’t afford to pay him what he deserves, so Payton goes into his own “stash” and builds the pot up for Williams to join the team.

Despite not having the greatest athletes on board, Williams makes the most of what he has, turning a soft, generous defense into a group of wild, raving maniacs. The 2009 Saints start off 13-0, lose three to end the regular season, and then get their tired, weary, and injured players back just in time for the playoffs.

Plus, by winning more games than any other NFC team, the road to the Super Bowl runs straight through the Crescent City.

The result? The Saints defy their critics, stomping the Arizona Cardinals 45-14 in their first playoff game, and then earn their first ever Super Bowl appearance by beating the powerful Minnesota Vikings 31-28 for the NFC Championship in a thrilling overtime contest!

Today, one day after the contest, the long-suffering, deserving fans of the Black and Gold celebrate the stunning triumph in a plethora of different ways. Some party out loud in the streets, staying up all night in wild, but controlled, jubilation.

For others, the win rivals a religious experience. These fans sit in blissful states, watching television, listening to radio talk shows, and consuming internet and newspaper articles to substantiate their inner child. Their wait, so long and brutal, has been justified in the singular nature of the healing of their wounds inflicted upon them over the many frustrating years by their heroes. Like immersing themselves in healing waters, these fans are soothing themselves mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

Still others remember those Saints’ fans who didn’t quite live long enough to witness last night’s huge win. Those late fans are praised for their loyalty to the Black and Gold of New Orleans when they were earthbound. Many living fans held pictures of the deceased while contemplating the Saints’ big win, as if trying to bring the dear departed back to share in the celebration. Others called talk shows to invoke their names, fondly recalling their devotion to their team.

One has to understand, if one is confused, why Saints’ fans are acting as they are. It’s not just because they finally achieved one of their goals, but because this is really “their” team. Sure, Benson may own the title to the franchise, but only this group of fans could have kept such a sorry excuse for a football team in such a mid-market city for the 43-year duration. Otherwise, Benson would have long left the rivers and bayous for the glistening lights of some other metropolis.

So party on, Saints’ fans, until the Super Bowl starts in two weeks. You have reached the mountain top at long last, and you deserve every chance to look down on the glorious sights yet unseen. For now you have reaped the fruits of seeds long planted and deserve every right to savor and taste what very few have sampled for the past 43 years.