Quote of the Day:

“Reverie is when ideas float in our mind without reflection or regard of the understanding.” John Locke

Tracy Porter jumped the route and picked off Peyton Manning at approximately 8:45 p.m., c.s.t. on February 7, 2010. TB will never forget where I was when it happened–sitting in my chair with my feet propped up on the little Scamp’s chair. That’s the position from which the Saints seemed to be having the best luck so I was trying not to fidget. By the time he crossed midfield I had leaped the little chair, exhorting him to “go…Go…GO!” and when he crossed the goal I stood silently with my arms over my head in triumphant and grudging belief. It was as if an atomic bomb had gone off suddenly somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

All in an instant I flashed back and recalled the whole day, one I will never forget. I rose at 9:oo a.m., well rested in spite of an hour of insomnia around 2:30 when I woke up in a sweat about my taxes that are due in April. After an hour of a rousing game of beach ball catch with the LS, I went on a brisk walk with the family. By 1:30 we were loading up for the trip back home so I could watch the Black and Gold Who Dat Geaux Saints Super Bowl and a few minutes of the pregame. At 3:30 we pulled over for the LS to teetee in the potty. She got a prize consisting of four M&M’s but after consuming those decided she would like me to “hand (her) some ice cream.” At 4:00 we pulled over for another LS pitstop and I adjusted my eta to just before kickoff. While waiting on the scamp to take care of her business I was treated to a smilin’ jazzy harmonica solo that had to be completed before other matters were addressed. At 5:03 I learned the Kroger was out of Velveeta. And at 5:28 the car was unloaded, the LS was laid out for a winter’s nap and the Saints won the toss and elected to receive. In just over three hours….the explosion.

I should have known something was up because I totally (mentally) called the onsides kick at the beginning of the second half. Anyway, at the moment of the explosion, I entered a lost world of multiple consciousness. In a parallel universe I was single and in Miami. I was on a boat with Cal and Fido giving man-hugs and losing my voice. Just like in my home universe I recalled my whole day in an instant. At 9:00 a.m I rose and had a drink of water and some ibuprofen and then stumbled back to bed. The last time I remembered seeing a clock the night before was 2:30 and I was pretty sure I was still going strong at that point.  After a rousing game of “what happened last night” I went for a brisk walk down to the hotel buffet to replenish my strength for the day. By 1:30 I was four beers in and loading up for the drive over to the stadium. At 3:30 I was taking shots with Desmond Howard. He was telling me all about striking the pose and I was thinking how some ice cream would be nice, but then at 4:00 he introduced me to Elizabeth Hurley. I had fun telling her about how lucky I always was in the teams I root for so I was sure the Saints would prevail. At 5:03 Kate Beckinsale joined us. We hit it off immediately and while she was telling me she would be shooting “Tom Sawyer” in Mississippi this spring she also happened to mention she had an extra ticket. On the fifty halfway up. (Hey, it’s MY alternate universe.) In just over three hours….the explosion.

In another universe I was running around Del Norte Circle with eight other dudes in their underwear. In yet another I was kissing a girl in Big Daddy’s on Bourbon, gratis.  In another I was skiing effortlessly down the Olympic slalom run at Whistler, oblivious of the fact of Super Bowl Sunday. All my alternate universes kick ass. Then again, my home universe is pretty good too and I woke this morning back where I belong, with the little scamp’s feet planted firmly in my back, tax issues weighing on my mind, and a still incredulous grin forming at the corner of my mouth. The world as I knew it before is no more. Hell has frozen over. Pigs have flown. The New Orleans Saints are Super Bowl Champions.

And p.s., no, I haven’t resolved just how I was able to experience consciousness on the boat and in the stadium at the same time but I wanted to pay homage to Cal and Fido and I figure JJ Abrams could make something like that happen so why not TB?