I am just one man. One man that had far too much to drink on Saturday night. One man that got blindsided by a tree while drunkenly stumbling down the street in Captain America leggings. One man who beat the odds of a brutal hangover to even get to the bar to watch the Saints/Giants game. So if you are asking me if I think I was solely responsible for a Saints victory on Sunday afternoon then the answer is undoubtedly no. I think a historic performance from Drew Brees, and a throwback performance from Sean Payton, can take the majority of that credit. However, a good omen never hurt anyone. You know how many times I have had a Drew Brees-esque mark upon the side of my face? Once. You know how many times Drew Brees has thrown for 7 touchdowns in an NFL football game? I think you know the answer to that. Now I am not much of a numbers guy, but the odds of those coincidentally happening within the very same 24 hour period seems a little bit more than ironic. I am not sitting here telling you that I had a hand in the Saints winning one of the craziest games in NFL history. I am sitting here telling you that I have no definitive proof that I didn't. No need to thank me Who Dat Nation, save that for the players. They are the ones that put in the hard work, I just put in one too many Irish Car Bombs.
P.S. I don't remember walking into a tree, and the second hand accounts are questionable at best, so I could just as easily make the argument that divine intervention is responsible for my cheek. Something inexplicable happened at the end of that game yesterday, and it's damn near as unexplainable as my current resemblance to Drew Brees (if you squint hard enough). Maybe I had to be one to bear the mark to show the continued fan support of Drew Brees. Maybe I had to wipe blood from my face for the Saints to finally reach .500. Something had to will that Kai Forbath field goal through the uprights, and it certainly wasn't the Saints luck with brand new kickers. Anything for my team baby, even if it's enduring the embarrassment of unintentional (possibly sacred) facial discoloration.
P.P.S. No you're not getting a picture of me in female leggings. One shameful picture at a time.