In the second installment of the 2007 Camp Preview, we shock the world by picking up where part 1 left off.

Der Kommissar’s In Town
If he talks to you then you’ll know why, the more you live, the faster you will die.

Nobody seems to really like Jamie Martin or Jason Fife, and neither guy screams “long term solution.” Martin’s bones could turn to dust at any moment, and Fife doesn’t exactly have a stellar resume.

Furthermore, while Fife seems to fit the Aaron Brooks mold of underachieving athletic specimen, Tyler Palko seems to fit the Drew Brees mold of not-so-athletic overachiever. And obviously, given the choice between someone who even remotely resembles Aaron Brooks vs. someone who even remotely resembles Drew Brees, you know who’s going to be the People’s Champion.

Hey, if that’s the way the wind is blowing, let no man say I don’t also blow. I’m as hopelessly, helplessly in love with Drew Brees as the next guy.

The problem is that this is all academic anyway. Lately, the word on the street is that the Saints’ 2nd string QB for 2007 isn’t even on the roster right now. That may or may not be true, but I doubt it, and if it isn’t true, you have to figure it’s all but a stone-cold lock that it’ll be Martin. He’s our answer to Don Strock in 1987. Hey, Doug Marrone was on that team. How about that?

But for the most part, fans insist that the second-string be populated exclusively by would-be all-pros. As a result, the People’s Champion is almost invariably the guy who hasn’t yet had the opportunity to prove that he’s not a would-be all-pro. In this case, that’s Palko. A beast, I tell ya!

Me? I’m betting Palko will have recorded a smash-hit Top 40 pop single about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart before he takes a regular-season snap in the black & gold.

Sean Payton: The Next Bill Belichick? Or the next Mike Martz? Or the next Tom Coughlin? Or what?
Everybody loves Sean Payton right now, and with damn good reason. After all, unless you’re an arrogant fool, you can only go by what you see, right? And so far, everything Sean Payton has touched has turned to gold. Gold, Jerry! But there are lingering doubts that he might yet turn out to be a huge asshole.

And as much as I’d like to blow those doubts off as the ranting of perpetually-miserable lunatics (wait… that’s exactly what I’ve been doing, and will continue to do) the fact is that one monster season does not a Vince Lombardi make.

It’s not that I’m questioning his ability. Then again, I didn’t question Jim Haslett in 2001, nor did I question Mike Ditka in 1999, nor did I ever question Jim Mora at all. And back in 1981, I was just fuckin’ thrilled that O.A. “Bum” Phillips went to the trouble of sending ME(!!!!) a plastic Saints wristwatch for Christmas.

(What???? That’s what my parents told me! Why would they lie?!?!? WHY?!?!?

….. Shit.)

But if you wanted to be a perpetually-miserable “realist” (read: asshole) you could certainly argue that Payton may have fallen in love with himself and his own offensive brilliance last year. You could say that maybe he fancies himself a shorter, slightly-less-creepy-looking Don Coryell. Or a far-lighter, less-sweatty, less-gay, less-smarmy Mike Martz. Or a slightly-less-fascist Tom Coughlin, who is secretly despised by a slightly smaller subset of his roster.

And the thing is, one or more of those things could very well turn out to be true. But that would mean that the terrorists assholes win. And shit, the assholes have always won when it comes to this franchise. It’s gotta be our turn now. Doesn’t it?

Doesn’t it?

(Part 3 coming June….. ah, whenever the hell I feel like it.)