Fortunately, days two and three more than made up for a first night that wasn't nearly as fun as we had hoped it would be. Eventually, it turned out that there was something for (almost) everybody in this here rookie class. In fact, preliminary indications are that this might very well be the most immediately-satisfying Saints draft overall since 2006. (And because it really doesn't feel like it most of the time, I'd like to point out that 2006 was a long time ago.) So for now, I guess we'll go ahead and chalk that up as a bona fide win.

It didn't exactly start out gangbusters though. Not by a long shot. Several factors conspired to make day one pretty damn annoying, actually.

There was, of course, Roger Goodell and his stupid face. The worst thing about Roger's face is the overwhelming feeling of total frustration it beams straight into the depths of your soul as you realize you're currently completely powerless to just punch the shit out of it for the next several hours.

Then of course there's the 8:00 start time. On a Thursday. Which blows in about 47 ways. I realize that this isn't nearly as annoying for others who aren't in a position to (or choose not to) treat Draft Day like Christmas Day and start the festivities when ESPN/NFLN coverage kicks off at 6am. But for me, by the time they're finally ready to get the hell on with it, I'm already in Christmas Evening Mode. Exhausted as hell and pretty much over it all. Say, when's bed time? Midnight? Shit.

The same goddamn smash-hit Top-40 hip-hop single as bumper music. Over… and over… and over. And over. And over. And over. And over. Berman (STILL!) partying like it's 1987. Rumblin' fumblin' Raaaaaaydas! Bills circling the wagons and whatnot. I don't know about you, but for the 29th consecutive year, I'm pretty sure it's gonna be Bills/Niners! That shit will never get old! Guh. Thank god I had the good sense to hide all my sharp objects and caustic chemicals.

Still, even though this is one hell of a terrible tee vee show and I'm pretty much hate-watching at this point, I have been waiting for months to at least see how the plot plays out. Perhaps these here internets can help distract me from all the hackneyed dialogue and hammy acting going on here until something interesting happens.

Oh for the love of… really? Some dude's trying to get internet-famous by picking an e-fight with Roman Harper? Classy.

At least I had the foresight to go ahead and unfollow Jason LaCanfora before he starts tweeting spoilers. Here comes Rog… SHIT! Really, Triplett?!? You too, Holder?!? SON OF A BITCH! You have GOT to be kidding me! Not cool, fellas. Total dick move. I thought we were bros! And here you are shamelessly and deliberately retweeting LaCafora's blatant douchebaggery that I and many, many others have taken deliberate and reasonable measures to avoid?!? For what purpose? To what end?

Oh, I suppose you'll say that as fully-credentialed members of the Legitimate Media™, you have a JOURNALISTIC DUTY(!!!) to disseminate the "BREAKING NEWS!!!" the VERY SECOND it becomes available some other asshole tweets it, right? Yeah… typical self-important sportswriter bullshit.

This just in, guys: It ain't the goddamn Watertown Manhunt. It's a fuckin' tee vee show, for crying out loud. A terrible tee vee show, but a tee vee show nonetheless. It's entertainment. And you're pissing all over everybody's good time (such as it were) by spoiling the reveal. How do you guys not get this? Try reading the room.

Nobody's gonna suffer by having to wait another 15 fuckin' seconds until the pick is officially announced. And nobody's gaining anything by finding out 15 seconds ahead of time. You're not providing a public service, you're just ruining shit. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why. You do know why they call them "spoilers" in the first place, right?

The least you could have done would have been to warn people ahead of time that you'd be doing that. It's just common courtesy. Can't afford to fuck up that Twitter follower count though, right?

You knew damn well that the NFL had held focus groups on the matter and asked ESPN and NFLN to cut that shit out this year. Why? Because they discovered that the vast majority of viewers don't want the spoilers and prefer to wait for the official announcement. Of course, everybody knew that LaCanfora would be pulling that shit anyway, because that's pretty much the only bullet left in his chamber at this point. Which is why the rest of us went to the trouble of unfollowing that guy in the first place, at least temporarily. Let us enjoy the show, for fuck's sake.

I mean, it's not like you were even "breaking" any "news" anyway. You were just standing in line at the movie theater and shouting out whatever you overheard the people who just attended the last screening talking about as they headed back to their cars. Way to be That Guy.

Sigh. Gotta love the 21st Century Legitimate Media. News events are treated as tee vee shows and tee vee shows are treated as breaking news.

Anyway, I was beginning to catch my second wind and let go of some of my annoyance right around the sixth pick. Oh this ought to be fun, I wonder what kind of wacky shit Cleveland is gonna pull out of their… NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

And just like that, my Barkevious Boner had gone flaccid forever (or at least until the start of free agency in 2017, am I right? High five! I'll be putting up the countdown clock shortly.) Sigh. You won't believe me, especially since I had some fun with it for the next couple days, but I really was over it about five seconds after Cleveland made the pick. C'est la vie. Turns out the Saints never had a realistic chance in the first place, so no sense crying about it. Good luck in Cleveland, Barkevious. Although, just a thought here, I'd totally support it if you decided to go all Elway with it. Eh? Eh? Anybody know how to contact Jason Cole so we can go ahead and get the ball rolling on this thing? "Unnamed members of Mingo's camp are indicating…"

At that point, every fiber of my being was telling me to just turn off the PC, change the channel and forget about it until Friday morning. But I am a weak, weak man who is powerless to resist the potential for wackiness and amusement. The lure of the message board and social media fallout from whatever the Saints ended up doing was just too compelling to ignore. Must… power… through!

Kenny Vaccaro, eh? D'oh. Should have listened to every fiber of my being. Initial kneejerk reaction: Colo(u)r me underwhelmed. Hell, I was barely whelmed at all. Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure that eventually he'll do something to impress me and I'll learn to love the guy. I'm just saying that's what it's gonna take. Meantime, I'm just not particularly impressed. Sue me. Nothing about this guy seems "special" to me at first glance. It's an opinion, that's all. A preliminary opinion, a layman's opinion at that, and not a particularly well-researched one. I've never claimed to be a scout, nor have I spent months watching YouTube highlight reels "game film" or any of the other apparently necessary qualifications for having a goddamn (dissenting) opinion on the internet on draft weekend.

The message boards immediately reacquainted me with two things I already knew but hadn't really thought much about in a while. 1. The only acceptable reaction to a Saints draft pick is rapturous applause, and 2. Whatever remains in 21st Century America that stubbornly continues to try to pass itself off as "society" has completely lost any semblance of the concept of honest disagreement. "Viewpoints" are a relic, these days there is only the person who is "right" and the person who is an idiot. Good times. Or something.

And on Draft Day, the "idiot" is always the guy who doesn't understand that the Saints ABSOLUTELY NAILED IT and it's all part of Payton and Loomis's diabolical Master Plan. It's the same thing every year… "Oh, I suppose you think you know better than Loomis and Payton, huh? Well then why aren't YOU the GM of an NFL team?!?" Oh, for crying out loud, get the fuck out of here with that weak shit.

If we're supposed to be so unconditionally supportive of everything Loomis and Payton do, then why have YOU spent the better part of the last decade screaming "When are they gonna bench/cut Shanle???" and/or "Run the ball, Payton!!!" and on and on like that? Hell, we all just finished spending the better part of the last three months lamenting "Why can't the Saints ever seem to find a defensive player in the first round who isn't Just A Guy?" And now the Saints pick yet another defensive guy in the first round and anybody who dares to express the opinion that he might be yet another JAG is an idiot who just doesn't get it? Sigh.

Anyway, it's not like the pick didn't make a lick of damn sense. So we've got that going for us. Could have been worse, they could have drafted Travis Frederick or something. I suspect there weren't more than a handful of Saints fans who were all jacked up about another year of Roman Harper and Malcolm Jenkins. So it's not like there aren't perfectly reasonable justifications for the pick. Apparently Loomis and Payton were every bit as enchanted as Message Board Guy was with this year's brand new perfectly legitimate scouting term Mayock pulled right out of his ass and inserted directly into the pre-draft scoutspeak lexicon… the "moveable chess piece."

As opposed to the stationary chess piece, of course. We're not exactly sure what kind of moveable chess piece Vaccaro is supposed to be, but with his lack of "elite speed" and his fluid hips which result in lateral mobility, not to mention that one highlight on his "game film" where he JUMPED STRAIGHT OVER an opposing chess piece on the way to the quarterback, we're guessing he must be a knight.

Oh WAIT JUST A DAMN MINUTE HERE! I know who can serve as the voice of reason here and make me feel better about the pick! Why, Pete Prisco of course! I can't believe that didn't occur to me sooner. To the Googles! (Because I can never remember what semi-Legit™ web site that dude works for.) What say you, Pete?

Pete's reaction was mixed. On the plus side, at 15, Vaccaro was the only guy left on the board not named Matt Barkley that Pete had previously heard of. So that's nice. On the other hand, it was incredibly arrogant of the Saints to follow up last year's Canadian by picking a Mexican this year. Then again, Pete agrees that the Saints really could use an influx of Samoans, and he's pretty sure Mexicans are a type of Samoan. So that's good too. Problem is, there's a different set of rules in Mexican Chess. See, in Mexican Chess, you're not allowed to move the pieces. It's anybody's guess as to how Vaccaro's skills will translate to the American game (…in this league.) So, yeah, it's pretty fuckin' typically arrogant of Loomis and Payton to think that won't be an issue. Classless too, of course, to gank San Francisco out of the guy they probably wanted. Word on the street is that Jim Harbaugh is privately fuming.

Wow, that did make me feel better. Thanks, Pete!

At any rate, Kenny's on board now, and eventually we will be too. Just give us some time and we'll get there. We do fully intend to crack wise on him when the opportunity presents itself and have us some big ole fun with it though. So if you're one of those guys who were offended by the way we used to "hate on" Reggie Bush, you have been warned. Got a feeling a lot of the material is gonna end up writing itself. Hey, I just discovered another reason to love the pick! High five!

Meantime, as is our usual wont, we here at moosedenied would like to take this opportunity to bestow upon Kenny our very own esoteric nickname which nobody else will get, let alone use: Chess Piece Face.

By the end of day two, I was feeling much, MUCH better.

–A mid-round offensive lineman from a small school? Yes please.
–A left tackle from Arkansas? Oh HELL YES.
–Terron Armstead… a name that just SCREAMS "football player."

Also, at the combine, he apparently beat Rich Eisen in the 40, jumped more broadly than Mike Mayock, and went lower in the limbo than Warren Sapp. Then he did a little dance and proceeded to score higher on the Wonderlic than Deion Sanders and Michael Irvin combined. While doing backflips. Or something. Nice.

"Expert" opinions are mixed as to whether or not Armstead can plug in at left tackle right from day one. Jahri Evans and Carl Nicks aren't betting against him though, and neither am I. The scouts seem to think he could use a little more sand in his pants. Dan Dalrymple is pretty sure that can be arranged, as do the fine folks at Popeye's.

Meanwhile, all indications so far are that the guy is an absolute freak of an athlete. Meaty hands, great strength at the point of attack, quick punch to the throat and whatnot. The Senior Bowl and East-West Shrine Game seem to have shown that the "small school competition" thing shouldn't be much of an issue. Unless it is. But since we've decided to go ahead and heap every last ounce of our skepticism on Kenny for the time being, we'll keep our fingers crossed and pull a Jahri-esque burst onto the scene "projection" right out of our ass for Mr. Armstead. Which would be fantastic, because it could also potentially create a ripple effect by freeing up either Charles Brown or Marcel Jones to displace Strief at right tackle. Two birds, one stone. Now THAT'S what I call value! VALUE!

All that, and the day two wackiness hadn't even yet begun to ensue. In yet another incredibly polarizing turn of events, the Saints did precisely what everybody's been pleading with them to do for a couple years now. "FREE CHRIS IVORY!!!" right? Wait, that's not exactly what you meant by that? D'oh! Careful what you wish for, I guess. Clearly those people are idiots though, right Message Board Guy? THERE CAN BE NO IN BETWEEN!

Hey, good for you, Chris. Way to get yourself one hell of an instant promotion there. Thanks for everything, Shame you're gonna get caught up in that trainwreck they've got going on up there. For whatever it's worth, Pete Prisco thought it was pretty fuckin' classless to just up and trade a guy right in the middle of the draft like that. And to the Jets, no less!!! But I'm sure you don't mind. I'll be pulling for ya, for sure.

But at the same time, I have no idea how Mickey Loomis managed to get the Jets to give a 4th round pick for the fourth tailback on the Saints' depth chart. But, yeah, you've just GOTTA take that. And then cross your fingers that Roger doesn't manufacture find several thousand pages of documents which "prove" you engaged in some sort of chicanery to make it happen. I'm sure ESPN's Outside The Lines is looking into it right this minute. Quick, somebody lock Kenny Wilkerson in the nearest basement!

They immediately flipped that pick and their original fourth rounder to Miami for #82. I'm not sure why they didn't just cut out the middleman and send Ivory directly to the Dolphins. They love them some ex-Saints tailbacks down there. (At least for a little while.) But whatever.

Then they used 82 on Georgia defensive tackle John Jenkins. Apparently the whole thing went all the way down to the wire. Word on the street is that they couldn't get Jenkins on the phone because he was right in the middle of straight murdering the shit out of some poor chump for a biscuit. Nice. That's precisely the kind of thing Chris Ivory used to do! High five!

On the other hand, it's also the kind of thing Jonathan Sullivan used to do. Difference is that, in Sullivan's case, it wasn't metaphorical. Also, I'm not sure Sullivan ever actually succeeded in killing a motherfucker for a biscuit. He tried, but he'd usually either end up flat on his ass, or just lose interest and give up.

But this guy?!? Just look at that monster! Jenkins isn't NEARLY the fat tub of shit with the perpetually blank stare that Sullivan was. He's straight yoked, he's got that barrel chest, tree trunks for arms, and the face of a very hungry dude with whom you'd be wise not to fuck. He actually looks a hell of a lot like "The World's Strongest Man" WWE's Mark Henry. Which is why we here at moosedenied would like to pause once again and officially bestow upon Jenkins the nickname: Sexual Chocolate. (Oh yeah, that one's sure to stick.)

Anyway, if you're keeping score at home, that makes three longstanding needs filled by the Saints at this point: A Samoan (of the Mexican variety) AND a left tackle from Arkansas AND a dude who will kill a motherfucker for a biscuit. Outstanding. ON TO DAY THREE! Where the Real™ superstars are born!

Day three didn't start off too well, not over at Saintsreport anyway. Man, they were jonesing HARD for that white wideout. (They're ALWAYS jonesing for the white wideout in the late rounds.) They had the prayer circle going and everything. Unfortunately, the inevitable quarter-hourly server outages kept breaking the mojo before it could reach critical mass. And as a result, they ended up with a high yellow cross-dresser with a goofy-ass hairdo instead. Ooooh, that's gotta hurt. Hey, on the plus side, his name is easy to spell. High five!

Predictably, the comparisons to Lance Moore began rolling in with great alacrity. Which I'm sure had nothing to do with his complexion. It was probably way more about the obvious joie de vivre both men share, which is made readily apparent by a couple of quick Google Image Searches. What does come as a bit of a surprise is that, on further investigation, the comparisons are arguably at least somewhat apt for actual football reasons.

Now work with me here, I'm not saying Stills is a Lance Moore clone or anything like that. Hell, if Stills ends up being half the player Lance Moore is, that'd be a win. On the other hand, Stills appears to be a bit more "athletically gifted" than Lance. A little taller, a little faster, that kind of thing. So he's got that going for him. Stills does have a long way to go from a hands standpoint. He's also got a whole hell of lot to prove in terms of reliability, football intelligence, and not being a pussy, just to earn the privilege of holding Lance's jock come August. (Not to mention boning up on his end zone dances.) Fingers crossed.

But the rationale strikes me as sound. Around this time last year, people were asking "What the hell is the point of drafting a Marques Colston clone in Nick Toon???" Seems to me it's become a lot more apparent now. It's all part of Loomis and Payton's Master Plan. They're setting up the second string at wideout to at least be a somewhat reasonable facsimile of Colston/Moore/Devery. Not exactly the same, but close enough if it all pans out. And on what planet is that not an absolutely fantastic plan? A little optimistic perhaps. But it sure as hell makes an awful lot of sense.

So for now, we'll just chalk that up as yet another need addressed. One pick left, and one glaring hole remains unfilled. Perhaps the most important of them all.

I'm of course referring to DUDES NAMED RUFUS!

And by golly, I'll be damned if they didn't take care of that one too. FINALLY! 'Bout goddamn time!

This guy… this is my kinda guy.

The jersey is already on its way. Fortunately for me, the good folks over in Guangzhou didn't much give a shit that I prefer RUFUS across the back as opposed to JOHNSON. Now that's what I call customer service!

So at the end of the day, I suppose I can honestly say I'm satisfied. Juuust short of thrilled right at the moment, but close enough. A hell of a lot closer than I've been in over half a decade now, anyway. Hey, I'll take it. Apparently so will most of you, because early polling suggests that we're all pretty much on board for one reason or another. That in and of itself is quite the accomplishment these days.

It wasn't perfect by any means. (Is it ever?) For example, they could have done a far better job of pissing off and/or confounding the shit out of Prisco. Maybe next year. (And by that I mean January/February of next year.) Decent effort though, all things considered.

And don't even get me started on that UDFA class! About six of whom are stone cold locks to make the 53-man roster come September, according to Message Board Guy. High five! IT'S LIKE A WHOLE OTHER DRAFT! Or something.

If there wasn't quite something for absolutely EVERYONE in the actual draft itself, surely the UDFAs covered all the other bases. There's the homer pick in Tulane's Ryan Griffin (who my sources are confirming is NOT a sarcastic, alcoholic talking cartoon dog.) And after having been thoroughly owned by canu2u last week re: the Saints not taking any of LSU's overrated players — good call canu2u, it stings like a motherfucker, but I'll gladly buy you a beer or six because you certainly nailed it — Griffin kinda hits the spot here from a homer standpoint. I'll sure as hell take that guy over Luke McCown and Seneca Wallace, thank you very much.

Saintsreport got themselves a white linebacker not named Scott Shanle, and if there's anything Saintsreport loves almost as much as a white wideout, it's a white linebacker not named Scott Shanle.

And on and on like that. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear Loomis has access to a big bin full of Adrian Arringtons or something.

Sure glad that guy's on our side.

Also, screw you, Roger Goodell. You are just the worst.

Mercifully, it appears we've finally awoken from our collective year-long fever dream, and at long last, shit's about to get real once again.

Dan Dalrymple has Our Heroes (and Patrick Robinson) back to grinding and chopping and pureeing and whatever else they do on the line there. Our award-winning Executive Chef is back in the kitchen and apparently more eccentric than ever, blasting those nips and looking vaguely like he just came from auditioning to be the new drummer for Green Day. There's a brand new big fat party animal in charge of conjuring up the chicken salad, and while it remains to be seen whether or not his recipe is any better, all indications so far are that he's at least somewhat less of a complete sociopath than our last big fat crazy-ass garde manger. Somehow Mickey Loomis manages to continue stocking the fridge using whatever loose change he can find out in the parking lot. And later this week, we're getting a delivery of brand new exotic proteins to put on the menu. Shouldn't we be a hell of a lot more excited about all this than we seem to be so far?

Maybe it's just me, but I get the sense that for the most part we Saints fans are still walking around in a malaise. Apparently the shit show that was 2012 did one hell of a number on our collective genitals, which had already been battered and bruised and hadn't yet fully recovered from the previous two consecutive Januarys. It's perfectly reasonable, of course, that we wouldn't exactly be in the most confident of moods right about now, and that "I'll believe it when I see it" would be the prevailing attitude.

After all, at this point nobody really has the slightest fuckin' clue whether or not the annual defensive rebuild is gonna actually work out this time. There doesn't seem to be a consensus on whether Rob Ryan is actually… you know… somewhat competent, or whether he's a blowhard goofball who's making his living off his dad's reputation. All we really know for sure about the switch to a base 34 defense is that it's about the only thing left that they haven't already tried. Nobody's really sure whether or not there's a serviceable full-time pass rushing outside linebacker currently on the roster, let alone two of 'em. If Will Smith, Brodrick Bunkley and Cameron Jordan couldn't stop opponents from rushing for 5.2 yards per last season in a 43, how the hell are they supposed to do it this season in a 34? If Curtis Lofton, Jonathan Vilma and Roman Harper couldn't cover a fuckin' tight end last season, what reason is there to believe they're gonna be able to this season? Malcolm Jenkins and Patrick Robinson may or may not just plain blow. And on and on like that.

And if all that weren't enough, some observers are beginning to notice cracks forming in the foundation of the offense. There's a big scary "hole" at left tackle, the offensive line is now in the hands of yet another big fat party animal, Mark Ingram may or may not be "just a guy," nobody's really sure whether the Real™ Jimmy Graham is the one from 2011 or the one from 2012, the starting wideouts aren't getting any younger, and even Sean Payton himself has cautioned us to refrain from expecting him to strut back into the office waving a magic wand around and sprinkling pixie dust all over the place. Shit!

And if all THAT weren't enough, the draft hasn't even started yet and the Saints are already pretty much boned, right? They already pissed away The Next Marques Colston Adrian Arrington for the opportunity to hang out with Barrett Ruud for a few weeks. (To be fair, it was well worth it. Have you seen his Joe Vitt impression? It's HILARIOUS!) Joffrey had already long since ganked them out of their second rounder, because he's a dick. And worst of all, their first round position is more uncomfortable than the back of a Volkswagen. They pick too late to secure any of the kids with sufficiently fluid hips and/or strength at the point of attack, and they pick too soon to take any of the other guys left on the board without "reaching" and failing to "maximize the value" of the pick. Once again, shit! Apparently no player in this draft "grades out" precisely at 15. Or something. So they're screwed either way. Just our fuckin' luck, right? If only they had either won or lost one more game last season, they'd be sitting pretty. DAMN YOU, HARTLEY!!!

So, yeah. Clearly we're doomed.

Hell, we can't even come to anything even vaguely resembling a consensus on what the Saints' primary need is at this point, which has us all as confused and irritable as a bunch of deranged monkeys roaming the interstate. Some of us think the pass rush has been sufficiently addressed already with Victor Butler and the switch to a base 34 allowing Junior Galette and/or Martez Wilson to spend less time picking splinters out of their asses. None of us are really sure whether or not Will Smith and Jonathan Vilma can still play. Nobody's really sure whether or not the Saints have any legitimate starting safeties. Ditto for the tackles. Is Akiem Hicks an end or a nose? Should Sean Payton just say "Fuck it, might as well just try to score 40 a game" and go with Tavon Austin or Cordarelle Patterson? (Hint: The correct answer is "no.")

Complicating matters even further is that nobody can even agree on the relative hip fluidity of any of these kids in the first place. There's no slam-dunk no-brainer even at #1 overall, let alone 15. Every one of these kids has something wrong with him. It could be a lack of experience, or lack of production in college, or not enough sand in his pants, or an inadequate thrust into the gap, or insufficient length in the toes, or maybe he has bony loins, or he's a knucklehead, or maybe he's just a douche with a stupid face.

By its very nature, the process lends itself to hypercriticism. And I think most fans tend to focus on whatever's filed under "weaknesses" because we're perpetually freaked out over the possibility of our favorite team coming away with a "bust." And we all have our own priorities when it comes to which "weaknesses" are negligible and which ones are deal-breakers. Is a physical limitation more or less troubling than a rep for laziness? Is a medical issue more or less troubling than a DUI? How about two DUIs? Do you prefer the guy who kicked ass in college but doesn't necessarily "project at the next level" for whatever reason, or maybe he's "already maxed out" or whatever? Or do you prefer the guy whose "production was disappointing" in college but "projects" and has a "higher ceiling?" And on and on like that.

It all adds up to a big jumbled mess of "who the hell knows." To an even greater degree than most years, there's just no consensus on anything. Need, BPA, value, who's likely to still be on the board when the Saints end up on the clock, it's all over the map.

So what do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO???

My advice: Relax.

The great thing about this draft, in my opinion, is that it's going to be incredibly difficult for the Saints to fuck it up too badly. (High five!)

Somebody the Saints can use and we fans can get excited about (if we allow ourselves to) is gonna be there. Whether it's Jarvis Jones, or Star Lotulelei, or Lane Johnson, or Kenny Vaccaro, or Xavier Rhodes, or whoever. It may not be your guy or my guy, and it might even be a perceived "reach" (OMG!) like Jonathan Cyprien or Matt Elam or Tank Carradine or Jamie Collins or — god forbid — an LSU guy like Kevin Minter or Eric Reid. But you know what? All of those guys can help the Saints.

Which isn't to say that I don't have "my guy" because of course I do. It may come as a total shock to you that my guy is Barkevious. By a mile. Why? Well, because I'm a total fuckin' homer. Or something. Sue me. It doesn't hurt that I've also thoroughly convinced myself that he's the second coming of former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling.

His so-called "weaknesses" bother me far less than those of other guys. He's not a knucklehead, he doesn't have any medical issues and he doesn't have any physical limitations aside from the rap that "he's too skinny" and Dan Dalrymple would have that shit handled by June 1. "Needs work on his technique, needs to become more well-rounded." You could say that about pretty much anyone in any draft. Certainly everyone in this particular draft. But there are absolutely no indications that he's some kind of dumbass who is incapable of learning new tricks, or an asshole who just won't. To the contrary, all indications are that this guy is willing and able to learn whatever it is you want him to. "Disappointing production in college." For one thing, I think that's a total myth. I haven't the slightest idea why his stat sheet is supposedly so "disappointing." But whatever. The guy makes an absolute shitload of "plays that don't show up on the stat sheet." He is the very definition of a "disrupter" and that's just the baseline. The "if that's all he is…" assessment. But at the same time, the upside is incredible.

But you've heard all those arguments and counter-arguments over and over again. Here's a different argument you probably haven't heard a whole lot of people making: Barkevious, without a doubt, by a mile, would absolutely be the most entertaining — the most fun — pick they could possibly make. And if that's completely irrelevant to you, then you take all this shit way too seriously.

Hey, don't get me wrong. I want the Saints to get the best player they can possibly get just as much as the next guy. But since I don't know who that guy is (and neither does the next guy) give me the fun pick. I don't mind drafting a tackle if that's clearly the way to go and we're staring The Next William Layton Roaf right in the face. But otherwise? ENTERTAIN ME! Give me a guy who's gonna make watching Saints football more fun.

Know what's big fun? Fucking sacks. Pat Swilling style sacks where the poor chump who's dropping back to pass can't even finish his third step. The kind where in the blink of an eye the poor bastard is flat on his ass and the ball is bouncing around on the turf.

Give me a guy I genuinely like. As a person. A guy I can totally mark out for. The guy who there's absolutely nothing not to love about. The guy who's always got that big goofy grin on his face all the time. The guy who is completely unpretentious. The guy you just can't help but to root for unconditionally (alright, fine, semi-conditionally.) Not just because he kicks ass, and not just because he's a Saint, but because he's just so goddamn likeable. Because you'd want to be his friend anyway. Give me the guy who's wide-eyed and just having an absolute blast. Give me the guy who is the absolute antithesis of an asshole.

Give me The Black Thomas Morstead.

And then in the third, give me the motherfucking Honey Badger. Please.

Because I'm a total homer. Guilty as charged, I don't care. But setting aside all the bullshit labels for just a second, I want Mathieu for most of the same reasons I want Barkevious. Because the dude can straight ball. Because he's never done anything other than straight ball.

If Barkevious is the second coming of Pat Swilling, Mathieu is the second coming of Sammy Knight. He's just got some kind of crazy inexplicable knack for playing football. And just as you can't teach Mingo's speed, length and other measurables, you can't teach Mathieu's innate… something. Whatever it is, he's just got "it." A shitload of "it."

The Sammy Knight comparison not doing it for ya? How about "The Darren Sproles of defense." He's a gadget player, but I'll be damned if he isn't one hell of a gadget.

That not working for ya either? Alright, let's give this one more try. Would you not spend a third round pick on Devin Hester? Hell, forget Devin Hester. Would you not spend a third round pick right now today for Tyrone Hughes? Mel Gray? Michael Lewis? I would.

"But Wang, I thought you were anti-knucklehead!"

Touché. Two things though. Firstly, there's a HUGE difference between taking a knucklehead in the first round and taking one in the third. And secondly, there are two kinds of knuckleheads. There are knuckleheads who are just fucking assholes, who do things like kick people in the face and steal from friends/teammates/roommates and beat women up and shit like that. Fuck those guys. And then there are good kids who aren't trying to hurt anybody or anything, but they do stupid shit because they're just looking to have a good time, and they're young and dumb and they think it'll never come back to bite them in the ass. Right up until it does. Maybe more than once. Because, this just in, they don't always "learn their lesson" the first time. I sure as hell didn't when I was in my early 20s, and I damn sure didn't have any reason to think I'd keep getting pass after pass because I was hot shit.

All indications are that Mathieu is the latter. And that's okay with me. Maybe he never gets his head out of his ass. I'm willing to take that risk. Because I genuinely believe that he's trying to get a grip upon his shit. And because the worst-case scenario just doesn't bother me all that much. The world isn't going to end if the Saints take a chance on a guy in the third fucking round and it doesn't work out because he just can't put the damn bong down. I'll get over it, and so will you. It wouldn't be the first time, nor will it be the last. We lived through Jonathan Sullivan, for crying out loud.

Meantime, would you not be entertained?

Hell, our friends over at the Who Dat Social Club have already paid the price of admission by introducing the thing where Mathieu will be "officially" listed on the Illegitimate™ depth chart at the position of "Honey Badger." I cannot wait to participate in that whole deal. "Tyrann Mathieu | Honey Badger | New Orleans Saints" Big, BIG huge fuckin' crazy-ass fun.

I think I'm gonna take a cue from the Angry Who Dat here and invent my own brand new proprietary draft strategy: MAPA. When all else fails, ALWAYS go with the Most Amusing Player Available REGARDLESS OF POSITION!!! (with the exception of the following six positions…)

Hey, it's gonna play out the way it's gonna play out regardless of whether or not you or I approve. There's not a damn thing we can do about it. So relax. Have fun with it. Twitter is gonna be a goddamn party Thursday night regardless of what happens. Wackiness will surely ensue. Joe Vitt will be texting phony "Pick is in, Matt Barkley" messages to Jeff Duncan while the Saints are on the clock, and it'll be HILARIOUS! Soon thereafter Sean Fazende and Fletcher Mackel will be confirming, and that'll be even more amusing.

Join us, won't you? After all, isn't that what this whole Saints Football thing is supposed to be all about in the first place? Fun? Amusement? Crazy shit?

And of course, no matter how the aforementioned inevitable wackiness were to have manifested itself, you just knew that there would be an immediate chorus of put-upon media types wagging their fingers and screaming "Shame on NOLA!" What an absolute travesty! It's an outrage! Oh boo fuckin' hoo. The Legits are such bitches. And, as usual, their sense of entitlement and their general-purpose irritability have them looking at this thing all wrong. The blackout was without a doubt the single most awesome thing that happened during Super Bowl "Big Game" 47, and quite possibly the most fun thing that happened during whole damn two-week corporate orgy. It was a bona fide "for the ages" moment. To hell with who's "to blame." They ought to be trying to figure out who deserves the credit.

Mileage varies, of course. Perhaps as a Saints fan I'm biased, maybe I was already expecting the game itself to bore the hell out of me. I'll cop to that. But holy shit was that first half bland. The crowd in attendance seemed even more listless and only casually interested than your typical Super Bowl. The action on the field was utterly ordinary, neither particularly good nor particularly bad, certainly nothing even approaching spectacular in any sense of the word. The commercials blew. Beyoncé was… well, Beyoncé. She did what she does, nothing we haven't seen before.

And perhaps worst of all was that, after Jacoby Jones's kickoff return to start the second half, pretty much everybody on earth figured the rout was on. I suspect that there were literally millions of people who were starting to think about reaching for the remote. I know I was. And that would have been the real "disaster." After all, the Super Bowl is 10% sporting event and 90% tee vee show. The vast majority of viewers don't really have a dog in the hunt anyway, they'd already seen the halftime show, and there really wasn't a whole lot of reason left to stay tuned (or at least actively tuned in, anyway.) Only two minutes into the second half, the whole show was beginning to wind down.

And then, right on cue, just in the nick of time, shit got real weird real fast. And it was goddamned awesome.

Suddenly, the whole thing became absolutely fascinating. You couldn't have asked for a more fortuitous accident. It was precisely the injection of juice the show so desperately needed. I'm pretty sure I paid closer attention to those 35 minutes than I did all day, before or after. And I sure as hell never even thought about reaching for the remote from that point forward. I'd wager I'm not the only one.

For all the bellyaching about it what a "disaster" it was, the truth is that it was the best thing that possibly could have happened at precisely that very moment. Far better than any two-second wardrobe malfunction at halftime, or anything like that. You couldn't have scripted a better "Don't you DARE touch that dial!" moment, especially for what to that point had been such an unspectacular production by the NFL, CBS and the two teams playing.

I have to admit that after about 10 minutes or so, I was disappointed when I resigned myself to the reality that it wasn't a big WWE WCW-style angle. Surely I wasn't the only one on the edge of my seat waiting for the nWo New Orleans logo to suddenly appear on the Jumbotrons and pyrotechnics to start firing at one of the tunnels (MY GOD, KING! THAT'S SEAN PAYTON'S MUSIC!!!) and for Mr. Arrogant to leisurely strut out to the 50 yard line in a leather jacket with mic in hand, posse in tow and Beyoncé on his arm — Eric Bischoff style — and proceed to cut the world's most wicked heel promo on Roger. Screw it, I'm just gonna go ahead and pretend that actually happened.

Still, the fact is that the outage is precisely what salvaged what otherwise might very well have been the most beige Super Bowl of all time.

Nobody will ever know the extent to which the suspension of play allowed the 49ers to finally get a grip upon their shit and produce what ultimately ended up being one hell of an exciting second half of football and a to-the-wire finish, as opposed to what might have been an off-Broadway version of a 55-10 style blowout with Joe Flacco and Colin Kaepernick attempting to stand in for Joe Montana and John Elway. (Guh.)

Not that people are gonna refrain from speculating about it until the end of time, especially considering how radically the game changed afterward. It may or may not qualify as full-blown causality, but there was certainly enough of a correlation to spur endless debate about just how much of a game-changing factor it might have actually been.

And with all due respect to Ravens fans who had to have been soiling their pants and committing random acts of wanton destruction as they watched it all slipping away, to whatever extent the outage did in fact set those subsequent events into motion, I suspect that we largely disinterested observers without much of a rooting interest are thankful for it.

Thankful too that the Ravens held on for the win anyway, sparing us from what would have been an even greater controversy over whether or not Baltimore's championship had been "stolen" from them by an unfortunate circumstance. Or, worse yet, somehow stolen from them by NOLA. Oh you know damn well that narrative would have been coming with alacrity from the Legits and Message Board Guy alike. And it would have been absolutely excruciating. Just brutal. So I suppose we should be thankful to the Ravens as well for pulling it out and allowing us all to avoid that particular nightmare.

But it wasn't even about the fallout from the incident. It was about the incident itself. It was fuckin' riveting.

Suddenly, improbably, it became Must-See Tee Vee. In a way that, despite what we've all been conditioned to believe here in 21st Century 'Murica, the Super Bowl itself in any given year really isn't. Not when your favorite team isn't participating, that is. Not anymore.

Oh sure, we still pretend like we're all jacked up for "The Big Game" every year, but for most of us at this point it's mostly about the ritual. It's about getting together with friends and socializing and stuffing our faces with meats and deep-fried anything and adult beverages and whatnot. More often than not, the actual game itself is little more than set-dressing. Ambience. The theme for the evening's festivities, and that's about the extent of it. Nobody's really paying more than casual attention to what's actually happening on the field.

The irony here is that it was what suddenly wasn't happening on the field that restored what had been waning interest in the show. The stoppage of actual play is what snapped everybody back into the whole thing, right as it was about three seconds from officially crossing over into "garbage time" and viewers were starting to say things like "School night. Might want to think about cleaning the kitchen and putting the kids to bed."

Then, suddenly, all hell had broken loose. Nobody knew what the hell was going on, or what might happen next. It was insane! And incredibly entertaining. That's just sooo NOLA. And, no, we're not sorry.

The visuals were absolutely stunning, in all the most bizarre ways imaginable.

There was John Harbaugh on the sideline going full-blown apeshit on some confused old man in a suit for some reason, as suit guy made attempt after futile attempt to explain "Dude, I don't know what the fuck to tell ya." And then just when you thought Harbaugh was done… he wasn't.

There was the initial solid minute of total silence from the broadcast booth, followed by the hilariously inept attempts by the rest of CBS's crew to ad-lib their way through the process of regaining their composure. All on live tee vee, being broadcast to over seventeen thousand countries and six planets, or whatever.

The Wolf Blitzer style updates. The surreal blend of the well-established party atmosphere and the sudden tension you could cut with a knife. All the flabbergasted people milling around aimlessly without the foggiest notion of how they should proceed.

It was the damnedest thing I've ever seen.

Which is what made it so much damn fun. FUN! What a novel concept. Roger really ought to look into making that a permanent feature of future Super Bowls.

Because "the incident" made the show somewhere on the order of a hundred times more interesting than the game itself had been until that point. Talk about… um… "kicking it up a notch." BAM! Or something.

NOLA, bitches! Don't like it? Go the fuck back to Kentucky.

Meantime, to whatever extent people are disappointed and outraged on behalf of the league, CBS, the advertisers, and of course the perpetually put-upon Legitimate Media™ over this here so-called "disaster" I suggest we just go ahead and chalk it all up to residual 2012 karma. What goes around comes around and whatnot.

Wanna blame somebody? Blame Roger. And I say that with 100% sincerity. Blame Roger for the fact that, to whatever extent Super Bowl 47 was a disaster, it was a fitting end to the 2012 NFL season. The season of deliberately manufactured competitive imbalance, incompetent scab officials, the continuing pussification of the game, the increasingly arbitrary application of the goddamn rules (whatever they might be this week) and on and on like that. If last night was in any way some kind of so-called travesty, then it was well-deserved, given that the whole fuckin' 2012 season was a complete fuckin' travesty to begin with.

But deep down you know you loved that shit. All 35 crazy-ass minutes of it. The Legits can call it whatever they want. We'll just call it lagniappe.

You're welcome.

Look, I know that Sean Payton wasted little time last week in putting the Spaghead Experience™ to its merciful end, and that he has publicly stated that the Saints will be moving to a 34 defense this fall. I'm aware of the fact that this has plenty of Saints fans daydreaming of a return to the good old days of the Dome Patrol. I bet you think you ought to be a part of that project, don't you Barkevious? Who do you think you are, former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling?

Oh sure, you've become a bit of a cult hero during your short career at LSU. You've got one hell of a bitchin' name. (The nickname? Not so much. Which is why we're gonna have to insist on continuing to call you Barkevious.) You're a born and raised Louisiana guy. By all accounts, you're one hell of a high-character guy as well. One who's smart enough to never have been busted for smoking grass, and classy enough that you'd never consider kicking a dude in the face outside a local bar. (Unless provoked, that is.) These days, that's quite the accomplishment at our state's flagship university. You've been dependable, productive, and we've had ourselves some great times together over the last three years.

And hey, don't get me wrong here, that's all great. But that doesn't mean you can strut around here like you're former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling.

What, I suppose it's because you're pretty much physically identical? Is that it? Is it because Swilling was 6-foot-3 and about 245 pounds, and you're 6-foot-5 and about 245 pounds? Because a quick Google image search clearly reveals that in pads basically you look exactly like Swilling coming out of college? Or maybe it's because Swilling was/is generally credited with a 40 time somewhere around 4.7, and you've been repeatedly clocked at somewhere around 4.5? Is it because of your long wingspan and huge hands? The FLUID HIPS?!?

Measurables are all fine and good, Barkevious. But I don't see how any of that can be used as any kind of basis for comparisons to former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling.

I really don't get it, Barkevious. I suppose it's because Swilling was considered a "tweener" coming out, who primarily played 43 defensive end in college but became a dominant speed-rushing 34 Jack linebacker in the NFL, much like you're projected to do?

Perhaps it's because you're an absolute freak of an athlete, with an off-the-charts motor that runs just as hot in the fourth quarter as it does in the first? Is it because you can play standing up or with your hand in the turf? Or that you've got a knack for defending passes to complement your pass-rushing skills? Is it because of your incredible agility and change-of-direction? That killer spin move? The infectious energy you bring with you to the field on every single down?

I mean, it's not as if this here defense needs any of those things right about now.

Let's be real here, Barkevious. To hell with measurables and intangibles, it's about production! As a four-year starter at Georgia Tech, Swilling posted 265 total tackles, 23 sacks, 37 tackles for loss and forced 9 fumbles. You only posted 119 total tackles, 15 sacks, 29 tackles for loss and forced 4 fumbles at LSU in about half that time, with only one year as a full-time starter. Are we supposed to be impressed?

Sure, had you stayed for your senior year you might have ended up with something like 21 sacks and 40 TFL while still having been mostly a backup for two of your three seasons. I suppose that's why you're gonna go in the top half of the first round in 2013 as opposed to 60th overall in 1986. You think that makes you some kind of big shot? You really think that ought to draw favorable comparisons to former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling?

Fine, I guess I'll go ahead and concede that you've got similar measurables, similar skills, similar production in college and similar intangibles. You win this round, asshole.

But you've got another thing coming if you think any of that means you're just gonna roll down Airline a ways and end up averaging 11 sacks a year and forcing 24 fumbles while being selected to five straight Pro Bowls during 7 seasons as a Saint.

Because here's the dirty little secret, Barkevious. The glaring weakness in your game. You think we don't know about it, but believe me, we're keenly aware of it.

You played your college ball at LSU. Don't even try to act like you didn't, because we've got 50,000 pages of documents that prove you did. Worse yet, you played for Les Miles. Former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling would never have done something like that!

Did you think we were just gonna overlook that? Do you not understand what a huge issue that is?

We're Saints fans, Barkevious. We don't have time to deal with that kind of nonsense.

Any Real™ Saints Fan knows that all LSU players are chumps, and only the blind devotion of a complete homer(!!!) would compel someone to suggest that the Saints should draft one. I mean, why not just draft 'em all and go 3-13 year in and year out, am I right? That's clearly what the homers would prefer, and if you draft one, you just encourage them. Next thing you know, they're wanting to waste a 5th on that Honey Badger dude. Gotta nip that shit in the bud before it gets out of hand, you know? (Eh? Eh? See what I did there? Because "bud" sometimes means marijuana.)

It doesn't help that when you play football at LSU, it's only a matter of time before even the aforementioned LSU homers get sick and damn tired of your disappointing them in some way or other and begin to focus on the many ways in which you suck. And there ain't no coming back from that, no matter how much you're the spitting fuckin' image of former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling.

So cut it out already, Barkevious. We're on to you. Don't bother following Jeff Duncan on Twitter about 5 minutes before the Saints make their selection come April. Joe Vitt will probably be fucking with him anyway. "Pick is in, Eddie Lacy" And it'll be hilarious! Hell, on second thought, maybe you ought to go ahead and follow Jeff. His constant stepping on his own dong really is high-quality entertainment.

Meantime, you're really gonna have to get over all this Pat Swilling bullshit. You've just got too much working against you here, Barkevious. It's just a bad fit. We're trying to build the new Dome Patrol here, not the Home Patrol.

Perhaps if you'd played your college ball at Georgia Tech, things might have worked out differently, and Message Board Guy would be shoehorning Tyler Wilson and Ryan Nassib into the top 10 right about now in all 37 versions of his mock draft, just for purposes of pushing you down to 15 where you'd clearly be the (all together now) BEST PLAYER AVAILABLE! But you didn't play your college ball at Georgia Tech, did you Barkevious? And it's too late to do anything about it now. Shoulda thought about that back in 2009.

And besides, you just know that Mickey Loomis and Sean Payton — the most arrogant guys in any room — are gonna try to parlay last year's trip to Canada into a full-blown Moneyball type thing and take the dude from Ghana or the other dude from Estonia. Or something. Am I right, Prisco?

So I'm sorry to break it to you, Barkevious. But despite having all the physical tools, the nonstop motor, the blazing speed, the scheme and positional versatility, the ability to fly all over the field, the incredible first step off the line, the quickness and agility, the relentless energy and give-a-damn, the underrated ability to take down tailbacks and defend passes, and the ability to keep opposing offensive coordinators up at night taking plays out of the gameplan and trying to figure out a way to stop you, I'm afraid you're just not the second coming of former New Orleans Saints linebacker Pat Swilling.

And even if you were, what in the hell would the Saints do with a guy like that anyway?

Then one day Sonny stopped coming around. Heard he got himself into a little trouble up in town. Some time after that, he finally disappeared for good. But he pulled that ole Houdini, like we always knew he would.

Welp, 2013 sure is off to a rousing start. As if those gavones over in Atlanta stepping on their own dicks and getting themselves clipped (because, of course, it's what they do) weren't enough to snap you out of the funk, Tuesday brought the long-awaited great news that our beloved capo di capi finally got himself sprung from the joint. At long last, the family is once again whole and this thing of ours is back in the action.

I'm sure that Sean's got himself a list written up in one of them there legal pads he's been filling up over the last nine months, and sooner or later everybody on it will get done up right. The retaliation will be fierce, scores will be settled. They'll all get theirs in due time.

But first things first. Evidently the caporegime were called in Wednesday night for a sit-down, and you've gotta figure that there was some serious heat at the table as the underbosses had to answer for why their crews haven't been earning like they should have been over the last nine months. No doubt Spags was called on the carpet, and I assume word will be hitting the street sometime soon as to whether or not he's gonna get chased over it. Far as I'm concerned, he'll be lucky to avoid getting the Big Pussy treatment.

Meantime, while order is being restored and all manner of unpleasant business is being handled behind closed doors, it's all smiles out in public. And why shouldn't it be? Sean's done his sitting, paid his bullshit so-called debt, and there's nothing that can be done to get the last nine months back. But he ain't gonna sit no more. They can't keep him there no more. You bet your ass it's a fine, fine day.

We've got the rest of our lives to carry this vendetta, but now is a time for celebration. Sean made it back alright. He doesn't seem any worse for wear. It's been a long time coming, and the beef is far from settled. But for now, there are glasses to be raised. Backs to be patted. Acquaintances and re-acquaintances to be made. Sweet freedom to be enjoyed. Bro hugs to be distributed all around.

I'm choosing to appreciate this time and to be grateful. Not to Roger, because fuck that guy, but for the fact that Roger couldn't tear us down. For the time being, that'll do just fine for me. To hell with Roger. Far as I'm concerned, we owe it to ourselves to forget Roger for a little while and just bask in the return of our fearless leader. Not because Roger deserves a break, but because we do. We deserve our moment of joy, of relief, of unburdening. No sense in wasting the opportunity to unclench our collective butt cheeks for a while and have ourselves a little fun.

Now don't get me wrong here. I'm not saying any of us should forgive and forget. Never. I'm certainly not saying we should heed the condescending pre-emptive admonitions coming from the mayor and Roger's sycophants in the Legitimate Media™ to put on a happy face just because the smarmy, corrupt asshole who sent Sean up in the first place is coming to town for a few days next week to preside over the league's annual corporate orgy.

And I'm damn sure not saying we ought to buy into the ridiculous, revisionist assertions that Roger should be treated as some kind of fucking champion of New Orleans just because damn near a decade ago, on orders from his boss, he executed a plan of action conceived with the league's best interests in mind, which just happened to coincide with the best interests of the city as well.

Roger doesn't give a fraction of a fuck about the city and he never has. Which is fine, that's not a crime. He's under no obligation to give a shit about the city. But the notion that Roger rode in on his white horse and saved the Saints and the city out of the goodness of his heart is as insulting as it is absurd. It would piss me off if it weren't such a hilariously desperate attempt to mollify the angry mob they for some reason assume will be second-lining down Poydras next week.

(Besides, we all know that it was Joe Goddamn Horn who saved the Saints and the city when he marched into Tom Benson's office in San Antonio and by god DEMANDED that the old man bring the Saints back where they belong! Or something like that.)

Roger Goodell: New Orleans Hero

Yeah. Good luck trying to make that bullshit fly.

Anyway, setting aside Roger's self-serving ploy for retroactive redemption, this is simply the latest example of certain members of the Legitimate Media™ taking themselves (and by extension the situation) way, way too seriously. They've conjured up this horrifying image in their minds of a citywide angry mob unleashing all manner of incivility under the brightest of international spotlights, and they've taken it upon themselves to pre-emptively plead with us to behave. To condescendingly lecture us on how important it is that we somehow manage to control ourselves while the elites are among us. You know, for the good of the city. Wouldn't want to project the image that we're a bunch of butthurt lunatics at the mercy of our own misguided spite. Or something.

Shove it up your ass, Duncan. You too, Mitch.

This just in: It ain't exactly NOLA's first rodeo. It's not like New Orleanians aren't grizzled veterans when it comes to grinning and bearing it while hosting big events attended by a bunch of dicks. We've made a goddamn career of it.

Look, there are crazies everywhere, and New Orleans damn sure is no exception. We can only hope that none of them find an opportunity to do something truly abhorrent to Roger or anyone else. But surely not even Duncan and Landrieu are deluded enough to think they're gonna reason with the crazies and talk them out of acting on their impulses by way of a press conference or a condescending opinion column in what remains of the local virtual newspaper.

But these admonitions aren't intended for the crazies. They're intended for the normals. They're directed at us. It's not about refraining from committing some senseless act of violence or anything like that. It's about not hurting Roger's feelings. It's about taking down the "Do Not Serve This Man" signs, and leaving the ridiculously overpriced tee shirts with the oh-so-clever slogans on them in the closet, and not booing him at every public appearance, and not rolling giant vagina floats and not throwing anal beads with Roger's smug face on them and whatnot. It's about not "embarrassing the city" by… you know… being our irreverent selves.

It's about wearing our Sunday Best and sitting still and keeping quiet and being good little boys and girls so as not to annoy the company.

Fuck all that.

It truly boggles the mind that so-called "locals" could be so oblivious to the fact that all these puerile yet ultimately benign demonstrations of our discontent are really just for shits and giggles. Sure, they come from a place of anger and spite and righteous indignation, but so what? Lighten the fuck up, Francis.

This just in: We don't like the guy, and no matter how hard you try to convince us that we oughta, we're never gonna. And hell, it's not like we're the only ones. From Seattle to Miami, New York to Los Angeles Oakland, with the conspicuous exception of the sycophants in the Legitimate Media™, everybody has some problem or another with this asshole. Why the hell should anybody decline any opportunity to sling a little shit in his general direction?

Why? So that the rest of the world doesn't get the impression that we're a bunch of boorish jackasses for amusing ourselves at Roger's expense?

Oh boo fuckin' hoo. Let's all shed a tear for Roger's hurt feelings. Let's throw him a fuckin' parade in gratitude for his steadfast dedication to the city and all he's done for us. Let's pat him on the back and apologize for having forgotten how good he's been to us over the years. Good thing the Legits were there to remind us! And just in the nick of time, too!

Drunk Bobby: No.

Screw Roger. Hell, it's not like he hasn't had himself one hell of a good week as well. After all, Matty Ice's annual choke job saved him from having to cancel Super Bowl XLVII altogether due to lack of interest. (Bullet dodged, am I right Rog?)

And screw all these uptight pearl-clutching Uptown Ladies who think NOLA's gonna suddenly turn into Detroit next week just because Roger's in town. That's just not how we roll.

Murdering powerful assholes in the face while they're in town for a visit is really more of a Dallas thing anyway. In NOLA, we just mock and deride them. Mercilessly, and hilariously!

I mean… for fuck's sake… A GIANT VAGINA! This! Is! New Orleans!!! Your move, Japan!

Sorry to have to break it to you prudes, but we're gonna have fun with this thing whether you like it or not. Because that's what we do. It's who we are. It's our goddamn raison d'être.

Don't like it? Go the fuck back to Kentucky.

#wemaketherulespal

Welcome to 2013, bitches. Hope you weren't expecting this here soap opera to suddenly come to an end when the clock struck midnight Tuesday morning. Turns out it was just the beginning of the next episode, and it looks like this one's gonna be just as packed with incessant plot twists, intrigue and reality tee vee show drama as the last one. And you know what? I think I'm just fine with that. I've grown accustomed to it. And as frustrating and downright bizarre as it can be sometimes, it's sure to be a hell of a lot more entertaining than staring at a test pattern until August (or April, whichever comes first.)

When it comes to Saints football, all I really want is to be entertained. Winning football is entertaining, of course. Kicking the asses of chumps and sticking it to jerks and whatnot. Championships, also big BIG fun. (High five!)

But I have to agree with our friend Angry Who Dat that while 2012 was for the most part brutally shitty and at times just excruciating to witness, in true modern Saints fashion, it was never ever boring. Even the stuff that made me want to shove a screwdriver up my nose was (in a way) riveting, edge-of-your-seat entertainment.

The scandals and pseudo-scandals, the trolling and counter-trolling, all the chaotic wackiness. Giant Sean Payton Face and all the anti-Roger signs in and around the Benz™. The constant "What the fuck could possibly happen next?" of it all. It was just absolutely impossible to get bored and lose interest. In many ways, the whole thing sucked horribly. But in other ways, it really didn't. It was way too batshit fuckin' insane to have completely sucked.

I suspect that as 2012 shrinks in the rear view and the sting of the "lost season" eventually subsides, more and more Saints fans will eventually come around to the notion that "You know, in hindsight, it was kinda fun in its own crazy way."

Me? I'm already there. And sue me, but part of me was already beginning to dread a so-called "return to normalcy" this offseason. The 2012 season may not have ruined the Saints, but it may have ruined me. I'm not sure "normal" is capable anymore of giving me that perpetual throbbing Saints boner, especially in the offseason. I'm afraid I may have become addicted to the drama. The intrigue. The controversy. I've gotten used to Saints football as a year-long reality tee vee show. And, God help me, I like it. I'm not sure I want "normal" anymore. Because abnormal has been pretty damn amusing.

Which is why I applaud Anonymous Spaghead™ for dropping that New Year's Day nuke on us via Larry Holder. Because this thing promises to be fun. Big ole crazy-ass fun.

That sickening thud you heard last Sunday afternoon was the sound of all the delusions of impending greatness regarding the so-called "steady season-long improvement" of the Saints defense plunging from the sky right into the very same steaming pile of dog shit from which they had risen in the first place. (It probably should have happened the previous week in Dallas, but they were fortunate enough to land in a dump truck full of pillows which just happened to have been parked outside Cowboys Stadium at the time.)

Whether or not you choose to accept the notion that 7042 total yards allowed — most in NFL history, and 454 points allowed — most since the 1980 Saints, legitimately qualifies the 2012 Saints defense as "THE WORST IN NFL HISTORY!!!" is largely irrelevant. What matters is that it was inarguably shitty. Incredibly shitty. Historically shitty. Mindbogglingly shitty. Unacceptably shitty. Far more shitty than last year's was. Shittier than any Gary Gibbs defense. Shittier than any Rick Venturi defense. Shittier than any defense featuring Jason David, Kevin Kaesviharn, Josh Bullocks, Tebucky Jones, Jonathan Sullivan, Rob Kelly or Colby Bockwoldt. It might not have been the single worst defense in NFL history, if you say so, but it was damn sure close enough.

And perhaps most importantly, it was every bit as shitty in week 17 as it was in week 1.

922 total yards and 75 points allowed in weeks 1 & 2, 976 total yards and 75 points allowed in weeks 16 & 17. (No, that's not "comprehensive analysis" and not the end-all, it's just an illustrative anecdote.)

In retrospect, it seems pretty clear that the midseason spasm of relative competence (using the term very loosely) that got everybody all excited was little more than a temporary "hot" streak at best, and pretty much a complete illusion at worst. That shutout of Tampa is the very definition of an outlier. This defense is no better than it was in September. And it's not just a case of LYING STATS(!!!) making it look worse than it was. I watched every snap of every game this year, and the stats tell the absolute truth. It was every bit as bad as the stats suggest.

And we've been racking our brains all season long in a futile attempt to figure out why. Which is why I can't figure out why Anonymous Spaghead™ is catching so much shit over what he said to Holder. Hell, at the very least it's every bit as plausible as any other explanation that's been offered all year. But, as is typically the case, Message Board Guy is reading this thing all wrong.

Let's start with the low-hanging fruit. Get the fuck off of Holder's back, would ya? Sheesh. Larry's not "reporting facts" here, he's simply relaying one man's opinion. There's absolutely no obligation to "corroborate" with a "second source" or any of those other things you think you know about how journalism is supposed to work because you watched All The President's Men that one time.

Nor is there a damn thing wrong with Larry respecting the player's request to remain anonymous. Hell, that's precisely what a journalist is supposed to do. (I learned that by watching All The President's Men that one time.) And quit with all the retarded "If he won't name the player, he should have kept his mouth shut and not published the comments in the first place!" bullshit. You cannot be serious with that. You really think it's not newsworthy that there's at least one Spaghead™ who is totally not on board with the way this defense is currently being run? You really would prefer to have remained ignorant of that pretty significant bit of information?

And don't even get me started on the completely ridiculous "Anonymous source = Larry made the whole thing up to stir shit and get page views!" nonsense.

Larry did absolutely nothing wrong here. Hell, it's perhaps the most "right" thing anybody on the NOLA Media Group™ Saints beat has done in a long, long time. When's the last time anybody over there told us anything we didn't already know?

Not that I don't appreciate the standard-issue game recaps and opinion pieces and whatnot, because I do. And things have been an awful lot better over there since Holder, Mike Triplett and "Splendid" Nakia Hogan took over and for the most part got James Varney and Jeff Duncan the fuck out of our faces. (Thanks for that, fellas.) Still, the fact that NOLA Media Group™ actually broke this thing might be the most shocking part of it all. In a good way. A splendid way, even. Right, Nakia?

We need more of this kind of thing from our local Legitimate Media™, not less.

More low-hanging fruit: "COWARD!!! If you're gonna call somebody out, at least put your name to it! What a punk! Clearly he doesn't have the balls to stand by what he said like a REAL MAN(!!!) would. Therefore why should I give any credence to what this guy thinks?" Oh, for the love of fuck. Take that meathead macho bro-code bullshit and shove it up your frat brother's ass.

Anonymously or not, it took a lot of stones to break ranks and speak his mind. And if you can't figure out why it was imperative for this guy to remain anonymous, you're an example of why people use the phrase "more balls than brains."

Jonathan Vilma can posture all he wants and swing his dick about how offended he is that somebody would air dirty laundry through the media because "We're not the Jets" or whatever, but he's full of shit on this one. And he knows it. He's deliberately choosing to focus on silly bro-code issues in an effort to dodge the real issue here. He's deflecting, and it's telling that he flatly refuses to answer the simple question of whether or not he disagrees with the substance of what Anonymous Spaghead™ said. Perhaps Vilma would be more willing to answer that question on condition of anonymity?

Meantime, as our friends at the Who Dat Social Club so saliently pointed out, the fact that "We're not the Jets" ought to lend even more credence to the anonymous comments. Precisely because there's no history of loose cannons in the Saints' locker room going off half-cocked and breaking the bro-code and spouting off in the media. It's so out of character for the Saints collectively, it so blatantly flies in the face of the Saints' "house rules" that the current situation has to be pretty damn compelling for a guy to break ranks so "egregiously."

And if the situation is that compellingly bad, then it needed to be said. And I applaud Anonymous Spaghead™ for having the stones to say it. Anonymously or otherwise.

But, among other kneejerk reactions, Message Board Guy immediately concluded that it must be some lone butthurt rogue who already knows he's on the way out and figures he'll get himself a parting shot in before being shown the door. Nevermind that it doesn't make a lick of damn sense.

I mean, think about it for a damn second. What's in it for him? Spite? That's it, just spite? Now don't get me wrong, I'll concede that spite can be one hell of a motivating factor. But enough to commit career suicide? Really? I don't think so. It doesn't make sense. There's nothing for Anonymous Spaghead™ to gain here, and everything to lose.

It's certainly not gonna help him salvage his job with the Saints, if indeed he's a guy who's already on the way out. Especially considering that there's about a zero percent chance that the guys in the Saints' locker room don't already know damn well who said it. He might have chosen to remain anonymous to the general public, but privately? They know.

And it's certainly not gonna help him to find a job with another team. Who the hell wants to hire a guy who just got fired from arguably the worst defense in NFL history, and on top of that, spouted off in the media and threw his last DC under the bus on the way out? Not exactly the kind of thing you want on your résumé.

If you just have to trash your soon-to-be-ex-boss to make yourself feel better, you do it privately. Or you at least wait until you've secured your next gig before doing it publicly, Mike Karney style.

No, the "lone butthurt rogue trashing Spags out of spite" theory just doesn't hold water. It's about as retarded a theory as they come, actually. Aside from spite, nothing good could come of it for Anonymous Spaghead™. It's completely contrary to his own self-interest.

It makes a hell of a lot more sense, and is therefore a hell of a lot more likely, that Anonymous Spaghead™ is a guy who knows damn well that he's going to be part of this here defense going forward. And that he can't stand the thought of he and his teammates continuing to flounder under Spags next year and beyond. And that he knows that the guys in the locker room will have his back. Maybe not all of them, but enough of them.

It's the only explanation that doesn't involve a guy willingly setting himself and his career prospects on fire just for the sake of sticking it to The Man. Anonymously.

And if that's true, then it definitely needed to be said. And it's about damn time somebody sacked up and said it.

"We're all totally on board, everything's fine, getting better all the time, it's not nearly as bad as it looks" and all that rah-rah bullshit is all fine and good during the season. That's what they're supposed to say, that's what they're supposed to think for as long as there are still games to be played. There's no room for dissent during the season.

But it's the offseason now. It's time to dispense with all the rah-rah bullshit and get real about it. I'm just glad to know that there's at least one guy in the locker room (hopefully among many others) who's got sense enough to see through all the baseless optimism and realize that everything's not fine. Not by a fuckin' long shot. It's a hot mess, and it's high time somebody on Airline quit trying to sell us a fairy tale and acknowledge it.

Sure, the one thing Vilma's right about is that ideally you'd like for all this to stay in-house. But, this just in: Sean Payton ain't exactly in the house right at the moment. And if you need to get the message out to the decision-maker and get the ball rolling on this thing without resorting to a bunch of cloak-and-dagger type shit that might result in getting Payton suspended for another year, then putting it out there through the media is pretty much the only option you've got.

So my hat's off to Anonymous Spaghead™. In my opinion, it's not that this dude is grinding some kind of personal ax. He just had the stones to step up and speak out against the madness. To do what had to be done for the good of the team going forward. At great personal peril, I'm sure. And in my book, that's worthy of standing applause.

Meantime…

You know that something is going on around here. It surely, surely, surely won't stand the light of day.

Make no mistake about it, this is just the first public indication of what's almost certainly a full-blown mutiny.

There's no way in hell this is the first anybody's hearing of this. (Except for us, of course.) No, it's perfectly clear that this thing has been bubbling up all season long behind closed doors. By the time the first shot is sent across the bow, you can be pretty sure that diplomacy has long since failed and the war is already well underway. And from that point, there ain't no coming back. I don't think there's gonna be a whole lot of hugging it out going on here. Like it or not, this thing is happening.

And it appears to be a long, appears to be a long, appears to be a long… time… such a long long long long time before the dawn.

Hey, what else is new, am I right?

The good news is that regardless of how this whole thing plays out, at least it'll surely be big fun to watch it all unfold. And that's plenty good enough for me. If we can't have Saints football in January/February, Saints drama will just have to do. And it'll do just fine, thank you very much. Hell of a lot more entertaining than whatever the league is putting on tee vee these days, anyway.

Meantime, if any of you other Spagheads™ are somewhat less than fully gruntled and need to get some shit off your chest, and for whatever reason Larry just doesn't do it for ya, feel free to hit me up. I'll be more than happy to put it all out there for ya. We here at moosedenied have your back. As an Illegitimate, I wouldn't even have to edit out the profanity. You could use all the damn hell ass profanity you like. It'll be fun!

Come on, you know you wanna.