"Coach Payton? Hi, my name is Dave. I used to play quarterback for John Fox but he don’t play me no mo. Oh no. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that Vinny is out because he’s old and I’m gonna really suck and throw you two interceptions because I want you to show up Coach Fox because he don’t play me no mo, and I’m mad."

Five and six, bitches! Yay? Oh sure, what the hell. Damn right yay! What are you gonna do, sulk your way through the rest of the season, smugly self-satisfied with the accomplishment of having proclaimed the Saints dead long before everyone else "accepted the truth?" Wait, you say you’re one of those message board guys? And that’s exactly what you plan to do? Oh, I see. Well then how about you go fuck yourself? That work for ya?

The problem with a win like this one is that there’s really not a whole lot to say about it. The Saints kicked the Pants’ asses in just about every way permissable by law. But the Pants suck in just about every way permissable by law. (North Carolina law, that is, which means the list of ways to suck lawfully is a little shorter than in most other states.)

So what to make of it? The Saints are capable of beating really, really bad teams? Sometimes? As long as they’re not the Rams or Texans? I guess. Or something. I guess that’s pretty much the bottom line with the 2007 Saints, isn’t it? You just haven’t the slightest clue how it’s gonna go on any given week.

Of note? The Saints ran the ball! Those of you whose heads didn’t just explode, feel free to read on.

36 — that’s THIRTY SIX!!! – "real" rushing attempts, counting Drew’s Matt-Flynn-esque 8-yard touchdown on a quarterback draw — let me just say that again… an 8-yard QUARTERBACK DRAW for a touchdown — (Head still intact? Continue reading this unbelievably-awkward, overly-punctuated run-on sentence… ) but not counting Jamie Martin’s 3 "rushes" for -3 from "the Victory Formation" accounted for 116 of the Saints’ 373 total yards on the day.

You totally skipped that entire Peter-Finney-esque one-sentence paragraph, didn’t you? Asshole. That one-sentence paragraph had about 50 more words in it than one of Finney’s, and about 1000% more effort. And you just glossed right over it.

Aaaaaaalright fine. The Saints ran the ball 36 legit times for 116 yards. Hot damn! 3.22 yards per rush. With all apologies to our friends Mr. C.L. Ten and Ashley The Inimitable, Pierre’s gonna have to do a little better than 2.666666666667 yards per attempt if he wants to continue to get 12 carries in a game.

The good news? Our favorite undrafted rookie was less than one yard per carry off the pace of our billion-dollar, supermodel-bangin’, product-endorsin’, ab-crunchin’ Little Superstar. And both he and everybody’s favorite generic ultility infielder, Stecker Ace, had longer individual runs than The Next Gale Sayers. That’s good, right?

And so did Drew, who reportedly called Aaron Brooks after the game to get some tips on how not to be pigeonholed as the stereotypical "running quarterback." If there is a God, Aaron’s voice mail took the call.

Meanwhile, eight different receivers caught passes which were longer than the longest of the Saints’ 36 rushing attempts, including Reggie. Reggie also tied for the fewest single-game number of touches this year, and for the first time all year, someone else touched the ball more often than Reggie (Stecker Ace 15 touches and Pierre 12, to Reggie’s 12.)

So what does all of this mean? Fuck if I know. I’ve already copped to my own cluelessness as to what the hell is going on with these here Saints. Let’s see what our intrepid correspondent Peter Finney thinks of it all in the second edition of The Pete Finney Filibuster!

It was a foggy Sunday afternoon.

Foggy, like the moors of Scotland.

But it wasn’t the moors of Scotland the crowd was chanting for.

It was the Moore of Charlotte, North Carolina. The Panthers’ backup quarterback.

You can’t fly through fog.

Well, maybe you can. But you shouldn’t.

Sean Payton knew this. Because he’s smart. Smart like a Fox. But not John Fox.

While John Fox was busy not throwing over Jason David, Sean Payton was not trying to fly through the fog.

That Sean Payton is a devious one.

Payton knew that in the fog, you have to keep it on the ground. Except, sometimes, you need to pass. But mostly, you have to run.

Run like the bulls of Pamplona.

Aaron Stecker. Reggie Bush. Pierre Thomas. They’re like bulls. Spanish bulls. Who can see through fog.

Is it some kind of superpower?

No.

It’s just a regular power. The power of vision. And Sean Payton is a visionary.

Sometimes you have to win ugly. Yesterday was not one of those days.

But the question remains: Can the Saints continue to win, ugly or otherwise?

We’ll just have to wait and see.

Peter Finney: magnificent bastard. It’s all so clear now. Run the ball when it’s foggy, and hope the opposing coaching staff forgets that their best wideout is lined up against #42. Brilliant.

Know what else sucks? The Redskins. Thanks, assholes. Way to hold the Bucs to <100 yards rushing and <120 yards passing. Way to knock Fabulous Jeff’s Assless Chaps out of the game. Way to hold a 10 minute edge in time of possession. Way to rack up 412 yards of total offense. Way to have 6 receivers with about a billion yards per. Way to run for about 120 yards. Way to turn the ball over six times and lose. Assholes.

But hey, a win is a win, right? Damn right. So we’ve got that going for us. Which is nice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some glue to sniff and some Christmas shopping to do (in no particular order.) Anybody got a hookup for some discount frankincence and/or myrrh? I’m old school like that.