Over?!? Did you say "over?!?" Nothing is over until WE say it is!

So we’re saying it. It’s over.

Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no! It was over when the British bombed Nagasaki. And Vinse Yung was flying the Bockscar when they dropped the Fat Man on us Monday night.

Realistically, the Saints aren’t going to recover from this 0-3 start to make the playoffs. That would require a miracle, and the Saints don’t do miracles. The Saints do kicks to the genitals.

Hakim’s fumble? Last year’s NFC Championship run? No, those weren’t miracles. Those were just things that happen to other teams all the time, but they look and feel like miracles to us because we’re Saints fans. Saints fans with perpetually aching groins.

But those aching groins are precisely why Wormer is a dead man. Marmalard, dead! Niedermeyer, dead!!! It’s because we’re Saints fans. Damn hell ass Saints fans! You want to talk about trading Reggie and benching Drew and firing Coach Payton, well you can just kiss my ass from now on! Not me! I’m not gonna take it anymore! You know I’m right. Psychotic, but right. We’ve gotta take these bastards. 

We’ve all been through this before. Over, and over, and over. Hell, most of us have been through far worse than this. Ask yourself why you always have to think twice before sitting down. You’re a Saints fan, dammit. You know it’s gonna hurt. During the offseason when many of us were telling anyone and everyone who would listen how "He’s really changed this time!" deep down we were nervously wondering when they were gonna ask us why we were refusing to take off our sunglasses.

But 0-3? 0-3??? That ain’t shit. Not to us.

Not after fucking 1980.

Not after Mike Lansford’s kick.

Not after going into the 1987 playoffs riding a nine-game winning streak, only to bend over and have Anthony Carter give it to us 44-10 style.

Not after Hebert-to-McKyer in 1991.

Not after Hebert-to-the-entire-fucking-Eagles-defense the following year.

Not after "diddly poo."

Not after Rick Venturi… twice.

Not after Ditka/Kuharich.

0-3??? I spit on 0-3. 0-3 can suck it. We can do 0-3 in our sleep. Sure it stings. It always does. Then it turns into a dull, throbbing pain that lingers on for a while. The swelling is kind of cool from a delusions-of-grandeur standpoint, but’s hard to masturbate, which really sucks. You get tense and irritable, and after a while you begin to wonder if it’ll ever get better. Maybe this time, it’s permanent.

But people, I’m here today to tell you that you will masturbate again! You always do, don’t ya? After four decades of trying, not once have they been able to kick us hard enough to keep us down. And boy have they given us their best shot. Over, and over, and over again. Nothing they can do now can even come close from the shit we’ve shaken off and gotten up from before.

The worst thing that we as fans can do right now is try to make sense of all this. It doesn’t make sense, it has never made sense, and it’s not gonna make sense. As soon as we think we’ve got it figured out, a giant turd comes flying out of left field and hits us square in the face. And that doesn’t make sense either. But it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that we keep putting on the jerseys and wearing them out in public. If only out of defiance sometimes. What matters is that they can’t break us. What matters is that we haven’t turned into braying crybags like Boston Red Sox fans had, and continue to be, despite winning a championship a few years ago. (For the most part) we haven’t turned into boorish asshats like Philly or Chicago fans. We haven’t given up like Oilers fans did. We’re not preening frontrunners like Patriots fans. Nor are we completely disinterested in the outcome and just here for the party like many Cubs fans. We’re a rare breed, and I’ll be damned if we shouldn’t be proud.

Oh sure, we have our assholes, just like any other fanbase. There are plenty of ‘em to go around, and as time marches on, they continue to infiltrate all segments of society. But for as much ammo as they’ve had over the last forty years, I’ll be damned if they’ve been able to take over our fanbase. So far, they’ve only been able to take over the message boards.

Realistically, even if the Saints are able to "right the ship" the chances that they’ll right it enough to get to the playoffs this year are about as good as the chances of Dick Cheney winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Sure, it could happen, but it would take an epic change of direction, and an awful lot of other people would have to fuck up big time.

But show me the rule that says we can’t delude ourselves into thinking it’s gonna happen against all odds? And show me where being a Saints fan has ever been just about this year.

We’re Saints fans, dammit. And we’ve got the scrotal scar tissue to prove it. Nothing is over until WE decide it is.

We laugh in the face of 0-3.

We turn our backs to 0-3 and dare it to make its move.

0-3 is a five-foot-nothing, 85 pound mama’s boy with an emo haircut.

Saints fans shit bigger than 0-3.

So bring it on, Mr. Badass 0-3. We ain’t scared. Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk? You’ve got no idea who you’re messing with. We eat your kind for breakfast.

The Saints still have the chance to sweep Carolina. They can split with Tampa. They will sweep the Fighting Joey Harringtons. It might be the weakest division in the league, but the winner goes to the playoffs anyway. Go ahead, call me a homer. Tell me the chances are less than 5%. I’m well aware of that. So you can kiss 5% of my ass.

Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!