When football and religion mix, strange things happen. I don’t mean when the big game is scheduled for a Sunday, or when the priest compares the Saints’ journey to the Superbowl with that of the Israelites wandering in the desert (the Saints have been waiting longer). I mean when you try to instill local pride in your daughter by purchasing her a Saints t-shirt, and she thinks it’s an automatic pass to heaven because, by wearing it, she becomes an actual saint. “I bet God is looking down and smiling at me because I’m wearing a Saints shirt,” she said.
Well, maybe He is.
And even I have to admit that the Maiden was a wee bit better behaved today. She only crawled under the pew twice, and hasn’t come out of her bedroom for twenty minutes solid.
Maybe I’d better buy her more Saints gear.