There is no joy in Saintsville

The outlook wasn't good for the Saintsville Who Dat's that day; The score stood 30 to 17, with but one down more to play. A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought, "If only Drew could but get another pass completed — We'd put up even money now, with Brees in the pocket. Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the Quarter, it rattled in the Ward; It pounded on the river and recoiled upon the swamps, For Brees, mighty Brees, was advancing to the goal line. There was ease in Brees' manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Brees' bearing and a smile lit Brees' face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly nodded his head, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Drew Brees in control. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he huddled with his team. Five thousand tongues applauded when he called the play. And now the ball went hurtling through the air, And Brees stood a-watching it in quiet desperation there. Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout; But there is no joy in Saintsville — mighty Brees has been intercepted again.  The Who Dats are down and out.


Adapted from Casey at the Bat By Ernest Lawrence Thayer Taken From the San Francisco Examiner - June 3, 1888