Dateline:Hell. With Boudreaux.

A favorite joke I first posted to this blog on Jan. 19, 2007:

Boudreaux the Cajun lived down the bayou (Bayou St. John, maybe?) and he led a less than holy life. When he died, alas, he didn't get into heaven. He ended up in the other place. The devil made sure he kept hell good and hot, but when Boudreaux arrived, it didn't bother him a bit. He settled into a hammock and said, "Ah, just like the old days before we had air conditioning, back home on the bayou." The devil was more than a little annoyed, so he cranked the heat higher. Boudreaux poured himself a glass of lemonade and said, "Oh, jes' like the old days when we used to go crabbing on the Mississippi Gulf Coast." The devil cranked the heat all the way to the limit, so that hell started to melt, but Boudreaux just smiled and said, "This is just like back home when my mama used to fix a big pot of gumbo in the kitchen."

Finally the devil couldn't take it any more. "All right, Boudreaux," he said. "If you like it hot, then I'm going to fix you." And the devil turned on the air conditioning, and it got reaaally, reaaally cold, way beyond cold, colder than you can possibly imagine. With a big grin on his face, the devil went to check on Boudreaux.

He found Boudreaux dancing a second line and laughing and shouting and leaping for joy. The devil was astounded, outraged. "Boudreaux! I thought you liked the heat, so I made it so cold down here that you wouldn't be able to stand it! What is with you, anyway? Why are you dancing around like that?"

Boudreaux could hardly contain himself for joy. "Hell's freezing over!" he cried. "The Saints must be in the Super Bowl!"

Hell-o, hell! Darn, it's cold down here!

Boudreaux, you did it! Hell is really freezing over!

When Hartman kicked that field goal through the goal posts, I started screaming and couldn't stop, even though I already had a sore throat. When I finally paused to catch my breath and hit the mute button on the television, I could hear my neighbor on his back porch, screaming something unintelligible. I went out on my own porch, and I could hear it: people screaming in the streets all over Uptown New Orleans, and more fireworks going off than on New Year's Eve. It was a little like the Sunday before Mardi Gras, when I can hear the crowds at the Bacchus parade from my porch, only much louder. And after a little while the car horns started, as people headed home from all the parties at friends' houses. Later I could hear sirens, lots of sirens. Either the city was burning down or Saints owner Tom Benson and perhaps some of the players were getting police escorts home. I'd like to think it was the latter.

Forty-two years! I was here in 1967, and I remember that first season and how excited we were to have an NFL franchise in New Orleans. We had named the team the Saints even before we HAD a team.

Also in that fall of 1967, I started dating a boy who was my lab partner in chemistry class. This spring, forty-two plus years later, we are getting married.

And the Saints are in the Super Bowl! There has to be a connection!

I hope they have cable in hell. Boudreaux needs to see the Saints in the Super Bowl!

I bet a LOT of people in New Orleans are going to call in sick on Monday...

Eeeeeeee!