Atlanta, Part One

I’m going to spend a little time writing about Atlanta this week.  It seems fitting.

In this year’s NFL playoffs I don’t have a dog in the hunt.  It’s a bit like being a kid again.  Growing up in Slidell and following the Saints, it was expected that New Orleans wouldn’t be in the post season.  Without a team in particular to cheer for, I would just watch the games.  Since I didn’t have a rooting interest I could just watch and enjoy the football without any concern for the outcome.

Things, of course have changed recently.  Since Drew Brees arrived, the Saints have made the post season four of seven years.  Of eight playoff games, the franchise has won five, including a championship, and lost only three.  Contrast that to the thirty-eight years prior when the team only made the playoffs five times with a one and five record.  As a Saints fan, I almost expect this Brees-led team to be in the playoffs every year.  In those cases, I am focused on one team and anxious about the outcomes.  This year, though, I’m back to just watching football.

This year, it isn’t the case for many of my friends.

I generally watch football with friends of mine in a buddy’s man cave.  It’s a good spot to watch sports on a big TV, drink from a kegerator, and play some foosball when we’ve got four around.  This past Sunday was a bit different.  Beyond the regular NFL fans I saw more or less every Sunday, it seemed that everyone in the East Atlanta area who owned a Falcons jersey or t-shirt had shown up to watch.  There were even face painters.  The man cave was beyond standing room only: all you could do was try to peek your head in the door and catch a partially obstructed view of part of a play. 

For the first half and through halftime the mood was jovial.  People were smiling and laughing, really enjoying the vibe.  But, once the second half started, the change in mood was palpable.  It seemed the Atlanta Falcons had finally shown up for the game.  As the lead evaporated, concern grew.  What was once a chipper and chatty group was now tight jawed, with only forced and anxious commentary breaking the silence.  People stepped away from the TV because they needed to pace.  There’s an absurd belief among sports fans that if you watch a loss indirectly or on a smaller screen it won’t hurt as much.  It’s not true but we do it anyway.

When Marshawn Lynch broke the plane of the endzone with just over a half minute remaining in the game, I heard the sounds of resignation from the crowd.  I saw people, heavily emotionally invested in the game, on the verge of tears.  After leading by twenty points at the half, sports fans of this city were about to be crushed once again by a local franchise.

The city of Atlanta generally ranks pretty high in what is known as the sports misery index.  That’s a rating of the relative success or failure of a city or region’s sports teams and how long it has been since that area won a championship, if at all.  While the Braves did make fourteen consecutive playoff appearances and five World Series appearances, they only won one.  In fact, the Braves haven’t managed to win a playoff series since 2001.  The Falcons haven’t won a playoff game since 2004.  The NHL team was swept from the playoffs in their one appearance and summarily sold to Winnipeg.  The Hawks, well, no one actually cares about the Hawks beyond the fact that some of the stars of the NBA come through town some times.  It’s been a good nine years since professional sports fans in this town had anything to cheer for. 

Just moments before I was ready to proclaim the Atlanta Falcons the Atlanta Braves of the NFL, they found a way to win, despite Mike Smith’s obvious attempt to outsmart himself and give the game away.   When the clock struck zero and Julio Jones came down with the pick in the endzone it felt as if a weight had been lifted from this city. 

I watched the mood change among my friends.  Those who moments before were ready to head home, heads hanging, decided to stay for one more beer and celebrate. 

This city gets a bad rap nationally.  Atlanta is regularly called one of the worst sports cities in America by the national sports media.  The city is derided for its sprawl and lack of foresight in design.  It is generally considered a city without a culture, with a lack of identity.  Yet, here we are, a population in the metro area of somewhere between 4.5 and 5.5 million people based on what estimates you use and what areas are considered metro Atlanta.  Most of us like it here and don’t want to leave despite the gibes and digs from the outside.  Occasionally, it’s nice to have something to raise the city’s spirit, especially something that comes from within.  The Falcons, like this city, have succeeded despite the national hate.

I certainly like it here.  The only drawback I’ve found with Atlanta is that once you leave the city, you’re in Georgia.

Sunday afternoon, I thought about the last time I was that invested in a game.  For me, it was last year’s divisional playoff game in Candlestick.  I was ready for the Saints to go in to San Francisco and beat the 49ers, to get back for all of those years Joe Montana and Steve Young beat us.  Due to a slew of turnovers, a maddeningly inconsistent and often downright inept defense, and the fact that no one thought it was particularly important to cover Vernon Davis, the Saints fell just short.

My friend seems to think that this is the year the Falcons get back at the 49ers for the 80s and 90s.  Maybe home field advantage will be enough to get them over the hump, but not if they play the way they did in the second half against Seattle.  If they do want this to happen I have only one piece of advice to give: cover Vernon fucking Davis.