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Chris Rose: Start believing

I still believe.

It's the destiny we all agreed on, right?

Well, most of us, that is.

There's always someone around trying to harsh our collective mellow – like analysts, experts, thoughtful or reasonable people – but this is no time to listen to the rabble.

You gotta believe.

Granted, Sunday wasn't supposed to happen.

The home opener was to be the first phase of the Master Plan – our collective predetermination that we – the city and the team – will gain respect, revenge and rehabilitation by winning the Super Bowl on our home field this winter.

We will embarrass the NFL, particularly the commissioner, and we will deflate, discourage and generally demoralize the haters across America who have done us wrong in deed and thought.

Right? That Us Against The World thing?

Isn't that what we agreed on?

That we would carry on the time-honored, inexplicable, all-consuming existential codependency between this city and our football team; a relationship that leaves us bereft of common sense, wisdom, rationality and – very often – sobriety, sleep and sanity.

I am a Saints fan, which means that I am preternaturally optimistic – or congenitally in denial.

I look for precedence, premonitions, signs.

For instance, last year, the Saints lost their opening game by eight points in a shootout during which they fell behind early but constantly clawed their way back into the game, during which the two teams accounted for more than 70 points and which ended with the Saints desperately trying to get into the end zone on the final play.

Yesterday, the Saints lost by eight points in a shootout during which they fell behind early but constantly clawed their cetera.

You follow?

After the first game last year, the Saints went on to break just about every significant offensive statistic on their way to a 13 and 3 record and the playoffs.

The precedent for what happens this season is so clear and precise that it's almost scientific.

It's all been laid out before us and to think there will be any variation from our collective delusion is to challenge the fates in a manner I wouldn't think prudent.

I don't recommend it.

So hitch up yer britches, pull up your bootstraps, turn that frown upside down.

And start believing.

Because anything else, quite frankly, wouldn't be any fun at all.

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