The Curse
He sat spinning a box of matches in the kitchen of his mobile home in southern Mississippi in the early 1970's. I don't remember the exact year. It doesn't really matter. He spun his box of matches and cast his voodoo spell on me. It was a spell that has brought me so much pain. It literally cursed my childhood. This curse lasted from the early 1970's until 2009. The most unbearable part of the curse lasted until 1987. I was seventeen years old when this era of the curse ended.
I will not have to drink anymore Dixie Beer after I suffer through the last four bottles left in the six pack that I bought last week. I can only describe it in one way. It taste like what I imagine the 3AM puddles on Bourbon Street would taste like. Those that know me well, know that I am all things New Orleans. The food, the music, the people, the culture... The list goes on and on. I love New Orleans. It has always been my favorite city.
My wife and I lived there. We loved it. We are Katrina survivors. Now, I will be a Dixie Beer survivor. I knew that this beer tasted like yak piss when I bought it. Why did I buy it? Why? December 14, 1980. That's why... December 14th. I want that feeling again. I want the feeling that I experienced on December 14, 1980. I have only had that feeling six other times in my life.
The other dates?
May 24, 1997
May 27, 1999
February 17, 2002
June 5, 2005
January 24, 2010
February 7, 2010
Would simply drinking Dixie Beer bring back the euphoria that I felt on those dates? Hell no! The beer tastes like shit. It has a crappy label that can only be matched by its horrible taste. I can't even enjoy a cigar with this crap. Nasty. Just nasty.
On May 24, 1997 I married the love of my life. The subsequent years have been filled with one question. "How in the world did a guy like that land a girl like her?" We have been together for 21 years. The birth of our children occurred on the listed dates from 1999 to 2005. The birth of each child was so exciting. The feeling of anticipation prior to the birth of your child doesn't dissipate as you have more children. I remember the moment of each birth and that rush of adrenaline. It doesn't change. A father holding his child for the first time is a great moment. It doesn't get much better than that.
Three great kids and a wonderful wife. I am a lucky man. I know this. Everyone knows this. They also know that I am cursed.
Clarence Knippers cursed me as a child. He cast the voodoo spell on me with two words as he spun his matches on that table in that kitchen in the early 1970's. I remember the words. I don't remember him lighting a cigarette with those matches. I don't even know if they were his matches. His two words changed my life. "Archie Manning". My father and my grandfather were my heroes. My grandfather, Clarence Knippers, had just introduced me to another of my childhood heroes. Archie Manning was my new hero.
If I had anything that required a number, it had to be number 8. My mini-bike, my youth sports jerseys, and whatever else had a number had to have number 8. Why? The first two words that I remember him saying were "Archie Manning". Archie Manning was a quarterback. The number wore was the number 8. He wore it for the New Orleans Saints. Clarence spun those matches in that mobile home and uttered that name. I became a Saints fan that day. And thus, my curse began. There is no other way to say it. They stunk. They were horrible. They were as horrible as Dixie Beer. Dixie Beer, like the Saints, is from New Orleans.
The curse lightened a little in 1987. That was when they had their first winning season. I suffered through my childhood watching my team have losing season after losing until I was seventeen years old.
December 14, 1980. I mentioned this date earlier. 0-14 was the record of the New Orleans Saints when the sun cracked the horizon that morning. 0-14. Tony Galbreath was tackled in the backfield with less than 2 minutes left to go in the game. The Saints had the lead 21-20. We had to punt to the Jets. Would the curse rear its ugly head again? Would it have sympathy for a 10 year old little kid? The Jets would get the ball back. I believed when no else did. I rocked back and forth on the cold tile floor in our small house. I remember my mother sitting at the dining room table. Her Singer sewing machine was humming. She was focused on her sewing, but would glance at me periodically. I remember her giggling at me. The cheap tile floor I sat on was cold. I couldn't stand the suspense of the game. I remember her giggling at me. The Jets were driving deep in Saints territory. No team had lost 15 games in a season. Would we be the first?
Archie Manning completed 20 out of 30 passes that day in Shea Stadium. He threw for a touchdown. I probably paced 10 miles in that small house in Grand Bay, Alabama that day. Misery surely awaited me. My mother knew it. She anxiously watched and waited to see my heart broken once again. She was as nervous as I was. She wanted to see me happy. I wanted to see them win. Time ran out on the Jets. After the game, I jumped higher than I had ever jumped before. My team and my quarterback escaped. We won. Euphoria.
Dixie Beer sucks. It has always sucked. After this six pack is done I will not have to drink it again.
Fast forward to January 24, 2010. That was the day that Saints made their first trip to the NFC Championship Game. I watched it with my wife and three children. I spent the entire season telling my family of my heroes. I spoke of those great Saints players from my childhood. Archie Manning, Tommy Myers, Guido Merkins, Wayne Martin, Hoby Brenner, Stan Brock, Tony Galbreath, Dave Waymer and Willie Roaf were among the greats that I spoke of. But, I mostly talked about Clarence Knippers and my dad. They were both gone on this night. They never saw this dream come true.
My favorite memory of watching a game with the man that cursed me occurred later in his life. I was watching a Saints game in the early 90's with my grandfather. My dad and my uncle Wayne were watching a game with me and Clarence when Bobby Hebert threw a long touchdown pass to Wayne Martin. We were celebrating. It was a great play. I don't remember who we were playing. I don't remember who won that day. What I do remember is what happened right after that touchdown. They were showing a replay of the play while we celebrated. After the replay my grandfather yelled "I'll be damned! He did it again!" I was trying to explain to him that it was just the replay when my uncle Wayne grabbed me and said "Bubba, don't tell him that. The game he is watching is much better than the game we are watching." Perspective.
Garrett Hartley kicked a field goal in overtime in the NFC Championship Game. The Curse officially ended on January 24, 2010. Clarence Knippers never meant to curse me. He could now rest in peace. I hugged my children. I kissed my wife. I celebrated like a wild man. After reality hit me, I went into the bathroom and cried like a baby.
On February 7, 2010 the Saints won the Superbowl. That 10 year old kid that rocked back and forth on the cold tile in 1980 called his mother. Mr. Sharpless was my 6th grade teacher. If I had his number I would have called him on February 8, 2010. That asshole made fun of me for being a Saints fan when I was in his class. A curse will scar you like that.
Dixie Beer sucks. I am a superstitious. Tom Benson bought the Saints and is responsible for lifting the curse. He also bought Dixie Beer. After Hurricane Katrina, Dixie Beer left New Orleans. Tom bought Dixie Beer and brought it back to New Orleans. Tom Benson died earlier this year. I thought that maybe if I drank Dixie Beer during Saints games I would help make some voodoo of my own. Didn't work. The Buccaneers hung 48 points on us Sunday. We lost. This is the week that I realized that he should have left that shitty beer in Wisconsin.Well, the Saints may have lost, but I won. I don't have to drink this shit anymore.
I have my Archie Manning Jersey. I have my Lucky Saints hat. I have my family. I will take them and my memories of the curse with me to our new house that is almost finished Over Yonder.
I will not have to drink anymore Dixie Beer after I suffer through the last four bottles left in the six pack that I bought last week. I can only describe it in one way. It taste like what I imagine the 3AM puddles on Bourbon Street would taste like. Those that know me well, know that I am all things New Orleans. The food, the music, the people, the culture... The list goes on and on. I love New Orleans. It has always been my favorite city.
My wife and I lived there. We loved it. We are Katrina survivors. Now, I will be a Dixie Beer survivor. I knew that this beer tasted like yak piss when I bought it. Why did I buy it? Why? December 14, 1980. That's why... December 14th. I want that feeling again. I want the feeling that I experienced on December 14, 1980. I have only had that feeling six other times in my life.
The other dates?
May 24, 1997
May 27, 1999
February 17, 2002
June 5, 2005
January 24, 2010
February 7, 2010
Would simply drinking Dixie Beer bring back the euphoria that I felt on those dates? Hell no! The beer tastes like shit. It has a crappy label that can only be matched by its horrible taste. I can't even enjoy a cigar with this crap. Nasty. Just nasty.
On May 24, 1997 I married the love of my life. The subsequent years have been filled with one question. "How in the world did a guy like that land a girl like her?" We have been together for 21 years. The birth of our children occurred on the listed dates from 1999 to 2005. The birth of each child was so exciting. The feeling of anticipation prior to the birth of your child doesn't dissipate as you have more children. I remember the moment of each birth and that rush of adrenaline. It doesn't change. A father holding his child for the first time is a great moment. It doesn't get much better than that.
Three great kids and a wonderful wife. I am a lucky man. I know this. Everyone knows this. They also know that I am cursed.
Clarence Knippers cursed me as a child. He cast the voodoo spell on me with two words as he spun his matches on that table in that kitchen in the early 1970's. I remember the words. I don't remember him lighting a cigarette with those matches. I don't even know if they were his matches. His two words changed my life. "Archie Manning". My father and my grandfather were my heroes. My grandfather, Clarence Knippers, had just introduced me to another of my childhood heroes. Archie Manning was my new hero.
If I had anything that required a number, it had to be number 8. My mini-bike, my youth sports jerseys, and whatever else had a number had to have number 8. Why? The first two words that I remember him saying were "Archie Manning". Archie Manning was a quarterback. The number wore was the number 8. He wore it for the New Orleans Saints. Clarence spun those matches in that mobile home and uttered that name. I became a Saints fan that day. And thus, my curse began. There is no other way to say it. They stunk. They were horrible. They were as horrible as Dixie Beer. Dixie Beer, like the Saints, is from New Orleans.
The curse lightened a little in 1987. That was when they had their first winning season. I suffered through my childhood watching my team have losing season after losing until I was seventeen years old.
December 14, 1980. I mentioned this date earlier. 0-14 was the record of the New Orleans Saints when the sun cracked the horizon that morning. 0-14. Tony Galbreath was tackled in the backfield with less than 2 minutes left to go in the game. The Saints had the lead 21-20. We had to punt to the Jets. Would the curse rear its ugly head again? Would it have sympathy for a 10 year old little kid? The Jets would get the ball back. I believed when no else did. I rocked back and forth on the cold tile floor in our small house. I remember my mother sitting at the dining room table. Her Singer sewing machine was humming. She was focused on her sewing, but would glance at me periodically. I remember her giggling at me. The cheap tile floor I sat on was cold. I couldn't stand the suspense of the game. I remember her giggling at me. The Jets were driving deep in Saints territory. No team had lost 15 games in a season. Would we be the first?
Archie Manning completed 20 out of 30 passes that day in Shea Stadium. He threw for a touchdown. I probably paced 10 miles in that small house in Grand Bay, Alabama that day. Misery surely awaited me. My mother knew it. She anxiously watched and waited to see my heart broken once again. She was as nervous as I was. She wanted to see me happy. I wanted to see them win. Time ran out on the Jets. After the game, I jumped higher than I had ever jumped before. My team and my quarterback escaped. We won. Euphoria.
Dixie Beer sucks. It has always sucked. After this six pack is done I will not have to drink it again.
Fast forward to January 24, 2010. That was the day that Saints made their first trip to the NFC Championship Game. I watched it with my wife and three children. I spent the entire season telling my family of my heroes. I spoke of those great Saints players from my childhood. Archie Manning, Tommy Myers, Guido Merkins, Wayne Martin, Hoby Brenner, Stan Brock, Tony Galbreath, Dave Waymer and Willie Roaf were among the greats that I spoke of. But, I mostly talked about Clarence Knippers and my dad. They were both gone on this night. They never saw this dream come true.
My favorite memory of watching a game with the man that cursed me occurred later in his life. I was watching a Saints game in the early 90's with my grandfather. My dad and my uncle Wayne were watching a game with me and Clarence when Bobby Hebert threw a long touchdown pass to Wayne Martin. We were celebrating. It was a great play. I don't remember who we were playing. I don't remember who won that day. What I do remember is what happened right after that touchdown. They were showing a replay of the play while we celebrated. After the replay my grandfather yelled "I'll be damned! He did it again!" I was trying to explain to him that it was just the replay when my uncle Wayne grabbed me and said "Bubba, don't tell him that. The game he is watching is much better than the game we are watching." Perspective.
Garrett Hartley kicked a field goal in overtime in the NFC Championship Game. The Curse officially ended on January 24, 2010. Clarence Knippers never meant to curse me. He could now rest in peace. I hugged my children. I kissed my wife. I celebrated like a wild man. After reality hit me, I went into the bathroom and cried like a baby.
On February 7, 2010 the Saints won the Superbowl. That 10 year old kid that rocked back and forth on the cold tile in 1980 called his mother. Mr. Sharpless was my 6th grade teacher. If I had his number I would have called him on February 8, 2010. That asshole made fun of me for being a Saints fan when I was in his class. A curse will scar you like that.
Dixie Beer sucks. I am a superstitious. Tom Benson bought the Saints and is responsible for lifting the curse. He also bought Dixie Beer. After Hurricane Katrina, Dixie Beer left New Orleans. Tom bought Dixie Beer and brought it back to New Orleans. Tom Benson died earlier this year. I thought that maybe if I drank Dixie Beer during Saints games I would help make some voodoo of my own. Didn't work. The Buccaneers hung 48 points on us Sunday. We lost. This is the week that I realized that he should have left that shitty beer in Wisconsin.Well, the Saints may have lost, but I won. I don't have to drink this shit anymore.
I have my Archie Manning Jersey. I have my Lucky Saints hat. I have my family. I will take them and my memories of the curse with me to our new house that is almost finished Over Yonder.
I remember the day I met Archie Manning on the field of the New Orleans Saints Superdome. I was so happy but I think Uncle Doug was even happier. I posted that picture on Facebook and he told me how proud my daddy would be. :)
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