New Orleans Title Game Diary: The Late Shift

By Spencer Hall
I did an extremely scientific survey of the Quarter on the late shift last night to see how things progress--or regress, more appropriately--over the course of an evening of football-related revelry in the French Quarter.
10:00 p.m. Drunk factor 2. This is an official measure of the number of people observed obviously and completely drunk on Bourbon Street during one circuit between the beginning of Bourbon Street and St. Ann’s. A brass band wails at the entrance; Ohio State and LSU fans co-exist nicely. The New Orleans police sit unimpressed on their horses.
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The preferred mode of transportation in the quarter: horse.
11:00 p.m. Drunk factor 6. A college aged kid in an LSU shirt stands on the corner and allows an attractive Ohio State brunette to punch him repeatedly in the stomach, a challenge she does not take lightly. It sounds like someone punching sides of beef. I fear for the long-term future of their relationship.
A glassy-eyed Ohio State fan passes me wearing a shirt reading “You can’t spell SLUT without LSU.” A blonde Tigers fan behind me sees it, looks at me and my guide Billy, and asks us “What’s wrong with that?”
12:00 a.m. Drunk factor 12. It’s getting more difficult to count them all now: an entire crowd of scarlet and gray has spilled out of one of the dance clubs and has commandeered a stretch of the street. They’re not as rhythm-compatible as LSU fans, but that’s no knock on them. One of them is an obviously married couple of retirement age, and they don’t look like they’re going to bed anytime soon.
The bartender at Jester’s has two tip buckets set up on the bar: one labeled OSU, the other LSU. There’s three bucks in the LSU bucket and none in OSU’s. I ask why LSU’s ahead.
“Because LSU fans aren’t tipping anymore than Ohio State fans. They’re just competitive, and keep dumping the Ohio State tips into the LSU bucket.”
There are no football players around, but a few pros make appearances. Andrew Whitworth, starting offensive lineman for the Bengals and an LSU alum, lumbers past me. He’s tall enough that he passes the big Belgian draft horses the police use for crowd control at eye level, and is about as wide at the shoulder. Nick Mangold of the Jets walks by to cheers from Buckeye fans, which he really doesn’t seem to notice.
1:30 a.m. Drunk factor incalculable. You know you’ve reached the end of the night on Bourbon Street when the arrests and public nudity begin.
LSU fans take the lead in the arrest column. My guide Billy says, “The New Orleans PD know how to do one thing and do one thing really, really well: crowd control.” Officers have a tipsy LSU fan cuffed against the wall; whatever happened involved a tipped-over newspaper stand, alcohol, and a moment of extremely not well thought out behavior.
An Ohio State woman is coordinating an O-H! I-O! cheer from a balcony. When she gets the crowd participation she wants, she pulls down her top to thunderous applause and cheers of “Go Bucks!” It’s the most effective pep rally I’ve seen the entire time here in New Orleans. Her boyfriend sips a beer next to her, looking vaguely bored by the whole thing.
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