Our third-world city of streetcars that never show up, potholes as deep as ditches,and corrupt politicians — our puny little town below sea level, once destroyed by water, that sits in pleased detachment from everywhere else — our home won Superbowl XLIV.

The Super Bowl crowd at Lucy’s Bar in the Central Business District erupted into deafening cheers when the ruling was announced in our favor, giving us a 31-17 advantage. It was then in the fourth quarter, with a little more than five minutes left on the clock, that I and the other couple hundred people present knew that this game was ours, that we were just moments away from sealing what we already believed to be true. Fans were already screaming, “We won the Superbowl!”

Because the Saints’ proved their success early in the season, the team earned many new fans within months. From ones who were ready to believe again to ones who weren’t quite sure how the game is played, our community has bonded ¬— not over unanimous zest for football, but on something much more sentimental: the love of a place only the brave and crazy dare to call home.

Rather than unite in catastrophe, this football team gives our city the opportunity to experience oneness in a happy circumstance. Not only do we look to the players as half-gods for the pride their accomplishments have given us, but we respect them because, unlike misspeaking mayors and murder statistics, the Saints lend honor to the name New Orleans.

We are fortunate to have a team that has no disconnect between the game they play and the people they represent. The Saints have committed themselves to the city and the fans to them. New Orleans’ unconditional support is proven by the fact that it was prepared to still have the Saints parade in the case of a loss. Win or lose, they would still be our team.

In interviews after the game, head coach Sean Payton and every player emphasized the role of the city in the significance of their win. Though we as residents did not play on the field, we played a part in the powerful force of morale, and our team did not forget that.

That night, no preemptive explosion of excitement could compare to that which followed the announcement of the final score. The bar emptied as people poured into the streets; impromptu jazz bands began; constant screaming and cheering, no one standing still. And in the middle of the street my friends and I watched the pandemonium of what happens when dreams come true.

Jonas Griffin can be reached at  [email protected]