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02.05.2010

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All Saints Day

Lessons on Soul by Harvey Hartman

In some ways this weekend is like many others.

There will be a Friday night, which will be greeted with much delight—especially for the majority of us who work ordinary schedules. Perhaps the night will be kind of special and we’ll treat ourselves to a Lowenbrau, or maybe even a little Riunite on ice. Then maybe we’ll sample a little fondue, or an evening at Trader Vics.

And there will probably be a Saturday too. No doubt the kids will be up early to watch the Saturday morning cartoons. Then Dad will lead a family expedition to the liquor store (no kids allowed inside!) before moving on to the local Hickory Farms outlet to stock up on exotic European cheeses and salamis (I was always partial to the Summer Sausage).

But Sunday will prove very different indeed. This Sunday will be like no other during the year, for this will be the day of the Big Game. Suddenly chips, salami, fizzy soda and beer seem to magically appear right before the start of this Big Game. And even though only the tiniest minority of us actually care about the details of the game—who wins, who loses and why—we all must watch the spectacle as it unfolds. Culture is odd that way, bringing us together as a nation for reasons most cannot easily explain.

But this year’s Big Game may prove more interesting than most. Not necessarily because of the specifics—the action, the players, the great plays, the commercials or, for that matter, the outcome itself.

What is different about this year is that we will witness the ascendancy of an authentic national brand that is the New Orleans Saints. This is a rare event, something that usually only happens once or twice in a given century.

The Chicago Cubs wooed their way into our collective hearts during the twentieth century. And they are still there today, despite the foolish actions of Steve “The Idiot” Bartman who just couldn’t manage to sit in his seat, thus extending the Curse of the Billy Goat in perpetuity. Fool.

And then there were the 2004 Boston Red Sox. Wow. What can you say? This was no mere “team”—it was something approaching an ephemeral mania, a cherished spirit that everyone seemed to intuitively grasp, even if they couldn’t quite explain it.

And now we have the New Orleans Saints.

Like all iconic sports brands, this is a force whose soul is fiercely intertwined with the city itself; a city that is at once the most spiritual, beloved, dysfunctional and reviled place America has ever known. But do not let those last few words be misconstrued. New Orleans, after all, is a city that celebrates death with the same gusto as life; a city making a valiant last stand in the name of parochialism as bureaucratic democracy slowly invades; a city that despises the bland American homogeneity that occupies 95% of our country.

In other words, this is a city with an authentic soul.

And that same soul emanates throughout the history of the New Orleans Saints. A soul that’s been there from the start—through times more tough than good—but that had not received national recognition until the days of and after Katrina. And it is this soul that will be onstage for all to see this Sunday.

The Indianapolis Colts, by comparison, are not an iconic brand. Sure, they have their followers and fans as most sports teams do, but there’s no “there” there. Compared to iconic, ephemeral brands like the Red Sox, the Cubs, and now the Saints, most other teams resemble a bunch of guys running around in uniforms.

That’s the thing about iconicity—there has to be enough soul to rise above the more mundane, vulgar concerns with matters such as who profits, who wins and who loses.

Iconic brands like the Saints have no need for P&L numbers or experienced management, their soul arises deep within, carrying them far above the fray of “la vie ordinaire.”

Something marketers often forget about when they start chatting about authenticity is that by its very nature authenticity means you’re going to get the bad with the good, the hated with the beloved. Authenticity is not a pristine, angelic, homogenized attribute scribbled on a white board. It’s about being real. And whether that means amazing local cuisine...or vomit in the streets at Mardi Gras, well, so be it.

The Saint’s are far from perfect, as is the city of New Orleans, but few won’t be able to feel something deep within as they take the field.

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