Inside the Mercedes-Benz Superdome, a steady din turned into a full-throated roar as the excitement of tens of thousands of Who Dats echoed against concrete and steel. A familiar rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In” gave way to the driving drums and piercing brass of the Ying Yang Twins’ anthem.
It was only preseason, but I peeked over to see attendants and fans dancing to the twins’ oft-repeated plea to “stand up and get crunk.”
But I wasn’t in the stands. I was on a mission. And my mission, unlike the Saints’, had nothing to do with football.
