I'm glad you asked, as it's one of my favorite stories.

That week two coworkers and myself were in Denver working on a project. We had that day off, so we decided to find a bar to watch the game. For some reason I thought it'd be fun to find Denver's local Saints bar, just because I like to watch with the other fans.

So we find one. It's not a bad place, lots of TVs, all tuned to the game. They had a small table in a back corner for Seahawks fans. There were three or four others there already, so we joined them at the "kids' table".

The game was really going the Saints' way right up until that point. We weren't happy about the game, but everyone was chowing on the $.50 wings that were pretty damn good.

Then I heard the announcer say, "Look at this run!" I look up just in time to see Beast break out of the pack. My jaw dropped. I stood. My fellow Twelves stood. We just watched in awe as the Saints fans screamed in misery.

We heard a lot of, "No, no, no, no, no!" and, "Porter, you pansy!" It was amazing. Their grief was tangible. It filled the air more and more as each yard was gained, and as each player was pushed aside. "My god, their quarterback is blocking for him!"

Then the Beast made it to the end zone and pulled his "Hold mah deek!" jump. That was when we lost our polite composure. We, the few and the brave of Seattle, went positively ape shit. We knew that it was the run that would not just win the game, but the run that would serve as a catalyst that the team needed; something to get it going -- and they haven't stopped since then.

We were celebrating so hard that we didn't even notice that the entire bar had been throwing their bones from those delicious wings at us. We were covered in grease, wing sauce, and bleu cheese specs. We were marinating in the Ire of the Saints.

But we didn't care. We were pilgrims in an un-holy land that had seen a miracle. As Raible said, the Beast wa s alive and well, and then, there, in that shitty Saints bar in Snowy Denver, we were as well.