The day is soon upon us and the question should be clear:

Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints? (You didn’t see that one coming?)

It seems as though we’ve been waiting on this for some time, but now it’s official. Colts. Saints. Super Bowl.

Back in mid-December when both Indianapolis and New Orleans were 13-0 and running the two most explosive offenses in the league, an eventual Super Bowl between them seemed inevitable.

Since that time, the Saints had some end-of-the-regular-season hiccups, and the Colts turned down perfection for health, resting their starters and sacrificing two games in the process.

But in the postseason, both teams have lived up to the hype. After beating the Arizona Cardinals into submission and sending Kurt Warner into retirement, the Saints barely escaped an overtime shootout against the Vikings.

The Colts defeated the less-talented Baltimore Ravens and found a way to score on Rex Ryan’s New York Jets, avoiding an almost impossible upset.

Now it’s time for the big one, and your cheering section should be plainly defined.

Unless you are from Indiana, love Peyton’s Volunteers, wager serious money on the Colts or are nothing more than a sinful or irrational person, how on earth can you root against the Saints?

We’re talking about a team that has gone from the Aints (what New Orleans fans used to write on their paper bag misery masks) to the number one seed in the NFC and the pride and joy of a city being rebuilt. They’ve done so under the resurrecting wings of head coach and offensive mastermind Sean Payton and his shiniest toy, deadly-accurate quarterback and year-to-year MVP candidate Drew Brees.

This is a team that has served not only as a form of entertainment but also as the sole bright-spot of a city still overcoming the tragedies of Hurricane Katrina. The Saints have been New Orleans’ team at a time when they were needed most.

Then there’s the Colts. Peyton Manning is dusting his four MVP trophies as we speak. He’s also got a Super Bowl ring. He’s done it all before, and he’s had his time to shine.

So the question arises once more.

Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?

If karma and just reasoning have anything to do with it, no one.

Music from the Vaults:

Miles Davis wastes no time bringing the listener into his cooky, drugged out world. The beginning of 1972’s “On the Corner” sounds as though it was chopped from the middle of a dissonant funk set. The album consists of four tracks (whose titles are more themes than definitions), but it really just sounds like one long limb-shaking groove. An onslaught of instruments takes you straight to the scene of the crime against jazz conventions—distorted guitar, jangling percussion, soprano sax-blurts, steady-droning bass, shimmering keys and of course, Miles’ clamoring trumpet. Featuring names such as John McLaughlin, Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea, this piece could be considered Miles’ boldest and most perverse work.

Far away from his “Kind of Blue” days, Miles seems to be dipping his experimental brush into the colors of the future. By no means is this a starting point for those new to Miles or even his fusion era (I’d direct you to “Bitches Brew” instead). But for those that can appreciate a sometimes difficult yet undeniably trailblazing step, this album epitomizes cool. From the bright yellow cover scattered with decals saying “Vote Miles” and “Free Me” on the outside, to the street-accessible sounds of the inside, “On the Corner” makes you proud to say that it ain’t your mom and pop’s funk.

— Edited by Sarah Bluvas