An Open Letter to Zion Williamson
From: The City of New Orleans
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June 20, 2019
(Read with Naw’lins Accent)
Welcome to the New Orleans, baby. It’s me, the Crescent City, the Big Easy, The City that Care forgot.
I heard tell that you were headed our way. I’ve seen you play, a cross between Bron and Shaq. I also heard AD is gone, and he ain’t coming back. I’ll admit I was sad when the news hit me, but then someone woke me from my nap and told me we had the number 1 pick in the draft. And, well, let’s just say some libations flowed, as they often do when I’m around.
Maybe you’ve heard that I just celebrated my 300th Birthday? Yep, that’s right, 300 years. Of course, I’m much older than that, but the original people didn’t feel the need to keep records and write down everything under the sun. They just used me as a place to trade and live life. Everything changes, but that’s okay.
19 huh? Man, I remember when I was 19; way back in 1737 when the French ran me and Bienville was Governor. B was a cool dude, has a statue right here on Decatur. Shoot, if you stay around long enough (and hit enough jump shots), the people may give you a statue, too. Already heard talk of them wanting to put a stature of Mrs. Dooky Chase—God bless her soul—in Lee circle where the General use to be. That would be great. Personally, I think we should put up a statue of my boy Drew Brees and then change the name of the circle toBreeseway. But, hey, that’s just me, and I don’t make the rules. Anyway, we have plenty room for more statues now. But I digress. 19 years old and your whole life ahead of you. Man!
Anyway, I just wanted to write to you today to inform you of some things you should know about me. First, you are going to love it here if you just give us a chance. We grow on people that get us. Lord, I pray you are one of them. We have the best fans in the world, bar none, and if you bring them to the Western Conference Finals, something the Brow couldn’t do, they are going to name a street after you. A championship? Legendary status, ya herd me! Look, Brees could run for mayor right now and he would win by a landslide. Hell, Archie Manning didn’t win nuthin’ and we still love him to this day (try the Coop burger at Manning’s, btw), and you know why? Because he gave us his blood, sweet, and the best years of his life, and tried like heck every day. That’s all we ask, for you to care about us as much as we care about you.
And don’t worry about housing. You can live anywhere you want, big Fella: Bywater, Uptown, Mid-City, the Garden District or across the lake. Ricky Williams lived on Royal St. in the Quarter when he came to town. Doesn’t matter. We will take care of you and make you feel right at home.
Here’s a small list of things you should do: eat beignets at Café Du Monde, check out the albino gators at the Aquarium, catch some antiques on Royal, down a NOLA Blonde with some Chargrilled Oysters at Drago’s—and that’s just Tuesday, my guy. During the winter, you can ride the train at City Park and take a pic with Mr. Bingle. Take in a Saint’s game and smile at yourself on the big screen and see how Brees holds me in the palm of his hand. Do you see how we react to Alvin Kamara? That could be you times 100. The WWII museum is cool. They built those landing ships that saved the world right in the heart of my belly. Best food in the world, too, and prettiest Creole women, the coolest culture on this side of the Atlantic. New world decadence with old world charm and iron-lace balconies to keep the vampires warm.
It’s always a party over here: beg, barter, or pay. You can tell the ghosts in my Quarter to come out and play. In the market we haggle, in St. Louis we pray. We have a lust for life you won’t find anywhere those other balls bounce. Laissez les bons temps rouler!
I know I’m rambling, Ztroop. Forgive me, I have the Mississippi running through my veins for heaven’s sake. All I’m trying to say is Embrace us, Big Fella. Mount Zion. And we will embrace you back. You will feel a love and appreciation like you have never known. Take us to the promised land you will be on our basketball Mount Rushmore along with Pistol Pete (God bless his soul). You will be an Icon. Look past the bright lights of the big cities; I got all you need right here. Everything within sight, plus beignets in the morning and gumbo at night.
Sure, we have our issues. What big city in today’s world doesn’t? But we know when we have to come together. We know when to put aside our differences and unite. In the end, we are all New Orleanians, and we Want TO WIN a championship in basketball. That would be sweeter than bananas foster at Broussard’s.
We appreciate winners, but more than that, we adore people who give it their all and fight for this town, whether is be a future President or a working Pirate. We are a hearty people, big appetites for food, fun, and winning; the home of Mardi Gras and Muffulettas, parades and poboys, Saints and sinners. You are going to fit right in Big Z.
Breathe me in deeply, till it suits your soul just right.
…That’s all Folks. Welcome home Zion.