When it comes to social issues, Fox News is usually the last to come around.

Fox News has come around.

Most of the network’s coverage of gays in the military has been shockingly progressive. Which it should be, because—truth be told—no arguments remain for keeping gay and lesbians from serving, and serving without fear. Truth is, our military has been overextended for years, and we need more soldiers. It shouldn’t matter if someone is gay, straight, Christian, Jewish, tall short, smart, dumb—if you wanna serve, we’ll find a spot for you.

The Far Right (the final opponents) continue to cite the ol’ “It’ll upset too many people” and “soldiers will be upset.” These are the exact same lines used when it came to integrating the armed forces.

I find the above video to be extraordinary, in that it’s an older white conservative male appearing on Fox to damn Don’t Ask Don’t Tell as a failed policy.

Bravo.

I’m about to delve into cliche. My apologies for doing so.

Yesterday’s Super Bowl was all about strength and courage. That’s what we were told by the coaches and the players and the announcers, and within the spectrum of sports that argument can be made. You’re Drew Brees, and four guys who weigh in excess of 300 pounds are charging forward, trying to crush you into a pancake. Without a doubt, it takes grit and determination to stand there.

At the end of the day, however, Drew Brees knows that he will not die. The game begins, the game ends, Drew Brees goes home. Win or lose, he goes home.

Today I went on Facebook to look for an update of my old classmate, Sue Dolson-Fischer. Sue and I weren’t tight in high school, but I knew who she was, and have closely followed her plight over the past few months; her terrible-yet-courageous (in the truest sense of the word) battle with cancer. Sue is married, with two young daughters, and she’s been in the thick of this war for several years. We have a handful of mutual friends, and I am repeatedly told that she is among the kindest, most decent individuals one could have the honor of meeting.

Anyhow, this is her latest Facebook update, posted earlier today: We have called upon hospice to help me with the end of my journey. It is not easy to write this. I wish things could have been different but I do feel a sense of incredible peace. Thank you all again for your generosity, kindness and love. Most sincerely, Suzanne PS… Keep praying

If you’ve read this blog, you know my feelings of religion and prayer. However, I’m willing to admit that I don’t know it all. If you feel that prayer helps, or could help, or might help, or might make a difference, please say a prayer for Sue Dolson-Fischer tonight.

Thank you.

PS: Here is an article that was recently written about Sue and her plight.

Hands. Down.

Here at JeffPearlman.com, we try and mix things up with occasional guest bloggers. Bruce Weber is a noted TV sportscaster who began his career covering the New Orleans Saints. His take on their latest—and greatest—achievement …

If hell really did freeze over two weeks ago when the New Orleans Saints made it to their first Super Bowl, does their improbable win over the Indianapolis Colts in Super Bowl XLIV mean the world is about to end?  Makes me wonder.

Shortly after Garrett Hartley kicked the Who Dats to Miami, I wrote that if you live long enough you’re bound to see anything happen. But never in my wildest dreams did I believe the New Orleans Saints would one day win a Super Bowl. Here’s why …

Nearly 30 years ago, fresh out of college and having just covered my beloved Pittsburgh Steelers in back to back Super Bowl wins, I took a leap of faith and started my professional career in Louisiana. I was about to trade in my assignment of covering the four-time Super Bowl Champs for a team that had never even had a winning record. It was like going from Cindy Crawford to Roseanne Barr.

My first season covering football in The Big Easy saw the Saints go 1-15. That was the year the Aints were born. More people wore paper bags over their heads than beads around their necks. And this was in the city known for Mardi Gras!

I’m wondering how guys like Tommy Myers, Derland Moore, Chuck Muncie and Russell Erxleben are feeling today. I know how the patron Saint, Archie Manning, must be feeling. The always classy former QB is probably happy for his old team and adopted hometown, but brokenhearted for Peyton, who I fondly recall running around the Saints old facility as a toddler.

My 14 years covering the Saints was like watching the stock market. It was always up and down. Lots of highs and lows. Dick Nolan could never post a winning record as head coach. Bum Phillips came riding in on his horse from Houston, made the mistake of trading high draft picks for his favorite washed-up Oilers (think Earl Campbell and Ken Stabler), and never got the Saints to the playoffs. Jim Mora, fresh off of championships in the USFL, finally got the Saints to the playoffs, but could never win a game in the NFL’s second season.

When I left Louisiana in early 1994 the Saints were back in their familiar free-fall mode. And frankly that’s how I expected them to remain for the rest of my life. But Mardi Gras came early in 2010. The city ravaged by Katrina is down no more. Bless You Boys, is what they’re saying in Louisiana today. Un-bleeping believable is what they’re saying on Bourbon Street. Can you blame them?

So here’s to you, New Orleans Saints. And here’s to some people I will always think of when I look back on my fourteen memorable years of covering the New Orleans Saints.

The late Jerry Wynn: A PR man’s PR man.

Bill Curl: The only publicity man the Superdome has ever had, or ever needed for that matter.

Jerry Romig: The Saints 12^th man and long-time Superdome Public Address announcer.

Jay Romig, Silky Powell, Dan Simmons and Kevin Mangum: Longtime team employees who truly deserve the Super Bowl ring they will soon wear.

The late Buddy D: The popular broadcaster who is probably still placing his bets from above.

The late Wayne Mack: The one-time Saints play by play man and Pat O’Brien’s regular.  May we all raise a Hurricane in Wayne’s honor.

Peter Finney: The classy columnist from the New Orleans Times Picayune, who after covering the team from the very beginning finally saw them win it all at 82 years young.

I am, and always will be, a diehard fan of the Pittsburgh Steelers. That was the team I grew up with, and later got to be around during their glory years. Yet after being so close to the New Orleans Saints for so many years I find it hard not to have a special feeling for the one-time NFL’s punching bag. Today you can count me among Who Dat Nation, so happy and so proud.

So repeat after me: Bless You Boys!

Who Dat!

Just heard Reggie Bush utter the words, “God had a plan.”

Not in relation to Katrina recovery, or Haiti disaster relief, or weather or love or life or death.

No, “God had a plan” for one team triumphing over another team in a game played on a 100-yard swath of grass involving an oval ball and grown men dressed in plastic helmets and pajamas.

When USC hired Lane Kiffin as its coach, people at the school cheered.

I moaned.

If one thing seems obvious, it’s that Kiffin is just another in he long line of Calipari-esque slime-balls who’ll do anything to better his own standing. Just look at his approach and antics at Tennessee this past year, when he talked much trash, mocked opponents—then, when a better offer came along, bolted.

I bring Kiffin up because, for those of you who have yet to see this, USC has successfully recruited a Delaware quarterback named David Sills to join the program. By all accounts, Sills possesses a strong arm, sound instincts and overwhelming talent. Oh, and he’s a 5-11, 136-pound 13-year old.

Yes, 13.

To cite Peter King from today’s MMQB column, “It’s depraved for an institute of higher education to guarantee a seventh grader a scholarship. It’s irresponsible for parents to commit their son to such a major decision five-and-a-half years before he has to make it.” Peter’s right—who does this crap? What sort of school promises a 13-year old a football scholarship? And what sort of parents accept it.

At age 13, I was watching cartoons on Saturday mornings. I didn’t drive, grasp calculus or smoke crack. I knew absolutely nothing.

Congrats, USC.

When I initially heard the rumors that Sarah Palin wrote notes on her hand, then used them during her recent Tea Party address and appearance, well, I didn’t believe it. Palin, after all, takes tons upon tons upon tons of shots from the left (I know, because I’ve offered up a slew of them). And while I hardly consider her to be one of our great thinkers, the woman has surely been studying since her disastrous VP run from a year ago.

Hell, even when I saw these photographs I thought, ‘Nah, probably no big deal …’

But then, shockingly, I caught this video:

In case you can’t tell, the words “Energy,” “Tax” and “Lift American Spirits” are clearly visible. There’s also the words “Budget cuts” with “Budget” crossed out.

Let me be clear: There are very few Republicans I would ever support in a national election. However, there are many Republicans I can at least understand GOPers backing. Mitt Romney is a tool, but he’s not dumb, and his resume is legit. Same goes for Lamar Alexander, Tim Pawlenty, Kay Bailey Hutchison. Do I agree with these people on 99 percent of the issues? No. But they certainly would make credible Republican candidates.

Sarah Palin, on the other hand, is a fool. Were John McCain not insane enough to have picked her, she’d still be in Alaska, an obscure, overwhelmed governor desperately trying to find the spotlight. Instead, we’re stuck with her; stuck with the Tea Party crazies insisting she’s the one person who can save America.

Save America? How about speaking without having to stare down at your palms?

When I was a kid growing up in Mahopac, N.Y., Super Bowl Sunday was one of my favorite days of the year. Yes, I loved the game. And sure, it was cool having Scott Choy and John Ballerini and Jon Powell and the gang come over for pizza, soda and the big game. But the best—absolute best—part of Super Bowl Sunday was that, leading up to the game, you could always find a channel that showed the NFL Film highlight videos from the past events.

Man, I looooooooooooove those films. Doesn’t matter if the games were superb (Super Bowl III) or blowouts (Super Bowl XX). I love the slow motion; the deep voice; the classical music as footballs soar through the air. This was long before I covered sports for a living, and it all seemed so regal and elegant. At that point, I’d never had an athlete fart in my face or tell me to go bite myself. They were gladiators, and nothing else. Terry Bradshaw. Wendell Tyler. Kenny King. Joe Montana. John Riggins. The names go on and on, and they evoke something truly special in my mind.

Now, the videos have been largely shelved.

My day ain’t the same.

The Sarah Palin phenomenon is one I don’t understand. She was paid $100,000 to speak. To attend, it costs more than $500. So those attendees who speak of a “revolution,” well, bad news. Sarah Palin is as revolutionary as my coffee mug. And her references to Scott Brown are downright embarrassing—the man’s political background suggests he has more in common with Barack Obama than the yahoos in this meeting hall.

Moreover, who says she’s a good speaker? Terrible, terrible, terrible. Ugh.

I can go on and on and on. If this woman ever becomes president, well, yeah …

PS: My favorite Republican line, uttered here by Palin: “We’re getting tired of looking backward.” Yeah, I’d be tired of looking backward too if I had been a supporter and George W. Bush and the mess he and the party made. Why is it wrong to look back at that? To cite it? Repeatedly?

It’s 1:42 am, and I’m supposed to be working. I was working. I will be working. But right now I’m completely distracted by an absolutely terrible movie that I love—Fools Rush In, starring Matthew Perry and Salma Hayek (interestingly, I just noticed that one of the accused soldiers from A Few Good Men plays a police officer who, toward the flick’s end, delvers the baby in the pouring rain on the highway). This is one of those cinematic classics that HBO plays 8,233 times per year, usually at hours when nobody is up. It’s uniquely terrible, in that it takes one bad actor (Perry) and one excellent actor (Hayek), makes a running joke of Gray’s Papaya, relentlessly mocks Mexican culture (Ha! The guy’s riding a donkey! Ha!) and ends happily.

Then again, I’m not sure why I’m babbling about this, considering everyone over the age of 20 has surely seen Fools Rush In at least five times.

Speaking of fools, how the hell doesn’t Charles Haley make the Pro Football Hall of Fame? Seriously. The man won five Super Bowl rings and was one of the dominant, game-changing pass rushers of his era. Yes, he wasn’t a wonderful person to deal with, but much of that has to be chalked up to his bi-polar diagnosis. To me, Haley was right there with Reggie White and Bruce Smith among the elites. A shame—especially when John Randle gets in so easily.