Geaux Tigers!

When there's that first hint of a chill in the air, when there's just a touch of orange and yellow creeping into Central Park's verdant canopy, when the jolly jack o'lanterns are holding vigil outside the Upper East Side brownstones, then you know it's time for one thing: bring on some college football! Endless NCAA violations and vitriolic debates on the machinations of the BCS can wait until the tinsel is being stowed for another year, because in autumn it's about bone crunching sacks and the desperation Hail Mary, all accompanied by the greatest soundtrack in sports: the college marching band.

Game of the Year for 2011 is an epic SEC match up between two powerhouses of the strongest conference in the land - the Florida Gators and the LSU Tigers. And the venue for this battle: none other than the legendary Death Valley, the Tiger's fortress of concrete and steel and yellow and purple that towers over the tiny town of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. But first, a bit of pre-gaming in one of America's great party towns, the rocking city of New Orleans.

Let's kick things off with something a bit more civilized than the show-me-your-titties bawdiness of Bourbon Street. The Garden District is all about genteel Southern charm, the kind of place you dress in your Sunday best and drop a cheery howdy ya'll to the neighbor, assuming of course they're not an Alabama alum.

They don't make houses like they used to. Back in the day a man's wealth was measured in the size of his columns. Errr... right.

I hate to break it to you, but the servant's quarters are twice as big as your NY shoe box.

When down South there's only one way to get the day started: it's po' boy time!

The Grocery is apparently an institution in the neighborhood, home of the best po' boys this side of the bayou.

More Southern charm. That second floor balcony will make a nice boat dock when the next hurricane rolls in off the gulf.

These folks, on the other hand, had best store their life raft on the roof.

Back in the day the Southern porch was the perfect place to sit and watch the sunset; these days it's the perfect iPad perch.

New Orleans wears her French heritage as proudly as the Saints wear their Superbowl rings.

If I'm not mistaken, that looks like a fairly likely place to score a fried oyster po' boy, or if one gets lucky, maybe even a Southern belle.

Generally color schemes down here are limited to two palettes: Tigers yellow and purple, or Saints black and gold. But there's always one who thinks tailgating is something you do on I-80.

The old street cars that clatter their way around town prove that the American public will embrace public transport; of course it helps that the general populace is so smashed out of their minds that they couldn't stagger back to their cars even if they wanted to.

Welcome to Bourbon Street folks. The only question is how many blocks one will make it before total inebriation sets it. For Rock, they probably need to start counting in half-blocks.

Mei on the other hand already plans on doing at least three laps.

How about a bit of soul music to go with that soul food? The bars may be blasting out Usher and Rihanna at full blast, but that doesn't mean the city has completely lost its soul.

Every day is Mardi Gras around here. If this is just a normal afternoon's debauchery, it's almost impossible to comprehend what the Superbowl parade must have looked like.

There's really not much to add here.

Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light... That's pretty much the goal: to still be standing as dawn breaks over the detritus of another massive night in the Big Easy.

Is it still DUI if your vehicle has four legs?

Aren't you supposed to be at the Saint's cheerleaders practice down at the Superdome?

It may be one big party, but dark memories of screaming winds and torrential rain linger around every corner. Katrina was over half a decade ago, but the scars remain.

Which way to the VIP entrance?

Even the horses are more laid back here compared to their uptight NYPD brothers.

So French you needs a baguette under the arm just to be worthy of crossing the square. Or better yet, take that baguette, stuff it with some roast beef and gravy, and bingo you've got a po' boy!

So which Parish is Wuhan in?

Travel under the power of steam sounds romantic, until an errant spark lands in your hair.

It's like Disney World, only real.

Now be a good girl and pick me some strawberries.

Gotta love a town that gets to throw a party for independence day and Bastille day.

Beware, after midnight this fine pumpkin will be transform back into a coach... hang on, is something a little backwards here?

Who would have thought artisanal produce would go hand in hand with six burgers and a Bud light off the tailgate of a pickup truck. 

Po' boys come in all shapes and sizes...

Rock's attempt at artisanal photography. About as successful as a McOrganic burger.

Who dat nation!

If it's still standing, then the booze is still flowing. This old house may have seen better pre-hurricane days, but why tear it down if you can still get a keg through the door.

You meet all types on Bourbon Street.

G'day mate. Is there no escape? How'd they get here, isn't their national airline supposed to be grounded?

Cochon, Southern soul food with a touch of French flair.

Clearly that Southern soul food with a hint of French flair wasn't quite enough to fuel a big night on the town, hence dinner number two at the infamous Acme Oyster House. The line is equally infamous.

The sun is setting over Bourbon Street. That can only mean one thing: Rock's bedtime.

Better party tonight Gator fans, because tomorrow it's all doom and gloom at the hands of the invincible Tigers.

Bourbon Street is fun and all, but it's also a little, shall we say, juvenile. Time to find the real New Orleans.

That's more like it. A secluded local bar nestled on the edge of the French quarter. No neon green glow in the dark daiquiris here folks.

Bring back the Bourbon!

These Gators are a persistent lot. Unlike their team on the football field...

It's game time! Not hard to work out which way to the stadium, just follow the entire town.

Let's geux Tigers!

Tigers fans are hoping they'll need a bigger sign at the end of this season.

Probably the only dudes on campus not decked out in yellow and purple. Fairweather fan alert?

See what I mean?

It's Death Valley on a Saturday night. Actually it's a Saturday afternoon, but that's not what the cool promo on the stadium screen says.

The eye of the Tiger is all-seeing. Kind of like that evil eye on the tower in those hobbit movies.

Apparently Death Valley is the sixth largest city in Louisiana when filled to capacity, which of course it always is. That's testament to the epic-ness of the venue... or alternatively the lack of epic-ness of the rest of the state. 

That's pretty much what the ferocious Tigers did to the Gators in a 41-11 annihilation. Bring on 'Bama!