Long before Drew Brees lifted the Lombardi Trophy and the streets of New Orleans became rivers of black and gold, the Superdome was home to a different kind of greatness. No confetti. No parade. Just four warriors who struck fear into every offense that dared to cross midfield.
They were the Dome Patrol:
Rickey Jackson. Sam Mills. Vaughan Johnson. Pat Swilling.
A quartet of linebackers so ferocious, so perfectly in sync, they didn’t just anchor the Saints’ defense—they were the defense. They turned a team once laughed at into a force that made quarterbacks flinch. They made Sunday afternoons in New Orleans something sacred—long before the words “Who Dat” became gospel.
But today, amid the gleaming bronze statues that now grace the Caesars Superdome, something’s missing. Someone’s missing. Four someones.
Why haven’t we immortalized the Dome Patrol?
The Hall of Fame gave Rickey Jackson his gold jacket. Sam Mills was finally honored posthumously. But statues? The kind that last forever? That fans take pictures with, that children stare up at, asking, “Who were they?”
Still waiting.
While other cities celebrate their legends in steel and stone, New Orleans has a chance—a duty—to honor the heroes who paved the way. Who gave fans hope before there were banners to hang. Who bled black and gold before it was trendy.
The Dome Patrol wasn’t just the best linebacker corps in NFL history—they were the soul of the Saints for an entire era. And their legacy deserves to stand tall in bronze glory, where it belongs—outside the Dome they once defended like sentinels.
It’s not just about football. It’s about remembrance. It’s about gratitude.
New Orleans, let’s right this wrong. Let’s give Rickey, Sam, Vaughan, and Pat their place among the immortal.
Because before there was a dynasty, there was a Dome. And before there was a Dome, there was a Patrol.
