Eighteen hours before Hurricane Katrina slammed into New Orleans, Rita Benson LeBlanc’s home in the old Metairie section of the city had the air of a besieged bunker. Benson LeBlanc manned a cell phone to coordinate the evacuation of team players, coaches, other personnel, and their families. The plan was to fly out in a 757 the Saints had chartered from New Orleans International Airport and lie low in San Antonio until the storm had passed. Though the sky was bright and cloudless, weather forecasters howled about the coming storm. “Everywhere, everyone seemed to be in a state of panic and confusion,” recalls William Legier, founder of Legier & Materne, a Gulf Coast accounting firm. “Airports were shut down. Roads were gridlocked. The main interstate out of town was bumper to bumper: Nothing was moving. Many citizens thought only of themselves and moved on. Not Rita.”

Legier’s son Billy had booked a seat on a commercial flight to Los Angeles, where he is a real estate broker. When the flight was canceled, the elder Legier phoned Benson LeBlanc and asked if she had any spare seats on the family’s private plane. “I really expected her to say that she couldn’t help,” he recalls. Instead, she told Legier that if his son got to her house, she would guarantee his safe passage on one of her “arks.”

With Katrina about to turn the Saints’ home, the Louisiana Superdome, into a metaphor for a chaotic, ravaged city, Benson LeBlanc asked the pilot to wait for a couple of elderly stragglers. Fortunately, they soon appeared, and the plane was one of the last to take off before disaster struck. “Rita was amazing,” Legier says. “Through it all, she somehow stayed calm and decisive.”

Two years later, Benson LeBlanc is the executive vice president of the Saints. She oversees the business and administrative side of the Saints and their Arena Football League sister, the VooDoo, with the same coolheaded assurance she demonstrated during Katrina. Though the 30-year-old Benson LeBlanc is being groomed to one day take over for her 80-year-old grandfather, Tom Benson, it seems that by cleaning up the reputation of the N.F.L. team’s front office, the granddaughter is actually grooming the grandfather.

To the people of New Orleans, the story of the Saints is less hagiography than a Star Wars saga in which Benson LeBlanc plays Luke Skywalker to Tom Benson’s Darth Vader. “Rita has given the Saints a softer image,” says Anne Milling, founder of the Women of the Storm, an organization that brings members of Congress to New Orleans to see the challenges still faced after Katrina. Benson LeBlanc is one of the group’s prime movers. “She’s sincerely grateful that New Orleanians have sustained the team through many years of losing. Her grandfather may have felt that with his heart, but he never showed it.”

Before Hurricane Katrina struck, the Saints patriarch was widely seen as a ruthless opportunist. Saddled with an outmoded stadium, shrinking attendance, and the N.F.L.’s smallest media market outside of Green Bay, Wisconsin, he demanded and received generous inducements from the city and state in 2001. In a kind of reverse rent, the Saints are given yearly cash subsidies to stay in the Superdome, with annual payments now at $20 million and scheduled to eventually reach $23.5 million in 2009. The team also gets to keep every dollar of revenue the stadium generates from Saints games, a perk similarly enjoyed by only one other N.F.L. franchise, the Indianapolis Colts.

When he wasn’t extracting government handouts, Benson played the standard relocation hand. He courted other cities—he seemed most interested in moving the Saints to San Antonio or Los Angeles—and threatened to uproot the franchise if he didn’t get a better lease or a new stadium. “He was in a perfect situation,” says Victor Matheson, a sports economist at the College of the Holy Cross, in Worcester, Massachusetts. “He essentially had no money tied up in New Orleans and was free to pick up and leave by invoking the termination clause in his contract.” After the 2006 season, the Saints could have opted out of their deal with the state by repaying the $81 million they had received in inducements. They not only could have, Matheson says, but very likely would have: “The Saints had no long-term prospects in New Orleans. They were as good as gone.”

Ironically, Katrina improved the team’s short-term prospects in New Orleans. “The devastation spurred an outpouring of local support,” says Matheson, “and made moving the Saints to another city politically untenable for the N.F.L.”

In the hurricane’s frantic aftermath, Benson LeBlanc was thrust into a pivotal role in management. During the past two years, she has driven the N.F.L. franchise with the shakiest economic base into profitability. Before Benson LeBlanc, the Saints were known mostly for their struggles on and off the field. “It was coach versus player, or player versus player, or management versus the public,” says chef Emeril Lagasse, owner of three New Orleans restaurants and a Saints season-ticket holder for two decades. “All that has changed with Rita. She’s like a magnet that connects with people. She’s a rarity in pro ball.”

For St. Rita’s next miracle, she has to find a way to keep the Saints in town.

The N.F.L. has long been an old boys’ club packed with old men. Only a handful of the 32 teams are run by women, and Benson LeBlanc is the youngest. Still, her gridiron C.V. is more impressive than that of almost any of the ancient members, including her grandfather. She spent her high school and college summers interning in various league offices. In 2001, after graduating from Texas A&M with a degree in agribusiness, she started working for the Saints, for whom she did everything from distributing press credentials to logging stats into computers for coaches.

Benson LeBlanc says her dream job is to be an antiquarian-book hunter. And she reads constantly. Recently she found personal resonance in Alex Butterworth and Ray Laurence’s Pompeii: The Living City, which re-creates the bustling life in the Roman town before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. “It’s very difficult to react quickly to complex crises,” she says. “I found it helpful in the context of our business planning to be proactive so that our people could prepare for unforeseen obstacles.” Prepped in large part by Hurricane Ivan in 2004, the Saints were ready for Katrina. “We always had a plan,” says Benson LeBlanc, who was actively involved in all phases of the team’s evacuation. Her energy seems inexhaustible. “She has been kind of round-the-clock since she was a kid,” her grandfather says.

The oldest child of Renee Benson and Russell LeBlanc, Rita was born in Houma, a Cajun outpost in southeast Louisiana perhaps best known as the setting for the Swamp Thing comic books. When she was still an infant, her family moved from the bayou to San Antonio and then to a ranch in nearby Johnson City, the birthplace of Lyndon Johnson. She was eight years old in 1985 when her grandfather—a banker, car dealer, and New Orleans native—purchased the Saints from original owner John Mecom for $70 million. During Mecom’s stewardship, the Saints went marching in place for 18 seasons. They never had a winning record and finished last in their division seven times. The low-water mark came in 1980, when the “Aints” won only one of their 16 games and thousands of embarrassed and enraged fans showed up for home games wearing paper bags over their heads.

In 1986, Benson captured the hearts of Saints faithful at a home game against Tampa Bay. After the Saints had beaten the Buccaneers 38–7, he climbed down to the field and led a second-line victory dance in the end zone while twirling an umbrella. The Benson Boogie—a sort of low-impact shimmy—even inspired a song:

He doesn’t hold a candle to Fred Astaire,
But if the Saints are winning, he’ll jump in the air.
Then he’ll boogie all around,
And hug a player or two, before he falls to the ground.

Benson and his granddaughter started boogying together in 1987, the year of the Saints’ first ­winning record and playoff appearance. The two have long enjoyed a relationship that speaks of the importance of family, but curiously, Grandpa is about the only relative Benson LeBlanc will discuss. Of her mother, all she says is, “When I was young, she ran the ranch and read to me a lot.” Asked if her father was an influence on her, she hesitates and says, “Not particularly.” Her parents divorced while she was in college. After graduating, she moved to New Orleans to be her grandfather’s apprentice. She wasn’t a football fan then, but she quickly became one. “I loved the regenerative aspect of the N.F.L.,” she says, by which she means that even though this year’s squad might stink, next season’s might not. “You did what you did. You documented it and celebrated it. Every year saw a renewal, a fresh start. Every year, the sky was the limit.”

She has been touted as Benson’s successor ever since he put her in charge of the Arena League’s infant VooDoo team in 2003. (Her mother, Benson’s only living child, has no interest in football, and Rita’s younger brother, Ryan, prefers ranching.) By the end of the VooDoo’s inaugural season, there was more branding in New Orleans Arena than in an entire season of Bonanza, and Benson LeBlanc was named the league’s top executive.

In the “All Fun League”—as the A.F.L. is affectionately called—the game is almost secondary to the game-day festivities. “From the beginning, Tom and Rita sat together in the stands, having fun,” says A.F.L. commissioner David Baker. “You could see Tom laughing and slapping fans on the back. A lot of that came from Rita. He never acted that way during Saints games.”

The fun has been infectious. The VooDoo led the A.F.L. in attendance in 2007, selling more than 12,000 season tickets, the most in the 21-year history of the league.

The Saints presented more of a challenge. Katrina forced them to find temporary housing for the 2005 season. Four of their home games were played in Baton Rouge. Benson moped through the opener at L.S.U.’s Tiger Stadium, a 21–6 loss to the Miami Dolphins. After getting into a confrontation with spectators and knocking a minicam from a cameraman’s hands, he vowed not to come back for his team’s next three contests. The taunting fans, he said, had made him feel unsafe. When the Saints resettled in San Antonio, Benson was disparaged for refusing to promise their return.

“Nobody likes to be criticized,” he says. “But I’ve been around long enough to realize that life is like a football game. Run up the field and score a touchdown, and everyone cheers. Fumble the ball and lose the game, and everybody boos. Who wouldn’t rather be patted on the back and loved than kicked in the ass?”

The butt-kicking escalated following the departure of two high-ranking executives who had fought to keep the Saints in New Orleans. One resigned in October 2005, after claiming that Benson not only opposed giving season-ticket holders refunds but also, despite a pledge to remain loyal to New Orleans, hoped to move the team permanently to San Antonio.

Both of their jobs fell to Benson LeBlanc, who set up shop following Katrina in the basement of San Antonio’s Alamo­dome, amid homebuilder shows and high-school-band con­ventions. She held the business operation together by streamlining the marketing department and broadening the Saints’ base to include the entire U.S. Gulf Coast. She reached out to the devastated New ­Orleans community through philanthropy and youth clinics. And she spearheaded an initiative to track down displaced ­season-ticket holders and persuade them to return.

Capitalizing on the attention Katrina had brought, Benson LeBlanc and her staff, together with N.F.L. marketing maestro Frank Vuono, brought aboard a host of national and international sponsors. She helped form the Saints Business Council, a group of 27 local leaders who bought tickets, luxury suites, and sponsorships. To promote New Orleans, Benson ­LeBlanc and her marketing team staged rock concerts, the splashiest of which marked the official reopening of the Dome, headlined by U2 and Green Day.

Benson LeBlanc’s greatest innovation may have been making tickets affordable for more fans. To reflect the demographics of the post-Katrina market, the Saints offered 25,000 tickets for under $35 apiece, with many as low as $14. That’s about $61 less than the average price of an N.F.L. ticket. Not only did the Saints sell out every game in the Superdome last season—a franchise first—but they now have a waiting list of more than 32,000 for season tickets. On top of that, all 137 luxury suites—ranging between $40,000 and $148,000—have been leased for the 2007 season. “Disasters clarify what’s really important,” says Benson LeBlanc. “Katrina made us expand our relationships with groups and businesses, and focus on inclusion. People responded and came together.”

Benson LeBlanc collaborated on the creative financing plan that bankrolled the Dome’s face-lift. The state put $165 million into improvements and upgrades long sought by Benson, who chipped in $15 million of the N.F.L.’s $20 million share.

Alas, the 32-year-old Superdome is the sixth-oldest facility in a league in which team value is tied to stadiums. According to Robert Baade, president of the International Association of Sports Economists, stadiums account for between 17 and 25 percent of the values of the five most lucrative N.F.L. franchises. The bottom five, he says, draw between 7 and 11 percent from their stadiums. Of those top five teams, none play in stadiums older than 10 years. Of the bottom five, only the Atlanta Falcons occupy a facility that is less than 25 years old. The biggest media markets don’t necessarily have the most valuable teams: The New York Giants and Jets rank 15th and 19th in value, respectively. The 31-year-old stadium they share, the Meadowlands, is an economic Jurassic Park.

Two years ago, the Saints ranked last among the 32 franchises in operating income—$9.1 million behind the next-­lowest team, the Seattle Seahawks, and $112.9 million behind the leader, the Washington Redskins. Much of the disparity derived from revenue that was not shared, such as the proceeds from luxury suites. While the league divides gate receipts 60-40 between the home and visiting teams, luxury-box revenue is exempt. “Benson knows he can make a whole lot more money moving somewhere else,” says Matheson. “If Los Angeles erected a state-of-the-art stadium, many teams would be tempted to relocate there. The Saints would be first in line.”

With another N.F.L. campaign kicking off, the team’s prospects are as promising as Mardi Gras. Last season—buttressed by a dynamic new coach (Sean Payton), quarterback (Drew Brees), and running back (Reggie Bush)—the Saints went from worst to first in their division and finished one victory away from the Super Bowl. “The Saints came back from the trauma of Katrina a better team,” says Kevin Wildes, president of Loyola University New Orleans. “They’ve become a serious symbol of renewal for the people of New Orleans.”

They also became a serious symbol of merchandising. In 2005, the Saints were 29th among N.F.L. teams in sales at nflshop.com, the league’s e-commerce site. Last season, they climbed to seventh.

Still, the team’s turnaround does not increase its chances of staying in New Orleans beyond 2010. “The Saints’ current success and good won-lost record would certainly help with fan support and team economics,” says former N.F.L. commissioner Paul Tagliabue. “But that wouldn’t necessarily mean the Saints are viable long-term. The macroeconomics of the region would be most important.”

The macroeconomics in this region of microbusinesses looks grim, says Matheson. He notes that New Orleans’ population is only half its pre-Katrina level of 460,000 and that vast stretches of the city resemble a modern Pompeii. He also points out that the Big Easy’s corporate base was devastated. Both of its Fortune 500 companies left town. Freeport-­McMoRan Copper & Gold relocated to Phoenix, while Entergy Corp. moved to Jackson, Mississippi, and has only recently returned.

Matheson says the prosperity of other N.F.L. franchises has raised the cost of fielding a competitive team and made the Saints an even more inviting candidate for relocation. “Why would Benson tie himself to one of the league’s smallest markets?” asks Matheson. “Why would the N.F.L., especially when it depends on revenue sharing and national TV contracts? Unless a lot of things go right, I don’t see how New Orleans can support an N.F.L. team.”

The city’s pro-football fans—the ones Benson LeBlanc took by storm—hope she tells her grandfather something like what Saints coaches tell potential free agents: Move the team and become just another owner; stay and become a hometown hero. “The question is how much being beloved is worth to Benson,” says Matheson.

It may be worth less to Benson than to his granddaughter. After all, he takes concessions; she makes them. Benson LeBlanc says a shiny new stadium would be nice, but she’s not “pushing hardcore” for one. “There are no mandates from the club,” she says, sounding like the anti-Benson. “Any proposal would have to go beyond just a mere facility and involve reclaiming property that was devastated by Katrina. We’re trying to do everything we can to bring prosperity and economic investment to New Orleans.”