Superstition

I’m at a roundtable discussion and the conversation turns to superstition. The most superstitious segment going is bingo players. They all have their little dolls, special markers, favorite seats, etc. If there’s a tremor in their universe, look out.

Someone says it’s not because they’re bingo players. It’s because they’re a bunch of little old ladies in print dresses. I disagree on all counts.

Sunday night, I’m having dinner with a friend before going to kayak roll practice. My cell phone bleeps. I get “the look” but answer it. I know to keep it short.

“Who was that?”

“Mother Crutcher.” Nickname of a buddy.

“What did he want?”

“Do you have to know everything?”

“No, just what Bruce wanted.”

“He was tipping me off to get a Superbowl bet down on the Giants before kickoff.”

“Why did he wait until now?”

“He’s watching the pre-game and saw that the Pats coach switched to a red hoodie.”

“And?”

“He usually wears a gray one. Pats are going to lose.”

“Says Bruce.”

“No, they’re going to lose. You don’t go undefeated all season with your gray hoodie and then change. You lose. No doubt”

“And you say Cheryl and I are crazy.”

“No doubt.”

Guys are superstitious, especially about sports. I don’t bet much, or even follow sports closely. But sometimes there’s something that tips me off and I will bet, for the sport of it. Some little sign that tells me who will win a game. That is, if I don’t watch it.

My pick will win, but it’s really not up to them. It’s my ritual. If I watch the game, they’ll lose, in spite of whatever tipped me off. If I don’t watch it, they win. No, really. Scientific fact.

This year’s BCS Bowl national championship football game, Ohio State vs. LSU. A week before the game, some highlights come on TV while I’m waiting for the news. My eyes are drawn to an LSU defensive lineman. The guy is a wrecking ball.

The clips jump around, LSU playing different teams. I’m watching him. Great technique, stays low and is very strong. No one is really handling him. He’ll wreak havoc with anyone. Anyone.

Still, not enough to compel a bet. I want a sure thing or I don’t plunk down the coin.

The day before the game, I’m Iistening to the radio. They’re talking Ohio State. Blah, blah, blah. The team was embarrassed, getting upset last year. The coach isn’t letting them forget it this year. He changed the locker room door combination to the losing score of last year’s game. There’s your sign.

So, he hasn’t programmed to win. The message is to avoid losing. A negative mindset. I call in a bet. I up the odds by picking Ohio State to lose big. Of course, I don’t watch the game. It pays off.

I’m a sophomore in high school, warming the bench. Third on the depth chart. The starter sprains an ankle the first defensive set of the game. The next set, his backup gets knocked cold. I’m in. Killer game.

The opposition helped. Pegging me as the weak spot, they ran everything my way. Fattened up my stats. Didn’t matter that had something to do with it. Have to keep the karma going.

You wear a t-shirt under the pads. Keeps the straps and buckles from chaffing. I wore the same t-shirt the next game and the game after that. And, the next year and the year after that. Still have it.

It was looking pretty ratty by my senior year. My mother tried to throw it away but I rescued it and kept it hid. Kept it through college, even though it had some holes and the seams were giving out. My wife tried to pitch it. Still have it. The shirt, not the wife.

I kayak. If you’re going to do whitewater or open water, it’s almost essential to be able to roll it up, in the event of a capsize. I learned the roll in controlled conditions, as most do.

I had it down to an automatic. They tell you everything changes in the rapids. A combat roll is different. You turn upside down, it’s dark and violent. Alarms go off and lights flash. You forget everything you know about rolling and screw up. Yeah, right. I know how to roll.

Next time I’m in a rapid, I wipe out. Alarms go off and lights flash. I blow the roll. A few days later, I’m out on the river again, hit a nasty hole in the middle of a rapid and go down. I blow the roll.

Combat roll panic? Don’t be silly. I have a few pairs of kayaking shoes. I wore an older set when I learned the roll. On the river, I was wearing a different pair. Started wearing my “rolling shoes” every time I did feisty water. Hardly missed a roll. Not superstition. Scientific proof. Yeah, right.

I’ve been around a lot of guys in sports and I’m far from unique in this respect. Many professional athletes have their inviolable rituals.

Little old ladies in print dresses? Nah. It’s guys.