For some reason, I’m a very superstitious person.
I don’t consiously believe the stuff, to the point of arguing with others about how rediculous Tarot readers, Feng Shui, and Dianetics are. I’m an engineer, a person of science, by profession, and I know stepping on a crack will not break mom’s back. (hi, mom!)
In college, my roommates frequently annoyed me by spilling salt in my presence.
I own two black cats, too. They were born in Boston, which makes them lucky, from my point of view. At least they worked for the first three years I had ’em… (come to think of it, I moved ’em to a house outside of the five boroughs, and boom… reverse the curse…. ugh. Manny, you’re a fraud! It was all the location of Brutus’s litterbox!)
Still, though, I find myself becoming a little compulsive about certain things to “make” my team win. It gets worse as the playoffs approach. I have lucky shirts, and unlucky shirts, and colors that are good or bad. The shirts stay good or bad. The colors change depending on the opponent, and whether their luck needs reversal or not. Should the science-of-the-shirt fail me, then the fadeaway jumpshot I use to deposit it into the hamper at night determines whether it’s mojo will recharge for duty after laundry day. Airballs are bad. A rim-in is a tremendously good omen.
I have lucky artifacts in the office, too. Bob Feller was born down the road from my hometown, and I have an autographed ball (I hear Bob will pretty much sign anything if you donate to his museum, which is pretty cool.) He threw the only opening-day no-hitter ever, and since I’ve been carrying it around on MLB.com opening days, we’ve been pretty lucky.
Recently, on my trip to New Orleans, I got my change from the newstand in the Atlanta airport in the form of a $2 bill and a Panamanian quarter… I tipped the cab driver with the Two, after a conversation about the casino downtown, and he wished me lots of luck. I had quite a bit.
I found the Panama Quarter in the pocket of my bag again right before the Yankees went on their recent five game streak… Now I’m figuring this quarter must have been in Mariano’s pocket or something sometime down the line, and I’m doing all I can to remember not to spend it someplace while the streak is on (they work in our vending machines, I’m told.)
… or maybe it’s just something logical, like Tino not washing his left sock.
Sorry in advance for the terrible, terrible blog-entry title.
I just got back from a trip to New Orleans. I met up with some old college friends, and saw some Jazz at Jazzfest, ate a TON of great food, got some sun, finally.
I was actually kind of conflicted, ’cause I really did need a little time away from work, and baseball is, technically work for me… however, I’ve not gotten to a minor league game yet this year, and I really want to go. This, coupled with my intense love for weird, regional ballpark food (I can only imagine what food is available in the ballpark on the bayou) made this game a strong draw.
Plus, it’s the Isotopes, on the road! A must for the Simpsons-lover in me.
Alas, it didn’t happen. I’ll have to settle for some Cyclones or Staten Island Yankees games soon. Maybe a road trip out towards Pennsylvania…
The only baseball-related fun in the Big Easy happened at the casino downtown, where a group of guys inquired about my “Baltimore” shirt, and were confused when I told them that I’d never actually been to Baltimore. I said that I work at MLB.com and actually have a lot of various MLB-branded gear (if you ever need some Devil Rays baby clothes, I can hook you up). When I revealed that I was actually a Yankees fan from NYC, they pretty much left me alone to gamble in peace (on cards! just cards! that’s all!).