Wednesday, May 04, 2005


I missed most of the game tonight. I got in at nine, fortunately in time to see that hottie Mantei on the mound. He immediately walks two batters. Has someone slipped him some of that bullpen water? I hear mention of a grand slam by Mirabelli, yet 'Tek is back there catching. (Let's just say I was still confused about this until Papi pinch hit for Belli.) Suddenly I realize I still had my tigers hat on. I wore it today to get it nice and dirty, crap it up as much as possible while giving a fresh coat to some ceilings in my sister Beth's new house. I toss it off, throw on my Sox hat, and just like that, inning over.

I am not a superstitious person in general. I like black cats just as much as any other kind, and to me, a broken mirror's just a big mess. I step on cracks, I never forward those stupid, threatening e-mails that claim catastrophe if you don't, and let's just say I walk under ladders all the time (after all, I am a painter.) So why do I feel the need to crap up my tigers hat? Why won't I wear my Sweet Pea t-shirt while the Sox are playing, just because every time I've worn it they've lost? Game 3 of the ALCS was the last time I wore that damn thing, and right now I'm contemplating burning it in the firepit I have in my backyard. In 2003 I was wearing a very comfortable pair of red socks during ALCS game 7... did not wear them for the entire season last year, despite loving those socks. I KNOW that my actions have absolutely nothing to do with the results on the field, and still I feel compelled to be very careful with anything that might have the slightest association with the Sox (or the Pats.) I hand-painted a lighter during the postseason last year, with the "B" in red & white nail polish on a shimmering navy backround. I loved that lighter, but somehow felt it was wrong to carry it into the next year. It still had a bit of fluid on New Year's Eve, so I deposited it at a friend's house in Boston, with specific instructions: Make sure it's dead before pitchers & catchers report! I called twice in February to remind him of the date. (And yes, if you're holding your breath out there, he used it up about ten days before, but it's still kickin' around just for looks.)

My mind tells me this makes no sense; my heart tells me it must be done. These superstitions make me wonder if I'm crazy (as jere has apparently inferred,) and yet I know I'm not alone. Am I?


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home