An Essay of Sorts on Why I'm Entirely Responsible for the Success and Failures of my Team
| 13
|
by Bsd987
If I'm to believe a recent survey, and I'm not, then 20 percent of sports fans believe that their actions influence their team's performance. Do you know how silly that sounds? One-in-five think that they have an impact on the game?
Firstly, only one-in-five admits this; I know an additional one-in-five are too embarrassed about it and another one-in-five can't mention it because speaking about it would jinx their team. And secondly, we don't think that we alter the event; we know it.
I knew that I was responsible for the Florida Marlins falling down 3-1 to the Chicago Cubs in the 2003 NLCS, just like I was responsible for the Marlins 1-8 skid in August. I cost Florida a chance at the SEC and national titles in 2001 and then almost cost them the national championship last year. But I also helped the Marlins climb back in 2003 and it was solely my actions that won the Gators each of their three football and basketball titles over the past 20 months.
And it goes without saying that Florida State would never have been shut out by Wake Forest last year had it not been for me refusing to use the bathroom in the second half, an idea that I would use to perfection two months later.
According to the Associate Press-Ipsos poll, gender, race and education levels do not statistically matter when it comes to superstition. In fact, the only significant differences were that these people tended to be richer, younger, and single. But that's just technical.
In 2001, the Florida Gators were playing Tennessee for the rights to play for the SEC championship. The mid-September game had been pushed to early December as a result of the 9/11 bombings, making the game more important than normal.
Florida, with arguably the most talent of any Steve Spurrier-coached team, was ranked second; Tennessee, with arguably the most talent of any Phil Fulmer-coached team, was ranked fourth. Tennessee hadn't won in the swamp since before the Watergate break-in.
But then there was the reality: Tennessee 34, Florida 26. Rex Grossman was 77 yards away.
After every play, I changed the channel, if only for a second. Every single play. And Florida scored.
But I messed up. I forgot to change the channel before the two-point conversion. And the Gators missed.
I did channel-surf before the onside kick, but I had already jinxed it. Tennessee 34, Florida 32. I knew it at the time; it was my fault. And I was too ashamed to mention it.
By August of 2003, the Marlins and Philadelphia Phillies had pulled away from the pack in the NL Wildcard race and were quietly chasing down the Atlanta Braves in the division. I was in Colorado visiting my mother when the fish came to town.
I went to MLB.com to buy tickets; I hadn't been to MLB.com since May. And the Marlins proceeded to lose, not just that game, but eight out of nine. Luckily, it was only a warning. Philadelphia would also drop nine out of ten. The two-horse race became a sprint between half of the National League.
The next time I visited MLB.com, Josh Beckett had made the final out of the World Series.
But that's not to say I didn't find another way to almost jinx the Marlins.
Throughout the postseason, I sat in the same position every inning of every game, did not touch the remote except after an out was made, checked my instant messages in between half innings and innings, and went to the bathroom after every full inning.
In Game 3 of the NLCS, I dropped the remote on the floor and failed to pick it up before the broadcast returned. At the time, the Marlins were up 3-2 in the top of the 8th. The Cubs scored two more. The Marlins would force extra innings, but because of my blunder and failure to correct it, they would lose.
Game 4 was the worst, since I didn't put the game on right away. By the time I tuned in, the Marlins trailed 6-0. I turned it off because I didn't deserve a comeback.
But I righted myself in Game 6.
Down 3-0 heading into the eighth inning, I turned off the game and went to bed. But I put the radio on.
"There's always next year," I mumbled, sounding like a Cubs fan.
By going to bed, the baseball Gods saw me repenting for my mistakes (I had failed to go to the bathroom between the third and fourth innings because my brother was taking a shower) and they delivered Steve Bartman to my radio.
Yes Cubs fans, I was responsible for Bartman.
Before I knew it, the Marlins had won the World Series.
Yet I still had to make amends for 2001.
For a few years, the Gators just weren't talented enough for me to be able to impact them, but last year, I could.
On the date of the Auburn game, I wore my Gators shirt. Florida fell. I didn't wear a Gators shirt again for the rest of the season.
Additionally, for every important game, I went to Buffalo Wild Wings. Until the LSU game two weeks ago, Florida was undefeated when I was at Buffalo Wild Wings (I had a date during the Auburn game this year, but my non-presence was the reason the Gators lost). Therefore, I managed to manipulate the system, only going for important games and skipping opponents such as Vanderbilt and Western Carolina.
And during the "upset" of Ohio State, I did not go to the bathroom for the entire game.
This year, I jinxed it by going when Florida played Western Kentucky and Troy State, therefore breaking the magic. Had I skipped those games, Florida would have beaten LSU.
But I made amends, winning the 2006 title for the Gators. And really, what more could I ask for?
How about two titles in basketball?
I'm not going to explain any more, other than to say I removed all green and yellow from my room for the Florida-George Mason semifinal in 2006. But you get the picture.
I know that Florida won those titles because of me, that I had an impact. And I know that they lost plenty more by the same token. I don't care what that survey said.
All I know is I want my World Series ring and a place in the Gators team picture for last year.
Or a raise would do.
