Before you read this column, there are two things you should know about me. First, when it comes to most sports, I am not very knowledgeable. Everything I know about football, I learned from Friday Night Lights. The one time I went to a Capitals hockey game, I left after 10 minutes. I've made about three appearances at baseball games in my life, but really two since the time I went to the Durham Bulls game I was 5 and more concerned about staying cool inside the gift shop than watching the game. These are just some of the reasons why a career as a sports columnist never will pan out for me.
The second thing you need to know about me is that I never considered myself to be a superstitious person until I watched the ACC basketball tournament at home during Spring Break. Sure, I made sure to use the same yellow and purple mechanical pencil on every calculus test my senior year. And yes, from time to time, I let my roommate predict my future with a deck of cards. But did I ever actually believe either of these situations had a real effect on my life? Not really.
The last Friday of Spring Break - and second day of the ACC Tournament - started off like a usual Friday at home for me. I slept in until around 11 and then leisurely made my way downstairs to find something to eat for breakfast. My grandma was visiting from North Carolina, so she and I watched a bit of the news before turning the channel to watch the first game of the day.
Before I continue, I guess I should admit there is a third thing you should know about me. In my house, college basketball reigns supreme, although my dad is a Wahoo through and through while my mom bleeds blue for a certain North Carolina school. And no, the name of said school does not rhyme with the word puke, so you can take a wild guess as to who she wanted to win the tournament.\nMy mom was still at work when the game tipped off, but when she barged in about 15 minutes into the first half, her team needed help - badly. Since I hardly ever watch games with her - and when I used to watch games at home in high school, I watched them from the basement - she grabbed me by the wrist and banished me to the basement. Meanwhile my grandma, who gets so emotionally invested in the game that it often becomes too stressful, walked out of the room saying "they do better when I'm not watching."
After our halftime break for lunch, I resumed my viewing position in the basement, my grandma occupied herself elsewhere and my mom took her normal game position sitting on the edge of our coffee table so she can jump up and scream if necessary. Somehow her team managed to scrape together a win with the very last shot. And according to my mom, this victory was not because the team improved its play and had some help from the other team, but because we were all watching the game from our lucky spots.
The next game was Saturday, and my mom, wearing her lucky earrings and the same shirt as she had during the previous game, insisted we all resume the same positions we occupied the day before. As her team's deficit grew, my mom re-evaluated the situation and realized my sister, who never watches basketball, was deeply engrossed. This was clearly messing with the fates, and my sister was forced to return away from the television to her environmental science homework.
Since I was in the basement, watching from my delegated viewing location, my sister texted me about my mother's antics - not that I couldn't hear all the yelling and floor stomping from above. I thought she was taking it a little too seriously, but then the game turned around and my mom's team somehow managed to scrape together a victory. Again. Suddenly, I was a believer. While the professional sports analysts and those that actually have a future writing sports columns may argue my mom's team lost to its arch rival Sunday because it was outplayed, part of me actually believes it happened because I was headed back to Charlottesville and unable to watch the game from the comforts of my basement.
When I returned to my apartment, I was chatting with my roommate about how passionate my mom is about her game day superstitions. I asked whether or not my roomie had game day superstitions when watching her beloved Phillies play. Unlike my other roommate - the same one who can tell the future with a deck of cards - who is very superstitious, this one shrugged off superstitions and said the only thing she tries to do is wear a Phillies shirt on game day, but she doesn't worry too much if she can't. She then proceeded to give me a very rational explanation that superstitions are our minds' way of trying to control situations of which we have no control. This is probably a true piece of wisdom I should rationally follow, but until March ends, I think I like the madness of buying into superstition a little bit better.
Katie's column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at k.urban@cavalierdaily.com.
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