Flak Magazine: Kick Out the Sports! 12.19.05

The 1972 Miami Dolphins, the only undefeated, untied team in NFL history, can break out their somebody-finally-lost champagne and drink as much as their rickety, arthritic bodies can handle. The Indianapolis Colts Sunday finally lost their first game after 13 straight victories, 26-17 to the San Diego Chargers. And it's all my fault.

Really, you can pin this one on me. That's because I violated one of my most sacred, most time-tested superstitions — wearing the gear of my favorite team the day it played. I'm not sure why, and I knew it was wrong. The only thing I can figure is, I felt deep in my psyche that the Colts needed to get this undefeated monkey off their back if they were to focus rightly on winning the Super Bowl.

Every fan has his or her (mostly his) superstitions for what helps his or her (mostly his) team and what puts the whammy on it. I don't remember exactly when I discovered that wearing the logo wear of my team (either the Indiana Pacers or the Indianapolis Colts) on the day of the game made them lose, but I know it hasn't failed. Not that they always win when I wear something else, but they always lose when I do.

I didn't even wear my IUPUI sweatshirt when my old school made the NCAA men's basketball tournament in 2003. It was a virtual guarantee my 16th-seeded Jaguars would get crushed by top-seeded Kentucky, which they did, but I wanted to hold out some hope. Hence, not wearing the sweatshirt.

When fans of my team are exhorted to show their spirit by wearing team colors, I do anything but. On days my team is not playing, sure. But not the day of. If my children somehow reach an advanced athletic level, no way I'm wearing their jerseys, Mama Iverson-style, unless I've come to hate them.

I have tested the limits of my personal superstition before. For example, I wondered what would happen if someone in my household wore my favorite team's apparel on the day of the game. I got the result at a Pacers-Knicks game last season. My now 8-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter went to the game and got free 1980s-era Pacers jersey replicas. (I believe a hair-cutting chain sponsored the shirts, because of the name over the number on the back. Either that, or I had totally missed the career of the great Chauncey Greatclips.) They innocently put them on.

The Pacers then blew a late lead and lost the game to New York in overtime on a last-second layup. Next time, I'm stuffing those jerseys under the seat until after the game. I usually don't tell my wife how to dress the kids, but in this case, she's under strict orders to not even consider Pacers or Colts logo-wear for the kids unless I approve. Yes, I'm as bad as that sounds.

So why did I violate my own rule? Why did I test it again at such a critical juncture? Here's my lame explanation.

On Saturday, my parents made the three-hour drive from Carmel, Ind., to my Oak Lawn, Ill., home for an early Christmas celebration. As they often do, my folks buy me some sort of clothing with one of my favorite team's logos on it, in part because I'm a fan, in part because it's easier to find Colts and Pacers stuff in Indiana, and in part because it's the only pieces of clothing they can buy me that I probably won't return. (I'm a real pain in the ass to buy for.)

One piece of clothing they gave me was a pair of pajama pants, the kind lonely college girls wear on dateless Friday nights, their hair up, their self-esteem down, their pint of ice cream, which always understands, sitting at the ready. These pants carried a small Indianapolis Colts logo, joining the Colts sweatshirt and Colts long-sleeve T-shirt they bought me for my birthday a few weeks before.

Now, I wouldn't have dreamed of wearing the sweatshirt or the T-shirt on Sunday, or any Sunday the Colts take the field. But those jammy pants seemed very comfortable. So that Saturday night, I ripped the tags off and prepared to put them on for bed.

For a moment, I did pause. I realized that I would be waking up with my fluffy new jammy pants on Sunday, the day of the game. What should I do? I realized that by even considering wearing them, I had crossed the sartorial Rubicon. Even if I were to put those comfy pants back, I had already doomed myself and my team. So I wore them.

I had long changed out of my comfy jammy pants by kickoff. But it was too late. I had doomed my team.

I know this explanation of how such a historic victory run could end defies all logic. You could say the Colts lost because the Chargers, at 8-5 entering the game, were the more desperate team, with a loss pretty much guaranteeing they wouldn't make the playoffs. You could say the Colts weren't so desperate, having already clinched home-field advantage throughout the playoffs.

You could say it's because Edgerrin James rushed for only 25 yards. That Peyton Manning threw two interceptions and, under the most intense pass rush he's faced all season, got sacked four times. You could say it's because the Colts rested banged-up players, such as pass-rushing defensive end Robert Mathis and run-stuffing defensive tackle Corey Simon, who might have normally been in the game if not for the aforementioned clinchings.

You could say it's because the Colts defense, after the team came back from a 16-3 deficit to lead 17-16, couldn't hold to close out the game. That they gave up a long pass from Drew Brees to Keenan McCardell on third-and-9 deep in the Chargers' territory, leading to a field goal that put San Diego up 19-17. That the Colts' defense followed by giving up an 83-yard touchdown to heretofore unknown running back Michael Turner, who entered the game with only 223 yards rushing, and finished with 113 yards on only eight carries.

You could even say that one person's superstition couldn't hold such sway, considering that for every team in every major league, there's an untold number of fans who have their own oddball superstitions, which presumably might cancel each other out. And it's not like word circulated through the Colts locker room about my pants. At least, I haven't seen any story yet with, say, Indianapolis wide receiver Reggie Wayne ruefully saying he knew it wasn't going to be the Colts' day when "we heard that goddamned Bob Cook put on his Colts jammy pants."

Well, this is my story, and this is my belief. I have learned my lesson. So from here on out, if the Colts lose, don't blame me. Blame some other fan who spit on his or her (mostly his) superstition.

E-mail Bob Cook at bobc@flakmag.com.