A glimpse into my sports-obsessed world:
During the spring of 2005, I was given a Chauncey Billups bobblehead by an old friend. This bobblehead, a promotional tie-in for the wonderful Detroit Pistons point guard (and my favorite player in any sport), became the unofficial mascot for the Pistons playoff run that year.
Every game, I would lovingly take him out of the box and place him at the center of whatever table I was at in the bar. Then, as the game progressed, I would either rub or kiss his bald, ceramic head, depending on how much luck the Pistons needed. You never know, after all, when your team migh need some good "karma," or "juju," or whatever else you want to call it. Everybody else would do the same to "Lil' Chauncey," and as the Pistons won and won that year, the bobblehead went from amusing novelty to absolute must-have item for every game. This went on until the eve of the last game of the year (game 7 of the NBA Finals)...
The night before the final game, while walking home from the bar, I decided to take the Chauncey doll out of his case. I just wanted to get a look at him, maybe rub or kiss his head a little to wish him good luck for the game the next day. Unfortunately, being (to this day) so clumsy I can barely walk, I tripped over my own feet and the Chauncey doll flew out of my hand and crashed onto the pavement!
It was ruined: like an execution-style hit, his head and feet had been lopped off while his torso stayed intact. Distraught, I attempted to piece together the ruined doll, but it was too far gone. The Pistons, of course, went on to lose the game.
Do I believe, despite how complete absurd and irrational (and idiotic) it is, that I played some small part in costing the Pistons a championship? Yes, sadly, I do.
3 comments:
As you should.
I can still feel my loathing for you having dropped 'Lil' Chaunce' deep within my breast -- as if the scar tissue has but locked in a glowing coal of hate that burns in the absence of oxygen.
The ghost that was loosed that ill-fated night before game 7 flew across the continent and mingled with the spirit of Robert Horry and produced an effect somewhere between annoyance and despair for the entire state of Michigan.
I fear the state has never recovered. How much productivity was lost on account of an absence of pep or vigor in the following months? Enough to pay-off the budget deficit and revitalize a failing economy? Perhaps.
I don't know how you live with yourself.
--The Giver of Little Chauncey by way of Miss Emily Caskey
TGOLCBWOMEC,
Sorry about that. I also blame myself for pushing the "cool cities" idea on Jennifer Granholm. I've cost the Michigan economy millions, billions even. Obviously, I had to move.
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