I decided to grab a green chile pizza for dinner last night and enjoy it next door at the Canyon Bar and Grill while catching the Monday Night Football game. (Pizza Hut uses surprisingly good green chile; unfortunately this time I didn’t try to call in the order until they were closed.) By the end of the first quarter I managed to care about the outcome of the game, at least a little bit, and I decided I wanted the Baltimore Ravens to bring low the undefeated New England Patriots.
Sorry about that, Baltimore. (Baltimore lost in the final seconds in a rather bizarre sequence of events.)
I hadn’t even explained my curse to anyone present when, near the end of the first half, Baltimore intercepted a pass. “Hooray!” the bar shouted. They, like me, mostly wanted New England to lose, but I was surprised at the sudden surge of emotion. The Baltimore player took the ball and began running back the other way. “Don’t fumble!” I shouted at the runner, loud enough for the whole bar to hear me.
Half a second later, the ball squirted loose, and New England recovered. I’m pretty sure the other people in the bar were just joking when they talked about taking me outside and beating me up.