My superstitious side of me, which admittedly is very small, has this suspicion. I am good luck for baseball teams.
Think about it. I was born in Minnesota. Six years later the Twins win their first World Series (unless you count the ones won by the Senators when the team was in Washington). Many years later, I move to Boston. Four years after that, the Red Sox win their first World Series in 86 years, breaking the supposed Curse of the Bambino. It has to be all me, right?
So I have a plan.
I’ve always had a soft spot for the Chicago Cubs, possibly because WGN broadcasted in Minnesota as a cable station and I would occasionally watch games and listen to Harry Caray do the play-by-play. The Cubs have an even longer drought than the Sox when it comes to World Series – going back to 1908. I figure, if I move to Chicago for grad school (and I’ve applied to two schools in the Chicago area), in about five years, the Cubs will win the World Series. And now that they’ve traded Sosa, who’s been losing his touch, to Baltimore, they’ve freed up the money to rebuild the team into a winner.
Of course, this could backfire if the White Sox grab my good luck instead. If a team from the AL Central is going to win anything, it better be the Twins. Maybe I should think about this plan a little more.