What’s so alluring about a sports curse?
I caught wind of something the other day that threw me for a loop.
It happens quite often. Especially around here. Northeast Louisiana still feels like Narnia to me, sans the talking animals and mythological beasts. Although I still sometimes ponder the origins of the nutria rat.
The hardscrabble hills and hollers of Appalachia are still home. East Tennessee is a wondrous place, where we can proudly boast that thanks to the recent 911 emergency systems upgrade, every resident now has a street address and house number. I believe that’s called progress.
Two years into my stay in Monroe, I’m still the metaphorical Bob Seger; always the stranger in town, but minus the band of silver bullets. I’m trying, and I do enjoy sampling the local flavor.
I came across this one the other day. Did you know ULM is the victim of a sports curse? Me either, but apparently it’s a thing.
The story goes something like this. It’s rumored that Malone Stadium was built on an Indian burial ground—after all that’s usually how these things begin. The spirits of the fallen warrior-braves were fine with this arrangement, as long as ULM’s mascot remained the Indians. You can see where this is going.
By adopting the Warhawks, we’ve angered the spirits, and their wrath has come home to roost. And so it came to pass that the teams-formerly-known-as-Indians would invent new and interesting ways to lose. Snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, or so the phrase goes.
My first semester here, I may have given this some credence. Especially after the 2011 Western Kentucky game, a tragic vaudeville of late-game scoring that left the average ULM fan gargling Drano.
But I know better. And so should you. Sure, I get the allure. Humans always seek to understand, and perhaps this is the easiest way for sports fans to rationalize an embarrasing loss or sudden collapse.
The problem is these things have a tendency to take on a life of their own. Maybe there is something comforting about accepting a “curse,” but why be a glutton for punishment? It’s like being the smelly kid on the sports fan playground. And nobody wants that.
Don’t get me wrong, this kind of stuff is good for people in my profession. Ask any baseball writer in Boston or Chicago what sports curses do for book sales or page views.
But why be miserable for no good reason? I’ve never understood that. We’ve talked before about sports being a pleasing distraction, and that applies here too.
There’s nothing to enjoy about giving credence to a sports curse. Leave the annual prophecy of doom at the door and have some fun.
Besides, despite the powers of mythological medicine men, things are looking up around here.
Football should be favored to win the Sun Belt next season, baseball pulled that off last spring and basketball? Give it time. It’s getting better.
And if this upturn is a blip on the radar? Well, check out my book “Wigwam Woes,” coming to a retailer near you.
