How To Jinx Your Favourite Team
Office conversation on Friday morning:
Al: "Big day tomorrow, mate. Your blokes are takin' on that mob from that strange country."
The Enigma: "Yeah. I know, huh. [Insert name of big sporting tournament here] qualifying spot up for grabs, man."
Al: "If you guys are any good, you'll pummel them and still have enough breath left to run a marathon."
The Enigma: "Mate, don't you worry. We've already got our spot in the next round all sewn up. We've just gotta turn up and we'll win the match. We're gonna do a clean sweep this year, mate. You're useless idiots down at Highbury have no chance against us this season. We are the real deal mate, and don't you forget it."
Al is only able to offer a feeble, "Yeah, whatever." and makes a run for his computer, before I have the chance to rub his nose in the dirt, just that little bit more.
My last comment cut deep, but Al had to wilt without even considering a comeback, for he knew my comments had every chance of being on the money this season. From Al's point of view, his team's season is already a write-off. Why waste personal credibility making outrageous claims about your own beloved team, when you know they have no chance in frozen hell of coming true, right?
Wrong! I had, more likely than not, jinxed my team to an extent that even a minor miracle would not be able to help them. That should have been the call for Al to prepare a list of snide remarks ready for that conversation next to the coffee machine on Monday morning - and prepare he did. For if my comments cut deep on Friday, Al's calls cut to the bone on Monday.
You guessed it, the game in question was Manchester United's loss to FC Copenhagen. My stars were misaligned and unfortunately, I copped plenty of sly remarks today. Worse than I have ever copped in recent history. I still maintain that my friends' brutality stems from the realisation that my prediction of Man United winning the treble this season is not far off the mark.
Snigger all ye want, boys. I shall have the last laugh when the fat lady finally sings.
Al: "Big day tomorrow, mate. Your blokes are takin' on that mob from that strange country."
The Enigma: "Yeah. I know, huh. [Insert name of big sporting tournament here] qualifying spot up for grabs, man."
Al: "If you guys are any good, you'll pummel them and still have enough breath left to run a marathon."
The Enigma: "Mate, don't you worry. We've already got our spot in the next round all sewn up. We've just gotta turn up and we'll win the match. We're gonna do a clean sweep this year, mate. You're useless idiots down at Highbury have no chance against us this season. We are the real deal mate, and don't you forget it."
Al is only able to offer a feeble, "Yeah, whatever." and makes a run for his computer, before I have the chance to rub his nose in the dirt, just that little bit more.
My last comment cut deep, but Al had to wilt without even considering a comeback, for he knew my comments had every chance of being on the money this season. From Al's point of view, his team's season is already a write-off. Why waste personal credibility making outrageous claims about your own beloved team, when you know they have no chance in frozen hell of coming true, right?
Wrong! I had, more likely than not, jinxed my team to an extent that even a minor miracle would not be able to help them. That should have been the call for Al to prepare a list of snide remarks ready for that conversation next to the coffee machine on Monday morning - and prepare he did. For if my comments cut deep on Friday, Al's calls cut to the bone on Monday.
You guessed it, the game in question was Manchester United's loss to FC Copenhagen. My stars were misaligned and unfortunately, I copped plenty of sly remarks today. Worse than I have ever copped in recent history. I still maintain that my friends' brutality stems from the realisation that my prediction of Man United winning the treble this season is not far off the mark.
Snigger all ye want, boys. I shall have the last laugh when the fat lady finally sings.
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