I am one of those guys who always says, "I am not superstitious," but you will never find me walking under a ladder. In fact, I am not all that keen with walking underneath the scaffolding that is put up on the building fronts in my neighborhood, but sometimes I have to.
Likewise, I do not often consider myself lucky, but nor do I consider myself unlucky.
That being said, I do recognize events or happenings can have an element of luck. It is chance, after all.
The goalkeeper who has to take a penalty kick in the 11th round of a shootout, is he unlucky for failing to convert, or did the opposing keeper just make a lucky save?
Was it unlucky that I had a bad dream that caused me to jump out of bed precisely when that shootout started on Thursday night?
I am choosing to consider it lucky.
As I was walking around my apartment and trying to calm myself down (it was a pretty scary dream, though I no longer can recall the specific details), I thought to myself, "hey, let me just check the result of the final," and as soon as I got to the website, I realized that the shootout n was just starting. So, I followed the online commentary, deciding that I was not awake enough to turn on the TV and locate the channel to watch it live. It provided the needed distraction from my bewildered, frightened state from a few moments before, and had the extra little bonus that comes when you are a neutral observer of a nerve-racking penalty shootout, especially if the result goes in your not so neutral favor. (Funny how we claim to be neutral even though we have a preference.)
Staying on the football, is it unlucky that the defensive player tries to pass the ball out of the box directly in front of his goal, but somehow kicks the ball directly into the opposing forward, resulting in a rather comical and unusual own goal?
With that example, I would probably say that luck had nothing to do with it; it was the sheer fact that the guy was being a dipshit.
And no, I do not consider it superstitious that immediately after that match a few months ago I stopped using my lucky Arsenal mug on game days.
I was not thinking about any of this at Thursday lunchtime when I decided to run to the Coffee Haus to buy beans. I was glad that it was not raining, since we have lately experienced rather unusual weather, where it rains for a little bit, then the sun comes out, then it rains again, sometimes multiple times in a row.
I was just glad to be out on the street, and was walking past a supermarket when I heard (and felt) a splat-splat.
Realization hit as I glanced down at my chest and saw a medium sized plop of bird poop right on my shirt. For the second time since I have lived in Germany, I have had the unpleasant (but very funny) experience of getting shit on by a bird.
"Damn," I thought to myself as I felt for a bandanna that should have been in my back pocket of my jeans. Of all the times to have just taken a shower and put on fresh jeans (I usually wear my jeans more than once before washing) and forgotten to put a new bandanna in my pocket before heading out...
I looked for a tissue in my jacket pocket, and found one single one left in the packet, which I used to try and wipe the crud off my shirt. This was a fruitless effort and just made it look like I had been finger painting on myself. It was a breast shot, so pretty much my entire left pectoral area was a mess of yuck.
Thinking, "Well this sucks," I debated whether to go on to the bean store, as I was about half way there. As I stood there wondering what to do, I noticed the second splat that had hit my upper thigh, not quite the size of the first splat, but enough to convince me that returning home to attend to things might be the best decision.
I did feel somewhat fortunate that I had not been looking up at that precise moment or that it wasn't a facial hit (I was using a brand new face mask) but was still not ready to talk about luck. I went back to my flat, walked in the bathroom and found a cloth to try and wipe of the new art on my shirt, quickly making it worse than the tissue had.
As angry as I was, I was starting to laugh as I took my t-shirt off and rinsed it in the basin. It was not Big Bird or an ostrich, but it certainly was not a hummingbird that had (in fairness, probably not deliberately) let loose on me, and I let the water run a little longer to wash the muck down the drain. Turning my attention to the spot on my jeans, I figured I could do a quick wipe and that would be the end of it. Again, after another finger painting exercise that just made everything worse, I figured it would be best to remove the jeans.
This was confirmed when I finally noticed the mother load of shit that had landed on the bottom of my jeans, somehow not managing to get on my boots. Maybe it was lucky that I roll my jeans, as that seemed to have contained the disgusting glop from getting all over my boots and the laces. I left the water running even longer to wash that down the drain, and complimented myself on my ability to carefully remove boots and pants without getting shit everywhere.
The crisis was over pretty quickly, and I put on new fresh jeans (yep...of course the ones with the button-fly that no longer stays buttoned) and a fresh t-shirt before heading back out to finish my errand.
The thing about this kind of experience is that I cannot wait to tell someone about it. I almost told the lady at the coffee place, and later on I was on a conference call where one of the participants started the meeting (in the "hi, everyone, how is your day going?" phase) by telling us that his upstairs neighbors had left their water running in the bathroom, which caused significant damage to his own bathroom. I elected not to respond with own mishap, perhaps wisely. After all, how important is a little poo in comparison to a flood inside your flat?
Later on, I did finally get to tell someone, and was reminded that such incidents are said to bring good luck.
I remain skeptical that it is lucky to be pooped on, but again, at least find thanks that it was not a flock of bully birds looking for targets. Yes, I have a vivid imagination and have read just every Far Side comic out there, so I know just how gritty such events could be.
With that, I am going to refill my Arsenal coffee mug (it is not a game day, the season is over), and go outside and look up at the sky and laugh.
And I might even do it with my mouth open.
I feel lucky.
See you out there
bryan
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