I play along with the notion that I’m the world’s biggest jinx because it’s kind of fun and it does no harm. But sometimes something happens to make me wonder:
Am I the world’s biggest jinx?
One of those somethings happened, or almost happened, Wednesday night. I was trying to program my daughter’s new flat-screen HDTV — this is a shout-out to those who’ve lampooned the state of the Bradley televisions — and I flipped past the Braves’ game. I noticed they had no hits. Whenever I flipped back, I noticed they still had no hits and didn’t appear capable of mustering one. And what had I written just the other day?
I dithered for an inning or so before finally deciding: If Josh Johnson does complete the feat, I should probably be there to write about it. (And maybe to take a cut of his kudos, having obviously aided and abetted in my capacity as Mr. Jinx.) So I got in the car.
I drove out of the neighborhood. The bottom of the eighth commenced. Alex Gonzalez tapped back to Johnson. (In the time I’d been watching, I hadn’t seen the Braves hit the ball out of the infield.) Freddie Freeman was next. He’d looked awful his previous at-bat. I figured, “No chance he breaks this up.”
He broke it up. Hit a double. I’d jinxed my own bit of jinxing. Is that even possible?
I turned around and went home. And I’ll try hard to say nothing of no-hitters for the foreseeable future. I’m starting to creep myself out.
By Mark Bradley