I'm sitting here still shaken up by the close call my New York Giants had on Sunday.
Naturally I watched the Giants game with my best friend — my little dog Shlomo.
Now those who know me know that when it comes to the Giants I'm the most superstitious person in the world.
There was the time a few years ago during a Giants-Redskins game when I decided that if I took a sip of wine and a mouthful of peanuts before every play it would bring the Giants good luck.
By the end of the game I had consumed two full bottles of wine and ingested enough peanuts to kill your average-sized elephant. I made it (on my hands and knees) to my bedroom. I lay there unable to lift myself up to the bed, smelling and looking like Mr. Peanut, the symbol of Planters Peanuts.
This week I watched the first half of the Giants game with Shlomo asleep at my feet. The Giants and quarterback Eli Manning were terrible.
At halftime I decided to drown the Giants' sorrows in a giant martini glass filled with Absolut Peppar vodka and plenty of jalapeno-stuffed olives (for their nutritional value).
The second half started and Shlomo woke up and jumped onto my lap as I carefully balanced my martini so as not to drop my precious martini on his curly little head.
Then something wonderful happened. The Giants woke up. Eli was brilliant. The Giants' defense was holding. Then I started to think: What had changed from the dreadful first half of the game to now, when the Giants were coming back to life?
For one thing, I was holding a martini glass in my hand, and I had Shlomo sitting on my lap. That's it, I thought. That's it. Shlomo sitting on my lap is good luck for the Giants.
Now my mind was racing. Of course, Shlomo wasn't on my lap 10 days ago when the Giants lost like dogs to the hated Dallas Cowboys.
So that's the secret: Shlomo has to be stretched out on my lap when I watch the Giants play or they lose.
Now those of you who are snickering at this clearly are not fans. A real fan will stay for hours in the same position they were in when their team scored a goal or a run.
There are millions of cases of premature arthritis that were caused by sports fans sitting in a cramped position on a cold damp day at a stadium because they decided this position was lucky for their team and any other position was unlucky.
I may be crazy – but I'm not alone. If you are a sports fan and you love your team I know you believe in the "ugga bugga" that your little finger being bent in a certain way or the position of your ass has some supernatural control over the outcome of a game. It also helps to have plenty of alcohol in you when you make this great discovery.
Back to Sunday: Everything was working fine until the beginning of the fourth quarter. The Giants were moving, the Tampa Bay Bucs and their dick coach Greg Schiano were retreating. That's when both Shlomo and I got the feeling that we had to relieve ourselves. He squirmed. I squirmed.
"Impossible!!!" I said aloud to Shlomo. "We cannot move off this chair. It will cause the Giants to lose."
Shlomo started to really squirm. I held him with one hand and held the martini in the other.
"Good boy," I said. "Hold on, Shlomo, there's just eight minutes to go." I was pretty uncomfortable, too, but I knew if we got off that chair all would be lost.
So I kept hugging Shlomo with one hand. He looked at me and probably thought, "How did I wind up with this doggy pervert who won't stop hugging me?"
At one point I took a jalapeno out of a stuffed olive and tried to divert the pup's attention by feeding him the olive, but he rejected it.
Then, mercifully the game was over, with the Giants pulling off a dramatic win. "Lucky dog!" I shouted and raced for the john.
As I stood there I was already planning for the Giants-Carolina game on Thursday. Maybe this time I will stuff an olive with Benadryl and feed it to Shlomo. That will put him to sleep on my lap.
Then I asked myself: Will the good luck continue if Shlomo is sleeping? You never know how the Good-Luck Gods will react. Will they let sleeping dogs lie?
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