National airtime

I watched my team play tonight. The Purdue Boilermakers from West Lafayette, Indiana. Coach Gene Keady has one of the most valiant combovers in the Big Ten. And his hair never seems to change color. It stays dark enough to make it seem as if, with his gold blazer, he is perpetually displaying the team colors.

It's with very mixed feelings that I watch Purdue play. As cheering as it is to watch a "hometown" game from 600 miles away, I must consider the balance. Is the heartwarming nostalgia and the feeling of home worth knowing that there is some subliminal force that takes over as soon as my eyes connect with that television screen? Some malevolent essence that will inevitably tilt the scales of fortune in favor of whoever Purdue is playing?

I'm like a junkie who has just been handed a fix by a passing stranger. I'm not a "sports nut." I have dear friends who are into fantasy sports leagues in a way that is beyond my comprehension. I don't particularly care for the sports section of the newspaper. All those statistics are too close to the financial pages for my taste. Numbers leave me cold. I enjoy watching, though. That's it. I'm an athletics voyeur. I rarely look at television listings, but if I happen to surf past a game and a Big Ten team is playing, I'll probably stop and watch.

I shouldn't. I know this. I have this wicked mojo that drives the best efforts of my adopted college straight into the septic tank. But I have difficulty mustering the will to mutter a quick prayer and skip the channel, having faith that God will lead my team to victory. Nope. I have to tune in. Particularly if they are playing Indiana University. Everybody knows the devil wears red and so do the Hoosiers. But I am compelled to watch. Somewhere in the bargain I turn the fortunes of the boys in gold and black over to the machinations of the Evil One and they fail to win. Again. Before the eyes of the nation. Alas.

It's worse living on this coast. Something in the air here diminishes the capacity of people to see beyond their fences. I can't tell you how many times people have asked me if Purdue University has anything to do with chickens. Watch carefully people. P-U-R-D-U-E. Count the E's. That's right. One. P-E-R-D-U-E. Those are the chicken fellas.

It happened again tonight. I watched a very close game. Almost to the end. Then IU began hitting three-pointers with disgusting accuracy. I might as well have replaced the sound of the announcer's voiceovers with the sound of a commode flushing. The end result was about the same. At least I suppose. At 10 seconds left in the game, I walked away. I can know Purdue is losing again, but you can't make me look as it happens.

Next time, Hoosiers. Next time.