The Anatomy of Superstition

BY NEW WRITER DANNY RYAN

When I was younger I was weird(er). For years I had this weird little OCD tick where I had to touch my face and glasses an even number of times for good luck. I could be seen, fidgeting, whenever I was incredibly nervous about the future. This would be heightened in high-anxiety situations, most notably when I was around women I found attractive and during big sports games. Trust me, it made sense at the time. When the fate of the universe is dependent on how many times you touch your face, life can be stressful. While I have since partially grown out of that routine in my everyday life, superstition has always played a part in my short-lived sports career and long-term fandom. Every athlete has their pregame routines, but mine bordered on obsessive. Before lacrosse games, I would always do everything identically to how I did it the game before. I would say goodbye to my dog right before I left the house, making sure to pet him an even number of times and reminding him that he was indeed a good boy and always would be. It was comforting to know that even if I did die during the game, at least he would know how I truly felt about him (I did not do this for anyone else in my family). Once I got into my car and drove to the game, I had a strict order of songs I would play on the way to the game, culminating in me bumping “Welcome to the Black Parade” by the TIMELESS band My Chemical Romance alone in the parking lot. When I got in the locker room, I would always get dressed halfway before getting my ankles taped (bender). After I was ready, I would always play catch with the same kid, to warm up our sticks. For some reason, I always insisted on the throwing session ending in a hug instead of a handshake which is a lot weirder in hindsight, but I digress. After, I’d get fully dressed before having my teammate do my eye-black for me. My senior year we won more when I just wrote “Lion” on my face, so that became my staple. This was because I started trying to go by Dan Lion instead of Dan Ryan. It did not catch on. When we went out on the field I would always be in the second row, enough to make noise but not be a focal point. We would touch the field and I would always immediately yell “Cabs are here!”, in honor of Dj Pauly D and to symbolize that we were indeed in this motherfucker. Everything about each day was systematic and precise to a key and it usually produced results, so I persisted. Even though my athletic career did not continue (shocker), my anxiety/OCD still thinks I play a humongous part in every game for my favorite teams.

Now, during Michigan’s dream run to the national championship, it has been in full force. Today, right before the biggest game of my basketball career, I have my new rituals. I will be wearing the same clothes I have worn every game: a yellow Michigan long sleeve, black jeans and Sandlot edition PF flyers. No, they have not been washed yet. They still reek of beer and terrible body odor, but anything for the team the team the team. I will be watching with one of my oldest friends, because we win when we watch together. Naturally, I did not get a lot of sleep. Every dream I had ended with me dunking on Miles Bridges and for some reason I’d wake up screaming “HOWS YOUR HEART NOW URBAN.” Luckily, this morning I abused my cold brew consumption and listened to 400 Meek Mill songs to guarantee that I’ll be up till 2021. The final hours leading up to the game will be grueling, but, much like Duncan scoring at least 6, I know I’m doing my part.

Moments away from leaving, my dog is now sitting next to me waiting for me to say goodbye to him (he can sense anxiety, rain and victory). This could be our final goodbye, because there is an 80% chance that I don’t survive this game. Villanova is the most talented team in the country and is capable of blowing out any team. But luckily, we have a secret weapon they can’t create a game plan for: me.

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