The Book Of Curses
Wait, Mr. Professional Athlete!
Don't bite that ear! Don't Heimlich that ump! Don't do something
that'll cost you another $10,000!
Yes, you got head-butted. Yes, the strike zone is now the size
of a coin slot. Yes, Patrick Ewing's knee just made a shambles
of your marriage. But violence is not the answer. Profanity is
not the answer. Revenge is not the answer.
Curses are the answer.
Curses hurt. Curses are forever. Curses are harder to take back
than clearance sale items.
Unfortunately, most curses are hopelessly out of date. May your
hens get the itch and your cows the disorder just doesn't have
the oomph it used to have. What you need is a new curse. For
instance:
May all your Victoria's Secret Catalogues feature only Marge
Schott.
May your car radio be permanently stuck on Farrell on the Bench.
May you pull both hammies 10 seconds into Pamplona.
May the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show hold its preliminaries
in your Buick.
May you wait in line a month for The Phantom Menace only to get
a seat directly behind Gheorghe Muresan.
May you be guessing outside changeup when Randy Johnson comes
chin with the gas.
May you have a wonderful short game--but only with your Big
Bertha.
May Karl Malone's right to swing his elbow begin at your nose.
May your living room, with your priceless antique Waterford
Crystal collection, be the site of the next DeBartolo family
reunion.
May you bathe in Lou Holtz's spittle.
May all your beers be warm, your nachos cold and your cable
signals scrambled.
May Michael Buffer do your funeral.
May all your bowling and golf scores be transposed.
May your daughter leave Yale to marry Lawrence Phillips.
May you inherit a lifetime supply of Rice football tickets.
May you be able to fit all your friends into Spud Webb's pants.
May you be lost in a bad part of Liverpool and surrounded by a
band of drunken soccer hooligans, when you suddenly realize your
new sweater is of the colors of Manchester United.
May your child's avowed role model be Lawrence Taylor.
May your nest egg be sunk entirely into the Pittsburgh Penguins.
May all your children bear a remarkable resemblance to Don
Zimmer--and not merely at birth.
May you enjoy a lifetime membership to the John Stockton Tanning
Salon.
May every football thrown your way arrive at the same instant as
Junior Seau.
May you have four hours of airtime to fill and only Hideki Irabu
to fill it.
May you graduate first in your class from the Dallas Cowboys
Finishing School.
May the Undertaker make a day's work of your neck.
May your one cup of coffee in the bigs come on the mound at
Coors Field.
May ESPN's Gary Miller's bathroom window look out onto your
prize roses.
May Cecil Fielder, Rick Majerus and Nate Newton make up your
rhythmic gymnastics team.
May each and every crucial decision in your life be made by Los
Angeles Clippers vice president of basketball operations Elgin
Baylor.
May your tattoo artist be more drunk than you are.
May you have Allen Iverson's size and Greg Ostertag's quickness.
May an Al MacInnis slap shot catch you right in the...shower.
May you win a lifetime subscription to Inside Curling.
May you be trapped on a Ferris wheel with George Will and his
new 1,000-page book, Essays on the Balk.
May your Indy car tires be tethered to your helmet.
May the only autograph you ever get be the governor's--on a
denied reprieve.
May an amorous, near-sighted grizzly find your Oski the Bear
suit incredibly realistic.
And, last, may the wind, the road and Bill Parcells be always in
your face.
COLOR PHOTO: DANA FINEMAN/SYGMA
May all your children bear a remarkable resemblance to Don
Zimmer--and not merely at birth.
