October 30, 2000

It is no question that many people hold some sort of superstitious belief. The most well known superstitious groups of people seem to be athletes. Many athletes habitually perform rituals which seem both unorthodox and totally unrelated to the nature of the game they are playing. An example of an extremely superstitious person is Turk Wendell, a pitcher for the New York Mets. This man carries superstition with him on and off the field. On it, he always leaps over the foul line when entering or departing the field, and he used to brush his teeth after every inning pitched before his manager forbade it. Off it, he believes that the number 99 is so lucky that he not only wears it, but that he insisted that his latest contract be structured to end with 99 cents instead of an even dollar. What drives a man like Wendell, who is obviously good at his job anyway, to superstition? Are we born with a dose of paranormal belief, or do we acquire it from our environment?

Although it must be realized that superstitious people come from all walks of life, it is easiest to consider a specific group of people and their beliefs. Having been an athlete, I will speak of athletic superstitions because I feel I understand the mind processes of ballplayers. I feel that I was much more superstitious on the field than off it. I never gave much respect to the ideas of ESP or psychic readings or anything of that sort. I didn’t think anything of it if a black cat crossed my path or if I walked under a ladder. But when I stepped onto the baseball diamond, things changed. I had several rituals which I performed out of habit every time I played. First, I would always make a conscious effort to step on the chalk foul lines whenever I entered or departed the field. When warming up, I always threw a changeup on the fourth warm-up toss, and not before. After I threw a pitch, I would always walk off the mound towards the catcher, receive the ball, turn right, circle around to the back of the mound, and then ascend to the rubber, never varying from that routine unless of course the ball was put in play. If I were called in to relieve another pitcher, I would always charge out of the bullpen at full speed, rather than a slow jog.

Was there a method to my madness? I believe that I had very good reasons for doing the things I did. I stepped on the foul lines because I observed that so many other players had a superstition about not stepping on them. I felt that if I did the opposite of them, I would have different and better luck than they did because I was a different type of player. I threw a changeup on the fourth pitch because the batter who was watching me warm up would see me throw three fastballs, and think that was all I threw. Then I’d drop the changeup in to keep him guessing. If I threw it earlier, he’d know I liked to throw it often and would be looking for it. If I threw it later, I wouldn’t get to throw it enough to make sure I had command of it. I walked around the mound and ascended it from the back because I felt that if I broke the routine, a batter would get a hard hit off of me. And I charged in from the mound to try to intimidate the batters with my intensity and energy.

Did my rituals really make me a better pitcher? Probably not. Lifting weights, running, and practicing location of pitches makes you a better pitcher. Stepping on chalk lines and walking around the mound does not. But over time, I felt that all these things were necessary for me to perform at my peak level. Why did I come to this conclusion? It was generally because these mannerisms had led at one time to a successful outing. For example, the first time I charged in from the mound at full speed was the second outing of my senior year. Our team was playing one of the top 10 teams in the state of Kentucky, and I was called in to relieve in the fifth inning. I modeled my run after a successful major league closer. I promptly came in and pitched two perfect thirds of an inning before leaving for a pinch-hitter the next half-inning. I played well that night; therefore I had to continue the gallop every time I was called on to pitch. This is why I believe that superstitions are acquired from our own experiences, rather than from heritable traits. I learned my superstitious behavior by either performing it originally myself, or modeling my actions after a successful person. Contrary to what Stuart Vyse suggests in his work, Believing in Magic: The Psychology of Superstition, I don’t feel that certain demographic groups are more genetically prone to superstition than others. I think athletes and other individuals whose performances are somewhat reliant on luck tend to look to superstition as a way to gain any possible advantage over the competition. And in a way, they do gain one because by performing their superstitious acts, they put themselves in a better psychological state, which can translate into better physical performance. If for some reason I missed the chalk line while walking to the field, I would be haunted for the rest of the inning by the realization that I hadn’t performed my "lucky" ritual. And that in turn could make me lose just enough focus so that I made a critical error. We all face uncertainties in life, and many of us turn to superstition as a way of trying exert some sort of control over things which are ultimately out of our hands. Because each of us has his own beliefs and rituals, superstition must not be something inherited like hair color or body type, but rather an individual leap of faith molded by experience.