Under normal circumstances, he would have called or e-mailed by now.
Your luck has struck again, he'd cheer.
As always, I'd laugh at the absurdity. Later, I'd ponder the coincidence. Maybe he was on to something. Maybe I shouldn't mess with success. Even if it's about sports.
Like legions of superstitious fans, I took the Lightning's Stanley Cup win personally. I patted myself for a job well done, and I hadn't even lifted a stick.
I didn't have to. All it took was my moving to Tampa.
OVER THE YEARS, championship games have followed me from city to city. Communities moan about losing, then I roll into town and, boom, they're clawing their way to the top.
When I lived outside Cincinnati in 1989, the Bengals went to the Super Bowl. The next year, when I moved to Denver, it was the Broncos. Neither team won, but they gave the towns plenty to celebrate.
In 1991, I headed to Minnesota, where the Twins beat the Atlanta Braves in the World Series. I watched it happen in a Minneapolis bar. Fans washed down beer with shots of Jagermeister, then cried tears of joy.
A trifecta for me.
MY STREAK FADED when I moved to Puerto Rico. No professional teams. The Caribbean salt air dulled my powers.
But it returned in 1998 when I settled in Southern California. The Padres went up against the ever strong New York Yankees, but lost. Not bad, considering it was only San Diego's second time in the World Series.
It seems moving to Tampa has bolstered my record. Last year, of course, the Bucs won the Super Bowl after so many shameful seasons that people assumed they'd never win. I let Jon Gruden take credit, but we all know the truth.
And don't forget the Florida Marlins to the south. Winners again, among 30 teams.
Which leads us to the Lightning. Team destiny. Tampa Bay's miracle. Whatever you want to call them. Until the not-so-distant past, few called them winners.
No surprise to me that they took it all. Who knows? Maybe the Devil Rays aren't far from the World Series in the ultimate - and possibly most challenging - test of my powers.
Before the hockey playoffs, I wagered $20 in a hockey pool that Tampa Bay would kiss the Cup. I was among only two of 22 people who picked the Lightning to Zamboni through all four rounds.
Even my Montreal-born, Tampa-raised boyfriend, a Lightning season-ticket holder since the Expo Hall days, put his head before his heart and picked Detroit. Knowing each player's record, temperament and even stick type, he said he just had to.
I remember the first round against the New York Islanders. Second game, shutout loss. Co-workers and friends, including hockey nuts, said get ready for another abbreviated playoff run. Lightning just doesn't have what it takes.
What was that?
I'm still expecting my old friend to congratulate me on the win. He's living in Cuba these days, importing air conditioners and exporting cigars, which is another story altogether. Maybe the news hasn't pushed through Castro's sensors. Heck, based on the dismal TV ratings, it seems few outside Tampa and Canada have heard.
It doesn't matter.
The people who take credit for it certainly have.
THE LAST DROP: Old Hyde Park Village can't get a break. First Jacobson's department store chain announced it was calling it quits. Now Madstone Theaters, after a short, but seemingly successful, run in Tampa. Managers vow to keep the movies rolling. Stay tuned.
