When I was growing up, my family belonged to Crispin Gardens Athletic Club, located in Pennypack Park in Northeast Philadelphia, where my family lived. My father and mother were very involved with the club, so, naturally, we kids were, too. Or, to be accurate, the first four of my parents’ children were involved. The other three were too young to play at the time we were members.

My two brothers were good at baseball and football, which were the two sports offered to boys. My younger sister and I were not good at softball or cheerleading, which were the sports available for girls. But that didn’t stop us from participating in both activities.

I was a cheerleader for 5-year-old football players. I could never figure out how to do a cartwheel so I got to cheerlead for kids who hadn’t figured out how to play football.

I also played softball. When I was in about fifth or sixth grade, my sister and I were on a team together. Neither of us ever got a hit. So, the two of us were traded by our team … for one girl from another team. Our neighbor, Mrs. Devine, who was a family friend, managed a team in the league and she took pity on us. She gave up one of her better players for the two of us.

We did her proud … once. When Mrs. Devine’s team played our former team, both my sister and I got hits, much to our former team’s dismay.

I think those hits were our only hits, but they came at the perfect time. And, to make our victory even sweeter, our new team beat out our old team to win the club’s World Series. There was probably a lesson there …  but it was for our former team, and I doubt they learned it. Little league managers can be ruthless.

There was another lesson taught that season and this one was for me. I was fiercely jealous of the girl who replaced my sister and me. She was a few years younger than I was, around my sister’s age. So, not only was she a better player than I was, she was younger. I was demoralized. I wished all kinds of evil on her. And then, within a few weeks, she was dead.

She was hit by a car driven by a young guy who lived across the street from us. I was overcome with guilt for wishing her ill. I was certain that I had caused her death. When I got a little older and realized that I probably had nothing to do with her dying (although, we’ll never really know how powerful thoughts can be), I resolved to not wish bad things on people, no matter how much I disliked them.

So, years passed and I joined the occasional team and was always the worst player. I couldn’t even successfully serve a plastic volleyball over a swimming pool net. But this year, my luck could be changing.

Six of the Boccegaloops

Our city sponsors many spring and summer sports leagues that play on the courts and fields at Calf Pasture Beach in Norwalk, Connecticut. My husband and I are on a bocce team, Don Carmelo’s Boccegaloops. We were on it two years ago and the team came in last place. Our record wasn’t entirely due to my skill-less playing, but it certainly contributed. My husband persuaded me to play again this year. The team was happy to have us back, because of my husband’s skills, so we rejoined.

Last night, we had our first game and we won. And I didn’t stink. I credit the one practice we had a few weeks ago for turning the tide. I actually helped the team win. I wasn’t the best player (my husband and the other players were really good), but I wasn’t an embarrassment. And, I didn’t throw the ball wildly and crack any skulls. I kept the ball on the court and even got my red ball really close to the little white ball, the pallino, a few times, which is the object of the game.

But what made me especially proud was that I didn’t wish any ill luck on a certain member of the opposing team. Others may have, but I didn’t. I did talk trash about her later, but I didn’t wish her any misfortune for her bad behavior.

It all started when our red ball and the opposing team’s green ball looked equidistant from the pallino. When that happens, you’re supposed to measure the distance between the closest green ball and the pallino and the closest red ball and the pallino, to see which ball is truly closest to the pallino.

We were winning 10-2 and the game ends when one team has 11 points. The head of the league came over and said that our ball was closer, so we were the winners. While gesticulating and jumping around in protest, a woman on the other team “accidentally” kicked our ball, making her ball look closer. Then she denied kicking it. But it was too late. We had won. And she was not happy.

Before she left, she shot us all a look that could kill. Some would call her look the “evil eye” or “malocchio.” She’s Italian so she probably knows how to activate it.

Anyway, I think my teammates and I would be wise to take precautions … at least until the league plays again next week. After then, she’ll probably despise another team and will have forgotten all about us.

I hope the evil eye loses its power once it’s transferred to someone else. If not, we’ll need to learn, and use, the fig and horned signs … and maybe stitch evil eye patches on our shirts.

Strangely enough, possessing an evil eye repels any evil eyes that might be directed your way.