With Game 5 of the World Series mere hours away, I have good news for Jim, our resident Philadelphia sports fan: I'm rooting for the Tampa Bay Rays.  The reason for this good news is a story Jim knows only too well: in the 8th inning of Game 7 of the 2001 World Series, my hubris invoked the wrath of the sports gods.  The teams that I root for have been paying the price ever since. 

Everyone knows that gambling makes sports more exciting. While a true fan can always appreciate the skill of the athletes involved, adding a few dollars to the mix can add a degree of personal investment that otherwise only comes with years of devoted following.  But where a wager can make the most boring athletic matchup exciting, experienced gamblers also know the opposite is true: when your team is involved, you are already emotionally invested.  Don't add gambling to the mix.  Never, ever gamble when your team is involved.
In college, gambling meant one thing: sandwiches from Luis' Deli.  Luis was a cantankerous old Portuguese man who sold bottom-of-the-barrel porn magazines with names like "40+" and "Big Girls Quarterly" at the counter along with his sandwiches.  Advertised in the window of the shop: "A half-pound of meat in every sub!"  At Luis, the customer was rarely right: god help you if you tried to go off-menu at Luis Deli.  Seinfeld had their Soup Nazi.  We had our Sandwich Nazi.  Naturally, we all loved him.

Whenever a wager was to be had, the stakes would be lunch at Luis Deli.  The shorthand became, "Bet you a Luis", which meant that you would purchase a sandwich of the victor's choosing as well as a sandwich for yourself.  Total cost per Luis bet came out to about $10.  As college students, $10 was not to be wagered lightly.

Going into the 2001 World Series I was confident that the Yankees would defeat the Diamondbacks.  I was also ignorant to the unwritten rules of the gambling world, and bet Jim a Luis that my team, the Yankees, would emerge victorious.

Fast forward to Game 7, entering the bottom of the 8th inning.  Jim and I, along with about a dozen other people, are watching the game in the living room of the fraternity house. The Yankees had just taken a 2-1 lead thanks to an Alfonso Soriano home run off Curt Schilling, and Mariano Rivera was jogging in to shut the door for his patented post-season 2-inning save. At this point, I loudly and repeatedly declared to the room: "It is over! Enter Sandman! Oh yeah, it is over, here comes Mariano! Woo!"

Incensed by my obnoxious, premature declaration of victory, and probably really drunk, Jim issued the challenge: "Oh yeah, you are so confident? Then let's double the bet! 2 Luis!"

I had already tempted fate by betting on my own team.  Perhaps I had already gone too far.  But surely I wouldn't push the issue by accepting this challenge, would I?  Oh, but in my mind the game was already won.  Here came Mariano to slam the door as he always, unfailingly did in these situations.  So instead, I uttered the words I would regret to this day:

"How about we make it 5 Luis?"

5 Luis.  What was I thinking?  My bet was taken, and my fate was sealed.

As the fittingly-named Luis Gonzalez won the game with a bloop hit over Jeter's head to bring in the winning run, the room exploded with the triumphant roar of the Yankee haters.  Mariano had just cost the Yankees their fourth-straight World Series.  And I had just lost a 5 Luis bet. 

And not only would I suffer that night, I would have to suffer every day for the next 5 days, at lunchtime, as I trudged down to Luis to pay off my debt, one sandwich at a time. 

As bad as that suffering was, I thought that would be the end of it.  But instead I became a Talisman of bad luck.  Every team I rooted for in the playoffs ever since has lost, save one.

When the Lakers repeatedly defeated the Kings over and over in the early 00's? My fault.
When the Eagles lost to the Patriots in the Super Bowl? Oops, my bad.
When the Red Sox finally broke through against the Yankees and ended an 86-year World Series drought? Sorry about that.

And my bad luck has extended even beyond the world of sports.

(As to the one exception: I am not so foolish as to think that the Giants' Super Bowl victory last February was anything but a brief respite of color in the greyed-out world of failure I have created for myself.  The Curse of Luis Deli was nothing compared to the bad karma that the Patriots carried into the game.)

So cheer up, Jim, and the citizens of Philadelphia: I am rooting for the Rays.  Therefore, your victory is assured.  Congratulations.