I don’t know what it was about that day I laid a curse on Prez. It was a feeling unlike any I’d experienced, a pulsing power in my hands. I immediately harnessed the surge of electricity and knew exactly what I had to do, as if I was given some explicit direction from a magical source. Looking back, that’s exactly what it was. Magic.
Everyone laughed at me. Prez guffawed. KFC said, “You can’t put a curse on New England. That’s just not how it works.” Even my Philly contemporaries doubted. Smitty urged me to consider what I was doing. Lou said the curse wasn’t working when the Patriots made the Super Bowl. But that wasn’t the curse. The curse was “Hey Dave, the Patriots aren’t gonna win the Super Bowl this year.” It was a battle rap curse. And it worked.
I had to double down on Barstool Radio, compounding my curse with a guarantee. They squirmed and called me a jinx. I knew there was more at stake.
At this point I am eagerly awaiting a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or at least Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Every wizard has doubts, but the confirmation I received in my skills last night was both affirming and empowering.
And mostly, we raised a bunch of money for the kids.
Oh, and won the Super Bowl.