August 13th, 2016. It was a day that will forever go down in history. At precisely 6:50 p.m., Mónica Puig won the first Olympic gold medal, in any sport, for Puerto Rico in the women’s tennis final against German opponent Angelique Kerber. It was downright glorious. You could literally feel the pride in the air, and you could see how the country came together to support this athlete and how we came together when she won. This young woman had managed to unite a divided colony with just a medal. She managed to make everyone forget about every single problem we were facing, whether it was political, economical, social, or even health related. It seemed as if the whole island stopped and focused just on watching her game and watching her win that medal. However, I did not watch the game.
Don’t get me wrong, I take enormous pride in being Puerto Rican and I will always root for our athletes and support them in any way that I can; I just can’t watch their games. Why? Because I am cursed. Yes, you read that right. You may find yourself thinking that I am crazy, but this has an actual explanation that has taken me years to figure out, and I will try to explain it to you. Let’s take it back to middle school, the glorious days of 7th grade where Calculus homework didn’t exist and SATs were the furthest thing from my mind. You see, it was around this time that my sister started to play volleyball for a club. So naturally, when my family figured out that one of my siblings at least had potential to be good at sports, we had to support her at her games. Like the great big sister that I am, I usually found ways to not go to her games, not because I didn’t like them, but because they were very long, very hot and humid, and very, very boring. It’s not the same thing to watch 3rd graders play volleyball, than to watch professionals do it.
As her volleyball career began to progress, I found myself realizing that every time that I attended her games and watched them, her team would lose. I know, that’s crazy, but it’s true. At first I thought it was just my mind playing games, until my little brother started playing volleyball and the same exact thing happened. I don’t know how else to explain it, but every single damn time I went to support my siblings, they lost their games, and when I wasn’t there, they won. When I told my family my theory, both of my siblings got mad at me and told their teammates, and I swear to you there was a period of time where I was banned from their games. Maybe not officially, but spiritually.
What does this have to do with Olympics or professional sports? Well, you see, I tested this theory on sports you would usually see on TV. For example, I remember a Super Bowl where my dad’s favorite team played. I hadn’t watched any other game in the season and that team had won them all. I watched the Super Bowl; they lost. In the London Olympics of 2012, Javier Culson, a runner from Puerto Rico, was expected to win the gold. I didn’t watch any of his runs, and he won all of them until he qualified for finals. Then, my 13-year-old brain couldn’t resist not watching the “historic” final, so I turned on the TV despite thinking to myself that I couldn’t, and watched it. He got Bronze. Sorry Culson. I promise I won’t watch your Olympic runs this year.
Another recent example is the Fifa World Cup of 2014. By this time I had already accepted my curse and just moved away from watching any type of live sport. I can’t even go to my school’s tournaments. During Fifa, I probably watched about zero matches because any time my family turned them on or we were at a public place watching I would turn away and not watch. However, because Argentina was in the final, they had practically been victorious the whole cup, and they were my family’s favorite team, we had a party to watch. Who was there? Me. Who was forced to watch the game? Me. Who lost the 2014 Fifa World Cup? Argentina. Exactly. So now you understand why I couldn’t watch any of Mónica’s matches live.
The day of her semifinal on Friday the 12th, my entire school watched it in the auditorium. I, however, with the help of friends and a teacher, managed to escape and take a nap in the cafeteria, waking up to the news that she had won. On Saturday, during the final, I was glued to my phone trying to get updates, and simultaneously receiving messages from my best friends, my mom, and my grandma to make sure I wasn’t watching the game and that the TV was off. I wish I could say I was kidding. However, I was able to watch the final point (thanks Bibi, Yoeli, and Isa for the permission to turn on the TV) and I watched Puig take home the gold. Furthermore, I watched and listened to our national anthem, La Borinqueña being played for the first time at the Olympics. It was a moment I’ll never forget, and it’ll probably be the last time I will ever be allowed to watch a game that important again.
