I love Skittles. Not just any old kind, mind you, but the ones that come in the purple bag:
A handful of these is the happiest mouthful of candy I can imagine – much better than original, crazy core, sour, or whatever other newfangled kind of Skittles they’ve come up with these days.
Apparently their infinite charm somehow eludes the masses, however, as I have seen less and less of them over the years. Gone are they from the supermarkets, the movie theaters, the convenience stores. Before today it had probably been over two years since I had last sampled this delicacy. As I was walking back to the office from lunch with a group of co-workers I happened to see a splash of purple out of the corner of my eye amongst rows and rows of candy at a tiny streetside stand. After a moment’s hesitation I stopped and came clean to my co-workers right there on the sidewalk. “Keep going,” I said. “I’ve got to stop for purple Skittles.”
So worth it.
Now, I’m not a superstitious person at all. I do believe in luck, but not in our power to somehow manufacture it by observing the most ridiculous routines of behavior possible. I will admit though that as a kid when I really wanted something I saw no harm in asking for it “for luck.”
One such instance was before a church league basketball game when I was a freshman in high school. I really wanted one of those ginourmous bags of purple Skittles. So I asked my Grandma to buy me one for luck, an argument that probably wasn’t even necessary as she often makes it her mission in life to buy me things. I then brought my prize to the game and proceeded to hand them out to everyone on my team, telling them they were lucky Skittles. No harm in instilling a little confidence in my teammates, was there? Of course it’s me, so by a little I mean I was dancing across the court during warm-up, flinging candy and singing of purple Skittles, lucky lucky Skittles, lucky lucky purple Skittles.
It seemed like an inspired idea, until during the game I came down wrong from a jump shot and twisted my ankle rather severely. Not only did I have to sit out my indoor soccer tournament that weekend (a slow torture), but it was the second and more serious of what was to become a long, long string of sprained ankles. I didn’t buy a bag of purple Skittles for months.
I say all this because tonight my St. Louis Cardinals are playing in Game 7 of the World Series. At the end of the night one of these teams is going to be the champions and I’d really rather it be us. And there’s no sport in existence that inspires more superstition or requires more luck than baseball. So you can understand my hesitation this afternoon to gleefully rip open that bag of purple Skittles and gobble down those luck-yet-to-be-determined morsels. I know if I explained the situation to The Best Friend she would be on a plane and putting her hand down my throat before I swallowed a single one.
It was only a short moment of hesitation though, before I realized that the chances of me staring at that purple bag sitting on my desk the whole day and not devouring them were lower than those of the Rally Squirrel starting in left field.
Purple candy aside, I have absolute faith in my boys (my fingers cross this way naturally).
LET’S GO CARDINALS!!!!