I didn’t move.
Not when Sam Antonacci doubled to open the second game of the American League Wild Card series against the Houston Astros. Not when Kyle Teel singled him home. And certainly not when Andrew Benintendi delivered a two-run single that helped the Chicago White Sox build a four-run lead before the Astros could record their second out.
There I sat, practically frozen in place, convinced that the slightest movement might somehow bring Chicago’s offensive outburst to an abrupt end.
Never mind that I was hundreds of miles from Daikin Park in Houston. Never mind that the White Sox players had absolutely no idea who I was, what I was wearing or whether I had gotten up to use the bathroom. And never mind that my position on the couch had precisely zero influence on a baseball traveling toward home plate at nearly 100 mph.
The White Sox were scoring. I wasn’t moving.
It wasn’t until Tristan Peters singled home Chicago’s fourth run and the inning finally ended that I allowed myself to get comfortable again.
Welcome to the wonderfully irrational world of sports superstitions, where otherwise reasonable adults become convinced that a lucky jersey, a particular snack or the precise arrangement of living room furniture might determine whether their favorite team wins or loses.
And apparently, I’m not alone.
A little luck never hurt anyone
My postseason wardrobe consisted of White Sox jerseys.
Every game. No exceptions.
When football season arrives, the situation becomes considerably more complicated. I pay attention to whether my team (either the Chicago Bears or Jacksonville Jaguars) is playing at home or on the road, choosing my jersey accordingly. I try to eat the same foods, snack at the same times and sit in the same location.
It’s definitely easy for my wife. Honestly, she probably thinks it’s a little obnoxious.
Sometimes a particular shirt becomes lucky. Other times, a hat gets blamed for a loss.
I understand how ridiculous this sounds.
I also know that if the White Sox had continued scoring every time I remained motionless during the playoffs, there’s a good chance someone would have needed to bring me dinner.
But the impulse to create rituals around sporting events isn’t unusual. A 2018 study published in Sport Management Review examined how superstitions influence the experience of watching sports. Researchers found that these behaviors were associated with fans’ emotional states during games and that more superstitious fans were more likely to attribute outcomes to outside influences such as fate or officiating.
In other words, fans aren’t necessarily trying to control a baseball game. They’re trying to control how helpless they feel while watching one.
A separate study published in Frontiers in Psychology in 2021 interviewed 24 soccer fans in Israel and identified two important elements of their superstitions: timing and location. Some fans performed rituals at specific moments. Others attached significance to where they watched games or sat inside stadiums. Researchers concluded that these behaviors could help fans manage the uncertainty and stress associated with sporting events.
That sounds suspiciously familiar. Especially the part about not moving.
The unwritten rules of being a fan
Superstitions aren’t exclusive to baseball.
Football fans develop routines around kickoff times, lucky clothing and where they sit. Some refuse to watch field-goal attempts. Others avoid speaking during important plays.
Hockey fans have their own rituals, sometimes refusing to celebrate a lead too early or changing where they stand during a power play.
Basketball fans might stay in the same chair during a shooting streak, wear a lucky shirt or refuse to discuss a possible victory before the final buzzer.
The details differ, but the underlying idea is remarkably consistent: Something good happened while I was doing this, therefore, I must keep doing this.
Of course, that logic has one enormous problem: Correlation isn’t causation.
A White Sox home run doesn’t happen because I happen to be wearing a black jersey instead of a white one. A missed field goal isn’t the result of someone opening a bag of potato chips at the wrong moment.
And yet, when the stakes increase, so does the temptation to believe.
In a 2006 study published in the Journal of Applied Social Psychology, researchers found that elite athletes were more committed to their rituals when the importance of the competition and the uncertainty surrounding its outcome increased. The research focused on athletes rather than spectators, but the emotional connection isn’t difficult to recognize.
A meaningless baseball game in May might not require any special preparation.
But Game 7 of the World Series? Suddenly, every article of clothing becomes a potential competitive advantage.
Baseball’s original creatures of habit
If fans are superstitious, baseball players have been perfecting the practice for generations.
Hall-of-Famer Wade Boggs famously followed an elaborate routine that included eating chicken before games, taking batting practice at specific times and following carefully established habits throughout the day. Boggs, who finished his career with 3,010 hits and a .328 batting average, believed luck played a meaningful role in his success.
In an August 2025 interview on MLB’s The Road to Cooperstown podcast, Boggs reflected on the importance of those rituals.
“I’ve always said I’d rather be lucky than good,” Boggs told MLB.com.
That might be one of the most revealing statements ever made about baseball superstition.
Boggs was unquestionably good. He won five batting titles, earned 12 All-Star selections and became one of the greatest contact hitters of his generation. But even with all that ability, he wanted every possible advantage, real or imagined.
Other players have taken their routines to even greater extremes.
Former major league pitcher Turk Wendell became known for brushing his teeth between innings, chewing black licorice and observing a collection of unusual habits throughout his career. Hall-of-Famer Larry Walker was famously attached to the number three, incorporating it into his uniform number and other aspects of his routine. And former Chicago Cubs outfielder Moisés Alou was among the players who openly discussed unconventional habits involving his hands and batting preparation.
Baseball has always been filled with characters whose rituals might seem strange anywhere outside a clubhouse.
But are modern players any different? Not necessarily.
A 2025 study published in the Journal of Sports Sciences examined superstitious rituals among athletes through interviews and focus groups involving 30 participants. Researchers identified connections between rituals, confidence, anxiety and the perceived importance of competition.
A more recent systematic review, examining 27 studies, likewise found that superstitious behavior remains common in sports.
There isn’t sufficient evidence to say today’s major leaguers are more or less superstitious than players from 20 or 50 years ago.
What seems clear is that the desire for routine hasn’t disappeared simply because the game has become more analytical. Baseball now measures everything from spin rate and launch angle to bat speed and the movement of a pitch. But there still isn’t a statistic capable of explaining why a player feels more comfortable wearing the same socks during a winning streak.
October brings out the believers
And that brings us to the final four teams who were in the running for the 2026 World Series.
Every pitch matters. Every baserunner creates anxiety. Every questionable managerial decision threatens to send thousands of people searching for something, anything that they can control.
In Cleveland, fans had endured a championship drought dating to 1948. That’s 78 years of waiting for another World Series title. Milwaukee had never won a World Series, despite reaching the Fall Classic in 1982. Tampa Bay had reached the World Series twice, in 2008 and 2020, without winning a championship. And Los Angeles, with a considerably more recent history of postseason success, entered this year’s championship series attempting to defend its title again and pull off a rare threepeat.
Once the pennants were won, we were guaranteed to have a first-time World Series winner, but the franchise histories weren’t quite parallel.
The city of Milwaukee had experienced a title, albeit under the Braves moniker and nearly 70 years ago. The Brewers fan base hadn’t even seen a pennant for 44 years.
The Rays had been there twice, but couldn’t finish the job.
Can the Rays finish what previous teams couldn’t?
There is no reliable evidence that either fan base is more superstitious than the other. But with a World Series championship on the line, it’s difficult to imagine that every lucky shirt, preferred viewing location and carefully maintained game-day routine didn’t get put to the test.
And if Milwaukee started its run of four wins in five games to win it all while a fan happened to be sitting in an uncomfortable position? I suspect that person remained there for quite some time.
Does any of it really matter?
Here’s where I have to acknowledge something.
I don’t genuinely believe that the White Sox lost to Cleveland in the ALDS because I wore the wrong jersey.
I don’t believe that getting up to refill my drink caused a strikeout.
And I certainly don’t believe that a team of professional athletes needs me to remain motionless on my couch to score runs.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The scientific explanation is more compelling than the supernatural one. Superstitions give people a sense of control in situations where they have almost none.
For athletes, rituals may help establish a familiar routine, regulate emotions and improve confidence. For fans, the benefit can be psychological rather than competitive. Research suggests that superstitious behaviors can influence how spectators experience games, even without influencing what happens on the field.
There’s also something wonderfully communal about it: Sports fans recognize these behaviors in one another.
We understand why someone refuses to wash a jersey during a winning streak. We might laugh at a friend who insists on eating the same meal before every game, but we’ll probably ask what was on the menu after the team wins.
We know it doesn’t make sense, but we do it anyway.
Perhaps that’s because being a sports fan has never been entirely rational. We invest enormous amounts of time, money and emotional energy into teams whose success we cannot control. We celebrate victories as though we contributed to them, and mourn defeats as though we personally failed. We develop attachments to players we’ve never met and stadiums we may never visit.
And somewhere along the way, we convince ourselves that a little luck might make the difference.
The White Sox season ended despite my carefully selected jerseys and game-day routines.
I could take that as proof that superstitions don’t work. I could abandon the rituals, sit wherever I want and wear whatever happens to be clean.
But when the White Sox return to the field next spring, I’ll probably reach into the closet for the same jersey. I’ll settle into my usual spot. And if Chicago starts scoring runs?
I’m not moving.
