“We just need to draw,” I said at one of my sons’ games. We had played well and had a three-goal lead. Through truly ridiculous mistakes, we allowed the other team, which was in last place and whom everyone had beaten, to get closer to a goal difference. It was clear that we were better, we were in first place in the table, but, because of those things that happen in sports, suddenly we began to feel pressure; to a very large extent, because of us and because of those couple of mistakes. In the end, in fact, they tied us.
The reactions of the other parents had some disbelief and some anger. One in particular occupied me: “You messed her up,” someone who had heard me told me. Then, without any qualms, he told everyone how I had been responsible for that tie. Not the children, much less the coach who didn’t know how to direct them, nor the rival’s effort. No, the culprit had been me for simply mentioning, casually, that they could tie us.
Something similar was repeated a couple of times. The first, when I “summoned” the rain. The second, when before the game I assured that “we should win without a problem.” “Don’t go mufling her again,” was the response to my last comment. Afterwards, they asked me to be quiet, gently, but they silenced me: “you better not say anything.”
Beyond the strange powers they gave me, I became interested in the issue of superstition. This fact is so associated with vibes and what some call “the law of attraction” (which is neither a law nor…). I know postulates from the philosophy of language that maintain that reality is created from language, that what is not named does not exist, that certain hermeneutical consensuses allow us to live in a world that is not completely fixed as a hard reality. I’ve discussed it a lot and enjoyed it. My master’s thesis revolves around these interpretations. The idea that language is the condition of possibility of being fascinates me. I have studied the functions of Barthes’ language and… And the seventh function, the magical one, the one that creates reality in its simple enunciation, only applies in very particular cases. Not in mine.
But my interest was genuine. So I looked up the verb in several dictionaries. Contrary to what I believed, it has existed for a long time, it is not new. Mufar means passing bad luck on to someone. It is used in Argentine lunfardo and comes from the Italian word Mold. As if one were to infect, well, said mold. It is a transitive verb, with regular conjugation that follows the model of “love.” I was glad because the verb is not an occurrence and it even has etymology.
From there to it being true, there is a huge difference. Obviously, not because someone says something about a draw or a defeat will these happen. Unless, in fact, there is a magic pass or the result is intervened, those words do not alter the result of a football match. Furthermore, the semantic field has been extended, since it now turns out that mentioning the positive result before the event also contributes to it not happening or having a dark and sad ending.
I am skeptical of superstitions. However, there is something charming about them. I have seen people throwing salt behind their backs or knocking on wood without legs at the slightest provocation (sometimes in front of a statement). Now I hear them talk about mufeos and other flats. What I find attractive is their belief, the way they convince themselves of those certainties. Let’s see if not, suddenly, they forbid me to say goodbye to them, wishing them, sincerely, “that everything goes well for you.” I’m not going to mute her.