How the Ball Bounces with Bekka: Superstitions, Sweaty Socks, and Other Scary Things
Halloween is upon us, and while most people are busy worrying about ghosts, goblins, and things that go bump in the night, I’ve been thinking about something far more terrifying.
Washing your lucky socks in the middle of a winning streak.
Dead. Serious. (See what I did there? LOL.)
There are people who will walk under a ladder without blinking, embrace a black cat crossing their path, and merrily chunk the pieces of a broken mirror into the trash without giving seven years of bad luck a second thought.
But those same people wouldn’t dream of changing their pregame routine after three consecutive wins.
I know this because I am one of those people.
And apparently, my superstitions came with a laundry problem.
Maybe this is TMI, but stick with me here. I have a point. Promise!
Starting in high school and continuing throughout my entire collegiate basketball career, I had a very specific set of undergarments that I wore for every single game.
The exact same sports bra. The exact same sliding shorts. The exact same socks.
A family member bought me the same sports bra and sliding shorts for Christmas each year, right down to the color, so I could keep my game-day routine intact. Deviations from this plan resulted in ridiculous acts of fully coming apart at the seams, but I digress.
Now, you might be wondering what happened when we traveled for tournaments and played multiple games in a row.
I’m so glad you asked. Though you might wish you hadn’t.
If we were winning, those babies got air-dried and went right back on for the next game.
Yep, the socks, too. Listen. I didn’t make the rules. Well, technically, I did. But this is just how it worked, and one thing you don’t do is mess with a winning streak. Full stop.
And before somebody starts questioning the hygiene situation, let me remind you that athletes are not necessarily known for being rational people when it comes to their rituals.
We are perfectly capable of understanding the science behind athletic performance while simultaneously believing that changing our socks might cost us a championship.
I’d like to tell you undergarments were my only vice, but it wasn’t just the wardrobe.
When I played basketball at Bryant High School, we didn’t eat together before home games the way we did when we traveled. But I had a pregame meal ritual that was practically sacred.
There was a restaurant in Bryant owned by a gentleman named Chef Wolf. I cannot, for the life of me, remember the name of the restaurant, but I will never forget that man.
For my entire high school basketball career, he made me the exact same sandwich on every home game day.
And here’s the best part.
I didn’t call ahead.
I didn’t place an order.
I just showed up, paid for my sandwich, and went home to eat it.
Chef Wolf had our basketball schedule. He knew when I was playing. And he made sure my sandwich was ready. Every. Single. Time.
That’s customer service, y’all. But more importantly, that’s a man who appreciates a superstition!
Looking back, my favorite part is that he 100% realized he was part of a teenage girl’s elaborate attempt to control the basketball universe and played his part to the absolute best of his ability! And I loved that man for it.
The funny thing is, none of this seemed particularly unusual to me at the time.
Athletes are strange animals who have all kinds of rituals.
Some put their shoes on in a certain order. Some listen to the same song before every game. Some won’t shave during a winning streak. Some refuse to step on the lines of the court.
And baseball players?
They are the weirdest and best examples of this superstition phenomenon. Don’t even THINK about mentioning a no-hitter while it’s happening.
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We all have our little ways of trying to keep the sports gods happy. But no matter what personal voodoo we try to entice the sports gods with, sports are unpredictable.
You can practice until your hands hurt. You can know every play. You can prepare for every possible situation. And then the ball takes a funny bounce. A referee makes a call you didn’t expect. A shot that normally falls decides to bounce off the rim.
There is only so much you can control.
So maybe all those ridiculous rituals give athletes a little sense of certainty in a world where the outcome is never guaranteed. And maybe, somewhere along the way, those rituals become part of who we are.
I know mine did.
I’m still an incredibly superstitious person. I can recognize that some of my habits make absolutely no logical sense and still feel compelled to follow them. Because who doesn’t want to feel a little bit of control in this crazy, mixed-up world we live in?
It may look a little different now, outside the realm of daily competitive sports, but those rituals are still alive and well, at least in the Wilkerson household. The laundry may all be clean, but there are definitely repetitive actions that cannot be disturbed when something big is happening.
Big event mornings look like this. Board meeting days look exactly like that. And please don’t get me started on what it looks like when I actually have a basketball tournament. I’m right back there in dirty socks and special sports bras.
Some things even time can’t tarnish!
Apparently, years of competitive sports have left me with a few permanent souvenirs.
Some people bring home trophies. Some bring home championship rings. I brought home an irrational fear of changing my socks.
But the older I get, the more I appreciate something else about those memories.
It wasn’t really about the sandwich. It was about a man who cared enough to remember a young athlete’s schedule and make her feel important.
It wasn’t really about the clothes. It was about the confidence that came from walking onto the court feeling prepared, comfortable, and ready to compete.
And maybe that’s why we hold on to those little rituals long after the games are over.
Sometimes what looks like superstition is really just a memory of the people, places, and routines that made us feel like we could do anything.
So this Halloween, you can keep your ghosts, goblins, haunted houses, and scary movies.
I know what real terror looks like.
It’s a well-meaning teammate walking into the locker room during a winning streak and saying…“Hey, I threw your stuff in the wash for you!”
And that’s how the ball really bounces.
Read more from How the Ball Bounces with Bekka in the archives at www.mysaline.com/bounces.
About the author: Bekka Wilkerson is a lifelong lover of all things sports. Raised in a super athletic household it was no surprise when she too began to love sports at a young age. It seems like from the time she could walk she had a softball bat in her hands, but her true athletic passion came from all things Basketball. That love served her well as a Bryant High School Lady Hornet and ultimately earned her a full scholarship to play at the University of Central Arkansas – among many other adventures.
These days Bekka can be found running around Saline County with her husband, Speedy, or chasing one of her grandsons. She is also the Executive Director of The EMpact One Foundation, a Saline County Nonprofit Organization that helps young people stay connected to extracurricular activities through tuition assistance and equipment provisions.
Reach out to Bekka with questions and/or ideas about things you want to see in this column at [email protected] and learn more about The EMpact One Foundation at www.empactone.org.
