[ WP ] Turns out the superstition was right after all

`` *GOD FUCKING DAMMIT MAVIS WHERE IS MY JERSEY? *'' 
 
 
 `` *FUCK YOU AND YOUR STUPID JERSEY BILL! *'' Mavis bellowed back through the locked door to the bathroom where she'd barricaded herself. 
 
 
 Bill took a deep breath, trying to regain his calm but not really succeeding. `` Mavis, the game starts in five minutes and I'm supposed to meet the guys. Just tell me where my jersey is, ok?'' 
 
 
 Bill's attempt at a calm tone only seemed to anger Mavis more. `` *WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED TO WEAR THAT OLD DISGUSTING JERSEY ANYWAY BILL? YOU'RE NOT ON THE TEAM AND YOU'RE OLD AND FAT! *'' 
 
 
 `` *IT'S THE CONFERENCE CHAMPIONSHIP, MAVIS, I NEED MY LUCKY JERSEY! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE THE LIONS WERE IN THE SUPERBOWL? FOREVER, WE'VE NEVER BEEN TO ONE, EVER! NOW WE'VE WON EVERY GAME SINCE I FOUND MY LUCKY JERSEY IN MOM'S ATTIC SO JUST FUCKING TELL ME WHERE IT IS YOU FUCKING BITCH! *'' 
 
 
 Bill immediately realized he'd gone too far. Mavis unlocked the door and walked right past him, out the front door, and got into her car. As Bill stood on the porch, she yelled back at him, `` I threw your fucking jersey in the trash! Fuck you and fuck the Lions!'' 
 
 
 *Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit* Bill thought to himself. He dumped the trash can under the sink out on the kitchen floor and dug through it frantically, but it was clear the jersey was n't there. Nor was it in the bathroom garbage can, or the trash cans out front. Bill, covered in trash, checked the time. *Fuck. * Kickoff was in five minutes. He sighed and got in his car to drive to Rick's place. *It's just superstition, it's just superstition, * he thought to himself. 
 
 
 
 `` Just in time,'' Rick said when Bill arrived. `` The kick was a touchback and we have the ball. Beer's in the fridge.'' 
 
 
 
 Bill got beer and sad down on the couch. Joe, sitting next to him, looked at his shirt. `` Where's your jersey?'' Joe asked. 
 
 
 `` Mavis threw it out,'' Bill said. `` Fucking bitch.'' 
 
 
 `` I told you she was bad news. I do n't have anything against a girl who does n't care for football, but one who actually hates it, you should stay away from those,'' Joe said. 
 
 
 `` Yeah,'' Bill said. He took a drink of beer. `` Oh well, the jersey is just superstition anyway.'' 
 
 
 They would have said more, but the commercials had ended and the Lions were lining up for their first play. The men watching the game cheered. The quarterback took the snap, dropped back, and floated the ball straight into the hands of a defender, who ran in past the Lions defense for a touchdown. The others in the room, suddenly deflated, looked at Bill's plain gray t-shirt. 
 
 
 
 The rest of the game proceeded in much the same manner, Bill and his friends swiftly drinking themselves into a stupor. Near the end of the first half, with the game not yet quite out of reach, the Lions drove the ball to the ten yard line. Bill was on the edge of his seat, praying for a touchdown, as Calvin Johnson juked two defenders and reached out for the incoming ball. It glanced off of his fingers and straight to a defender, who ran it all the way back for yet another touchdown. Afterwards, when the camera focused on Johnson on the bench, helmet-less, he looked straight into it and appeared to say something. One of the broadcasters remarked to the other that it looked like he had said `` that was terrible,'' but Bill knew better. The star receiver had been talking to him. `` Where's your jersey, Bill?'' 
 
 
 
 That night found beat officers Weston and Cordero responding to a call about a trespasser at the local dump. As they climbed the hills of garbage they spied a drunken, middle-aged man digging through the trash in the weak glow of a cheap flashlight, muttering something to himself. When Cordero shone his much brighter light upon the hunched figure, he stopped his digging and looked at them, though the muttering continued. Weston approached cautiously. 
 
 
 `` Sir, this is private property, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.'' 
 
 
 The man scurried a few feet away and resumed his digging. Officer Weston followed. 
 
 
 `` Sir, if you do n't leave I'm going to have to arrest you.'' 
 
 
 The man showed no reaction this time. Weston moved closer. As he removed the handcuffs from his belt, he began to make out the words that composed the strange man's muttering. 
 
 
 * Got ta find it... we'll win it all next year... next year's the year... got ta find my lucky jersey... got ta find it... fucking bitch... next year... we'll win it all... next year's the year... *
