I don't know, but I'm starting to believe the stories about ballparks being cursed, and that goes for the teams that play in them as well.
Fenway Park and Wrigley Field are both perfect examples of this.
With both of these ballparks entering their second century of fielding teams full of has-been's and never-will-be's, they have continued to do so in the shadow of their respective curses.
One team that is quickly falling into this category just happens to play their games at the gateway of the Rocky Mountains Coors Field.
Though the Rockies have never been to the World Series, nor have they traded a baseball great to earn their curse (as the Red Sox did when they traded the Babe Ruth), the curse nonetheless exists.
The curse is so strong that it even traverses the I-70 corridor, affecting Rockies fans, as it makes attempts at deterring them through omens and mishaps and I, for one, know this firsthand.
On Friday, the baseball Gods were bound-and-determined to keep me from the obvious disappointment that awaited as I left for Denver from Craig, en route to my first Rockies game of the year.
The trip between the Western Slope and the Front Range is usually a four-hour stint through the heart of the Rockies, filled with thick-pined forest, wandering elk and breathtaking mountains.
My trip, on the other hand, was filled with more than three hours worth of delays, cattle drives and phantom-car accidents.
The first of the delays came in the form of a cattle drive that was being held in Steamboat Springs. I am not familiar with why the cattle drive is held, or what it celebrates what I do know is that it exists.
I also know that whoever thought to schedule the drive for midday, traveling down Main St. and backing traffic up to the city limits on the western side of town, should be the recipient of the first tar-and-feathering sentence in years God willing it be brought back.
But in truth, it wasn't the organizers, nor the cattle who were to be blamed, rather I know it was just another part of the curse.
The next delay came in the form of a vacuum hose that worked its way loose from my carburetor.
Before then, the hose never had come loose, yet mysteriously it occurred in the wake of an oil change and the mechanic who had fiddled with my air filter.
In truth, though, I knew not to blame the worker who performed the oil change but rather the curse.
After reaching I-70, passing the Eisenhower Tunnel, and almost within reach of my first ballpark hot dog and beverage, I happened upon a car accident.
Now of course, a car accident is no laughing matter even when a baseball game is scheduled to start in a half-hour and traffic is backed up all the way to Georgetown.
But what really boggles the mind, is how a car accident can hold up traffic for an hour and-a-half, stack cars up for 20 miles, and leave not the slightest, physical evidence that an accident ever occurred.
But once again, it can't be blamed on some careless driver.
It was the curse.
Perhaps the builders of Coors Field constructed the ballpark on an old, Native American burial ground.
Or perhaps it was a meeting place for witches and warlocks in the days of yore.
Maybe the Nuggets have something to do with the curse.
Why, though, does it not affect the Avalanche, since they also play in the same Pepsi Center that houses the Nuggets?
The land must hold the answers, and we as Rockies fans must be wary, because it appears as if the curse can make it all the way to the Western Slope.
How then, do we deal with such a curse?
Medicine men? Witch doctors? Exorcism? Bullpen help?
I say we follow suit of those distraught, yet loyal, Red Sox and Cubbie fans. Sit back, have another beer, and continue to repeat, "Darn those Sox, darn those Cubs, and most of all.............. Darn those Rockies!"