The Elevator Fart

I don't know who Murphy was. I'm guessing Murphy was Irish, and that he messed up quite a bit. This is not unheard of. Hell, hundreds of thousands of us got wiped out by a damn potato. The Irish have a knack for haplessness. Murphy was so prolific at screwing up that there's even a damn law named after him. Whatever bad can happen will happen, or so Mr. Murphy would apparently have us believe. But without knowing more about this legendary Murphy, I'm just about done giving him credit for such a wide-spread commonly observed rule of law; and for that matter I take pity on the poor sap. Let's say it's well-deserved. I think he's dealt with enough infamy for several lifetimes. I mean, c'mon, it's not like he invented Pepsi Clear.

Let's look at life's unfortunate certainties in a different way. Say you're getting in the elevator at work, going down. Say you've had a little too much coffee. Say your office is on the 6th floor. Let's say the door shuts and you can't help yourself. You let one rip. I mean from deep within. The elevator now smells like a bus stop in Bakersfield. You KNOW, as sure as I burn easily, that the elevator is going to make at least one, if not two, stops on the way down. Doesn't matter what time of day, be it 6 am or 9 pm, it's gonna happen. (At that point, you can only hope that there's more than one person who gets on, otherwise you just gotta laugh and own it.)

So let's give Murphy his long overdue Irish wake, and drink to his everlasting peace. Let us instead recognize the Elevator Fart Phenomenon, or E.F.P. Consider the implications:

Say you have a team penciled in to win the entire NCAA men's tourney. Say they're playing an upstart mid-major in the second round. Now let's say they're in a close game, be they up, down, or tied, with under 5 minutes to go. The E.F.P. dictates this team will lose, and your brackets shot. Yip, you've just been Farouhkmanesh'd.

Say your college football team is licking its wounds from an embarrassing Rose Bowl performance. Say it boasts a projected returning roster of 25-30 players who saw significant playing and starting time in a surprisingly successful inaugural season for a brand new head coach. You guessed it, the E.F.P. dictates that within three and a half calendar months, your starting quarterback and Heisman hopeful will be dismissed from the team for stealing mac books and guitars from a frat house and lying about it, your starting tailback will plead guilty to a domestic violence charge and face a game suspension, 6 other players will face varying criminal charges and be kicked off the team, and your A.D. will up and quit, refocusing the eye of Sauron squarely on the athletic program after the rest of the country had finally stopped paying attention.

Now then, let's say your NBA team has a history of missing the big draft pick. Specifically, it has a history of making the logical selection and drafting promising, productive 7 foot centers that show grace and agility for their size rather than an athletic swingman because the team already boasts an athletic swingman. The E.F.P. DEMANDS that the forsaken swingman turns out to be a transcendent talent while the center suffers a list of maladies, freak accidents, and set backs that would make Sophocles blush.

Fans of the Cubs, Indians, Eagles, Browns, Bills, Vikings, Cavs, and countless other teams knowthe stench of the E.F.P. We've all gotten on that elevator on the 6th floor. We'd like to think that just once, just this one time, when we accidentally let'er rip, that no one will be calling the elevator on the way down. But hey, what can we do? It's the law...