While playing golf in Arizona recently, I killed a bird.
Unintentionally, of course. I hit a low line-drive, and it struck a bird on the fairway with a horrific whap.
I experienced what I think people describe as becoming hysterical:
I couldn’t stop laughing and crying at the same time.
I wasn’t laughing because I thought it was funny. I just couldn’t believe it.
A decade ago, I killed my first bird after hitting a tee shot that collided with a bird midair, dropping it like a stone.
Two birds in ten years. It’s unbelievable.
My friends and I have more than 100 years of golfing experience combined, and we have only seen one person kill a bird ever.
Me.
And I’ve done it twice now.
Yet my friends weren’t too surprised because this is the kind of thing that seems to happen to me all the damn time.
I have friends who call it “The Matty Factor” — when Matt is around, bad things happen.
Another friend says I have “the blackest karma” of anyone he’s ever met.
As a friend on that Arizona trip pointed out:
In the last three days:
You got patted on the butt in the airport by a man who mistook you for a woman.
You killed your second bird on a golf course.
You had that weird restroom incident.
“What’s next?” he asked.
The restroom incident was minor. After nearly walking into the women’s restroom at one of the country clubs, I pivoted into the men’s room, thankful to have avoided a mistake I’ve made too many times. As I turned the corner into the men’s room, I found myself staring at a woman, smiling at me.
She was mopping the floor.
After being pleased with myself for avoiding the women’s restroom, I ran into a woman in the men’s restroom.
She smiled and gestured for me to use a urinal about four feet to her right.
I opted for the stall instead.
“Even that,” he said. “That doesn’t happen to people. Only you.”
Probably not true, but it sometimes feels like it.
But I’m also blessed with enormous good luck, too. For every time I’ve been arrested, jailed, and tried for a crime I didn’t commit, I also married the best person on the planet.
Luckiest spouse in the world.
For every attempt by cowards to anonymously end my career and destroy my reputation, I’ve also enjoyed a remarkable, dream-come-true teaching career and an unexpected, unplanned, wildly successful career in consulting, public speaking, and corporate coaching. Unintended, unplanned, yet life-changing.
Yes, I’ve been hit by cars three times in my life while crossing through parking lots, and yes, I went headfirst through a windshield, but I also survived all of those encounters.
See? Lucky me!
I’ve been a documented subject in two medical journals — once as the only known person to have canine scabies burrowing under the skin, and another when doctors used a medical device designed to go up the nose and down the throat in a new way — upon my urging — to remove a bay leaf from my throat.
The doctors were very excited about that one. They brought in video cameras and filled the room with observers, forcing Elysha into a back corner.
Those incidents were somewhat harrowing, rather unfortunate, and perhaps insanely unlucky, but I also found an amazing literary agent to represent me and publishers willing to purchase and publish ten of my books so far. Also foreign publishers willing to translate my work into more than 25 languages.
Horay for me.
Canine scabies was a small price to pay for such good luck.
Still, I’ve now killed two birds on the golf course. It’s kind of unbelievable.
In fact, the only other person I’ve ever seen hit a bird on the golf course was Charlie, who hit a goose in the butt two summers ago.
That bird, thankfully, was fine.
He’s also currently wearing a walking boot and undergoing four weeks of physical therapy with a sprained ankle, and yesterday he got a concussion after hitting his head on the bus when it stopped short.
Maybe it’s genetic.
