Skills, Luck, Cheating, and... Magic?

Maci Gian

In the Super League, it isn’t uncommon for players to bring a ‘lucky charm’ with them that provides confidence and security throughout their games. From Cool Joe’s lucky red comb, to Shane Fin’s bandana, if you pay attention, you’ll really start to notice how many famous players hold onto little items they believe will aid them and their team to victory.

Usually, the Disciplinary Board allows these items onto the field if they’re small enough, the players can keep it on them throughout the entire game, and if they don’t harm others—be it intentionally or not.

Then there’s the most debated aspect of keeping these items, an aspect that not even the agents of the Disciplinary Board can agree on: The luck itself.

This, of course, brings into question on whether luck is a real thing that effects us throughout our day to day lives, or if it’s a word we’ve assigned to a series of consistent, good events. Sometimes people will assign an item they had on hand throughout these good events as ‘lucky’, since they just so happened to have carried it on them at the same time.

But if luck is real, and if it can truly be linked to an item, should it be allowed to bring them to places where skill and sportsmanship are more sought after than sheer chance?

Not only that, is it fair? If a Super League player brings their lucky charm onto a field to help their team win, if they firmly believe this charm will help them win, should that be considered a form of cheating? Teams and coaches aren’t allowed to bring or use anything that could unethically enhance their performances, should charms be a part of that?

It’s a heated topic that gets brought up time and time again, not only by the Disciplinary Board, but by fans and the teams. Ultimately, whenever this subject gets questioned by the Board, it’s decided that ‘luck’ is too broad—and too complicated—to properly measure to justify banning anything labeled ‘lucky'.

But what about outside help that isn’t based on luck? What about outside help that’s so strange, so otherworldly that even the Disciplinary Board didn’t consider it a possibility when creating the rules for the Super League?

And we’re not talking about extreme cases of bizarre cheating, such as Toni Vern’s experiments that were used to help boost his players’ performances, or drag down opposing teams’, nor the sabotage attempts we’ve seen the likes of Ura Giri and Colonel Von Pushup commit, we’re talking help that is literally out of this world.

The biggest and most prime example of this? The event that has shed the most light on this topic? Orion’s recent & infamous ‘Gravity-Defying Jump’.

When fans first saw this trick, many assumed it was a new tactic Coach Black had taught his men, a new skill that the Orion players had practiced and perfected, and in a very technical sense, they were right. It looked like nothing more than a higher, longer jump, there was no reason to be suspicious, until it came out that Coach Black had constructed a specially made chamber where he could alter gravity within it, thus giving his players a new way to practice.

But then came the issue: Is what Orion did cheating?

While it was unfair to Supa Strikas at the time, it wasn’t as though Orion had built a contraption into their stadium that kept Supa Strikas grounded, nor did it raise Orion’s players higher. Orion’s players weren’t wearing anything that manipulated their gravity on Earth, and the team was displaying this newfound skill out in the open. If a team was certain what they were doing was cheating, wouldn’t they have put in the effort to hide it?

There’s the argument that Coach Black had accessibility to resources that no other team had—the research and tools to create an anti-gravity chamber—thus giving them the advantage, but the same could be said for many other coaches.

Hydra’s team is able to train underwater to improve their agility on land, Iron Tank’s constant exposure to the cold and high altitudes prevents them from suffering from oxygen loss faster, the Sultans’ are constantly exposed to intense humidity, which gives them the upper hand against teams who aren’t. These teams deal with specific problems based on surroundings that other teams don’t, so they find ways to solve these problems, or train their way through it.

There’s the counterargument that Coach Black’s anti-gravity training was for a problem that never needed to be solved. All Super League games are grounded on Earth, why practice with zero gravity when no game will ever be hosted in space? But couldn’t the same be said to Coach Del Aqua? Why have training programs underwater when the games happen on land? Why should Von Pushup make his men scale mountains if the fields are flat? It’s a tense topic where coaches and their views clash.

Del Aqua, the Sheikh, Coach, and Von Pushup were the ones most vocal about their defense towards these specific training methods, stating that part of the sport is learning and adapting to your surroundings, to figure out new methods and push yourself into unfamiliar territories to improve your strength and strategizing skills. Opposing teams can learn and adapt, even if it comes at the cost of a potential victory.

Other coaches, such as Ura Giri, Vince, and Golari were adamant on restricting these methods. They believed there needed to be a ‘strict guideline’ as to what types of training coaches can enforce so there’s no risk of ‘going overboard, thus giving some teams the advantage over others.

When this debate was at it’s peak, Coach Black refused to comment.

Another team that is often questioned for it’s possible outside help is Colossus. Many of it’s players talk about how they pray to their Gods before games, which lead to many fans questioning if said-Gods were able to manipulate the chances of the Greek Giants winning.

These accusations are always taken very seriously by Coach Nick Kickalopous, who has addressed them whenever they get brought up.

“While we ask the Gods to bless us, we would never ask them to tip the fortune in our favor.” He had stated in a past interview after a game against Barka FC, where Colossus came out on top, 4 - 2, “It is not only unfair, but cruel and selfish towards the Gods and our opponents. To demand certainty from the very beings who provide us protection is nothing short of disrespectful. While my men and I have our ways of communicating to the Gods, any requests for aid is just that: A request. It is up to them on whether they choose to help us or not; they have already blessed us with strength and determination.”

The Super League Disciplinary Board ultimately decided that Colossus can and should pray to their Gods whenever they need to, as the team has never displayed foul sportsmanship before, has a consistent winning and losing ratio, and because so much of their team & stadium have deep connections to the Gods and their culture.

Then there are the stranger cases and accusations of ‘otherworldly’ help. Accusations of ‘magic’ being used by different teams to give themselves the advantage. Some claims are small and, quite frankly, ridiculous, such as Palmentieri ‘making the ball disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye’, when that’s just called ‘kicking the ball really hard’. The former players of Sultans—the Amal Triplets—being accused of reading minds, when in reality they knew how to communicate well. Then there’s the more absurd claims, such as Azul’s goalkeeper—De Los Santos—secretly using magic to enhance his strength and size. This claim so ridiculous that his coach, Honcho Gomez, had to explain to the press that De Los Santos has always been a big person, and he practices consistently.

Though lucky charms are still a hugely debated topic among soccer fans, and coaches are still butting heads over what’s considered ‘training’ versus ‘cheating’, it’s safe to assume that something like magic won’t get used in any soccer game, and any accusations of a team using magic is most likely a poor argument to dismiss their skills.

And if there was a Super League team out there that has—or wants to—hire a magician to help them magically win a game…

Well, that’d be silly, wouldn’t it?