2015-09-14 / Columns


A true ESP story
KLONIE JORDAN — Executive Editor

I don’t believe much in omens.

Although there are definitely sometimes strange things going on, I prefer to think of them as coincidences.

You know how some people say they have ESP and sometimes they get a “funny feeling” right before something happens.

Only these ESP feelings aren’t necessarily bad. Sometimes they’re good. And other times they’re somewhere in between.

Or so I’m told. I don’t have ESP (I do, however, have ESPN, ESPN 2, ESPN News and ESPN Classic, not to mention the NFLNetwork and NFLSunday Ticket).

And I’ve never had a premonition. Not really. The closest I ever came was a few years ago at a motorcycle rally in Knoxville when I had been debating for several days as to whether or not I should buy one of those new Nolan helmets. It was at the “Honda Hoot” and every day I went to the Nolan booth and stared at the helmets and even tried one on but I would always decide not to buy one.

Until the final day of the rally. I finally gave in and forked out my hard-earned cash for one. The modular flip-up helmets were all the rage in Europe for years before catching on over here.

That night I went with my sister to this closing ceremony kind of thing they have at the civic center during which they draw names (when you register for the rally, your name is entered in drawings for one of the dozen or so prizes, the most spectacular of which is a Honda motorcycle of your choice: NOTE — no one has ever NOT opted to take the GoldWing) from the big vat ‘o’ tickets. They describe the prize and then draw a winning name. There were about 20,000 people present for this occasion.

At one point during the proceedings, they announced the prize was a Nolan flip-up helmet. That’s when the ESP hit me.


As soon as they announced what the prize was, I turned to my sister. “I’m going to win that helmet,” I told her.

“You know WHY I’m going to win that helmet?” I asked her.

“No. Why?” she answered, somewhat puzzled at the certainty of my prognostication.


They drew the ticket and sure enough, it was my name. Twenty-thousand names in the big vat-‘o’ tickets and I win something I’ve already purchased earlier in the day.

It’s not so much ESP as just plain old fate, I reckon.

A few weeks later, I went on a 3-day motorcycle trip to the north Georgia mountains. It was a trip that had been postponed because the day before it was originally scheduled, I had developed a case of kidney stones.

And that kind of worried me because I was afraid that maybe the kidney stone thing was a sign that maybe I shouldn’t take this particular trip.

So I fretted about it for days.

Then one day I was driving down the road and I said to myself, “I’m going to turn on the radio and I’ll bet whatever song is playing will be a sign about what I should do regarding this motorcycle trip to north Georgia.”

I reached out and pushed the radio’s “On” button and there was Charlie Daniels singing at the top of his lungs. “The devil went down to Georgia. He was looking for a soul to steal ...”

Holey buckets! I about ran off the road into a farm pond.

So I REALLY fretted about the trip after that.

But then I got to thinking about it and it occurred to me that in that song the good guy beats the devil in the fiddle playing contest.


That’s a good sign if I’ve ever heard one.

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