Mike Scott sat in an isolated corner of the locker room, his back toward the rest of his team, a black cloak over his shoulders. He appeared to be concentrating very intently on something. Curious, Kyle Korver sidled over, close enough to hear mumbled words coming out of his teammate’s mouth.
“Nine of Wands – Stamina. Three of Pentacles – Teamwork. The Sun – Vitality. Oh no! The Eight of Cups – Weariness! Damn it, damn it…”
“Hey Mike, what ya up to?”
Mike jumped, hurrying to conceal the deck of cards in his hand. “Oh, it’s only you. Don’t interrupt me when I have my ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign up, lest you incur my fury!”
“I don’t see any sign.”
“It’s not a physical sign, you dip, it’s a symbolic sign created when my back turns away from the rest of the team. It means that I’m doing something important!”
“I wouldn’t consider tarot cards very important, Mike. You do that before every game?”
Kyle’s teammate bristled. “Your curiosity will get you in trouble one day, my friend. Maybe to an orthodox person like you, Kyle, tarot cards are a mere triviality, a sideshow to be dazzled by, but just as quickly forgotten. But for those who wish to see beyond the mundane, they can reveal hidden truths. How else do you think we’ve been winning so many games? It sure ain’t cause of our talent level. I’ve drawn the Three of Pentacles every game that we’ve won.”
“Whatever, man. You must have been drawing the Three of Swords as well because I’ve been making it rain!”