Luck is a funny thing, a damnable thing sometimes, that gets us into trouble and makes us hope for the best in any circumstance. Luck is somewhere between the numerical realm of the odds and the near-mystical realm of fate. Even the team with the best stats in the world still needs a dollop of luck to grease its wheels, to boost morale, and build the kind of confidence that comes with a sense of entitlement.

It's the kind of luck I've had most of my life, the good fortune that comes from believing that I'm going to succeed, and which is reinforced when I do. It's one of the prime ingredients in the Yankees perennial success, and in any sports dynasty. I believe the cliche is "winning breeds winning."

But just because you, or your team, is lucky doesn't mean that every coin toss will go your way. Last year's hard luck recipient was David Cone, who was victimized by his own doubts some of the time, by injuries, bullpen meltdowns, and rainouts the rest of the time. Maybe, some fans thought, David had used up his good-luck quotient that day in 1999, Joe Torre's birthday, Yogi Berra Day, Don Larsen threw out the first pitch... when he pitched a perfect game. Somehow getting everything to go right on that one day meant karmically that soon everything was going to go wrong in order to balance the ledger.

I don't believe it works that way, because if it does, the Red Sox are due for a massive run of good luck to balance their decades of woes. The latest example of this run of inferior karma was last weekend at Fenway Park, when the Yankees were held to six measly runs over three games, Boston received three of the finest back-to-back-to-back pitching performances out of their starters in recent memory, and yet still lost all three games to the Yankees.

This year, now that Cone has moved on from the Bronx to Beantown, the hard luck pitcher in the Yankees clubhouse is Mike Mussina. Victimized by a mysterious lack of run support (third worst in the entire league!), Mussina has pitched gem after gem with only a mediocre record to show for it. So how eerie was it last Sunday night for him to face off against Cone, and to nearly repeat Cone's perfect feat?

Both pitchers were at the top of their game. I have to admit, even though he's wearing red socks now, I still find it a thrill to see Coney do what he's so good at.

But that night, on ESPN, I watched from a hotel room in Philadelphia, and saw Mussina pitch even better. In fact, he was near perfect. With one out to go, with two strikes on Carl Everett, he couldn't get any closer without getting it.

He didn't get it. Despite Clay Bellinger making a great diving play for the first out of the inning, despite Lou Merloni striking out, despite having struck out Everett four times in a single game earlier in the season, the necessary luck for absolute perfection was not there. Everett laced a clean single into the outfield, and that was that. Trot Nixon's grounder to Soriano and his adventurous toss to Bellinger was an anticlimax.

At least Mussina got the win, the Yankees broke the spirit of the Sox once again in September, and an intense October is likely in the offing. But it will take luck as well as skill and talent to triumph again. How will Mussina fare in the postseason? The luck factor can't be predicted.

You want to hear about luck? How's this for luck. The day after Mussina's near-perfect game I was driving back from Philadelphia and stopped off at Seaside Heights, New Jersey to visit the boardwalk. I was walking by a Spin The Wheel stand that gives away Major League Baseball jerseys as prizes. These are the MLB Authentics, the ones that go for ninety nine bucks, and which I'm too poor to buy. But for a buck I figured it was worth a try. I made a quick survey of the one hundred and eighty choices of name, symbol or number to put my one dollar down on. PAT, LIL, SIS, the spade, the horseshoe, Jeter's number 2...

The name "DOC" lit up for me when I looked at it and the first thing that flashed through my mind was Doc Gooden's 1996 no-hitter, followed by Mussina's shell-shocked face in the dugout the day before, followed by the thought of Doc's retirement and how he helped raise the championship flag on Opening Day this year...

I put a dollar down on DOC, squeezed my eyes shut tight, and hit the button to start the wheel spinning. The attendant had to remind me to hit the button again to stop it. I again shut my eyes and hit the button... the spinner went around another five or six times before starting to slow down. As it did I was suddenly sure I was going to get it.

As sure as we were when Bellinger snagged the ball? Yes. If I didn't get it, knew it was going to be mighty close. At the last second it was always possible I was off by just that fraction of an inch, just like Mussina was.

But I wasn't. The last peg it hit was DOC. And I had won against 180-to-1 odds.

So who else's jersey could I choose but Mike Mussina's? I could have had Paul O'Neill, or Scott Brosius, or Alfonso Soriano, but I took number 35.

Maybe it will be lucky for both of us. See you in October, Moose.