(In Hindsight 44/Jul 20-25, 2010)
Paul the Octopus probably won the World Cup for Spain. Now he deserves better than (as his spokeswoman said) to “go into retirement and play with himself”–or did she say “with his handlers”, etc.? It’s all the same.
One of the biggest stars–or should I say starfish? No, he’s a mollusc–of the World Cup, who was once a mere Common Octopus, correctly predicted the results of eight consecutive matches including the final. The odds of this happening by mere chance are 255 to 1. Even if you discount the first few matches before worldwide attention and expectation were focused on him, the odds against him were still very high.
There have been various theories of bias, but there is also a simpler explanation: Paul was able to predict the results because, to an extent, he was causing them.
After a while even non-superstitious people began to suspect that the Oracle of Oberhausen was infallible. Paul, for a while, became the leader of a religion, and the whole world loved or feared him; as did some of the footballers. To quote Spain’s Sergio Busquets after the semi-finals, “We are in love with it.” Few could honestly say they wanted their god to fail, or wouldn’t bear his punishment under token protest. Atheists began practically praying that this cute cephalopod wouldn’t be proved wrong.
I have little doubt that the phenomenon had an effect on the performance of the players, and the behaviour of the crowd (and possibly even the match officials)–at least subconsciously–who were all mindful to the point of distraction. Players and their supporting soldiers had their spirits lifted or lowered, and it surely led to more than a few miskicks and mispasses, and so on. Before his semi-final Uruguay’s coach had said he wasn’t superstitious, and that “It’s not just a matter of beating Germany but also beating the octopus… and I think it is possible,” his choice of words giving away his misgivings.
So Paul proceeded, gaining strength with each prediction, or at least adding mussels. Huge crowds of people, including many who had initially accused the octopus of merely ‘thinking out of the box’, gathered in various countries for the mere privilege of seeing him open a container, and lamented or celebrated wildly (being unable to contain themselves) when he did so.
But no mollusc is immortal. Paul isn’t expected to live much longer: and his line will die out as he has no offspring. Who will succeed him to the throne? Could it be Harry the Australian crocodile who, before the final, struggled to chew up a chicken under a Spanish flag and whose owner predicted, “It’s going to be a close and aggressive game with a 1-0 result for Spain,” which turned out to be creepily correct?
The advantage of having a Croc Weathercock instead of an Octopus Oracle is that you can turn him into a wallet (or handbag, etc.) if you don’t like what he says. That’s worth more than seafood salad.