But they won't explain why, for the life of her, Jo Finning won't play bingo without bringing along her teacup-sized brass bell.

She shrugs.

"You want to be lucky," says Finning, of Green Island.

If luck indeed be a lady, the courting, the flattery, the indulgences directed her way continue unabated. In the bingo halls, the racetrack, in fishing boats, bowling alleys, you name it, superstitions and good luck charms are embraced -- usually against people's own good judgment.

So, why? Just because. Just in case. Or just don't ask.

"Believe me, I'm superstitious. I just can't tell you why," says horse trainer Phil Serpe, preparing for a day of racing at Saratoga Race Course last week.

Underneath his team-issued black socks, Tri-City ValleyCats relief pitcher Casey Brown has been wearing the same pair of ankle-high Gold Toe sports socks all season. For good luck, he says. As for bad luck, just try to get him to step on the chalk foul line (no way), to sit elsewhere in the dugout other than at the end (nope) or take off his necklace made from baseball seams (uh-uh).

What about pitching without his lucky socks?

"No, I always wear the socks," he says, pulling his cap down tight around his brow. Case closed.

This raises the question: Do good luck charms work? Of course not -- unless they do.

When they work

For the Mexican Olympic team, they didn't. The team headed to Athens this summer laden with charms, amulets and religious items. But when the games closed, Mexico only took home four medals, below expectations.

For swimmer Gary Hall Jr., they do work. Against U.S. Olympic policy, he wore his good luck robe and trunks to team events rather than team gear. Because he did -- or not because he did -- the aging underdog was a gold-medal winner in the 50-meter freestyle.

Go figure.

Believe in them or not, good luck charms and superstitions have been an integral part of human life throughout history, says Donald Dossey, a psychologist and superstition expert from Ashville, N.C. Cave drawings, rain dances and human sacrifices are all examples of early human attempts to curry the favor of the gods or manipulate the powers that be, he says.

"Superstitious behavior is really an attempt to control the universe that is way too powerful for us to control," he says.

Even after the major world religions formed -- some of which sought to degrade, if not outlaw, superstitious behavior -- many people refused to wean themselves from charms and superstitions, "and I don't think we ever will," Dossey says.

Naturally

In fact, it could be in our nature.

The famous psychologist B.F. Skinner said he proved superstitious behavior can be created in animals. When an animal is placed in a box and food is dispensed at five-minute intervals, the animal will develop a pattern of behavior that it associates with the delivery of food. For instance, if the animal just happens to lift a foot just as the food is dispensed, it will repeat this behavior, which will be sporadically reinforced.

Today, Chris Caruso continues to lift the proverbial foot when she plays bingo at the Italian Community Center in Troy. Her good luck charm is a Mother's Day card from her son, which she displays side by side with her bingo cards and marker.

"Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't," allows Caruso, of Watervliet.

Finning rings her bell during bingo games at the Italian Community Center in order to ward off evil spirits when "66" is called, she says.

But isn't "666" considered the Devil's number?

True, she says, but in bingo there is no such number. So "66" is close enough -- too close to ignore.

Indeed, during a bingo game last week, the almost-evil number was called over the microphone. Finning grabbed the bell's handle and shook it to cheers from the dozens of other players who filled the hall.

What's on top

Good luck charms come in all varieties. Every time Pee-Wee Williams of Watervliet bowls in fall and winter leagues he wears the same blue, English-style golfer's cap that his grandchildren gave him years ago.

"When I don't have my hat on I don't feel comfortable," he says. "It just makes me feel -- oh! It's my image. Without my image I'm nothing."

Troy's John Devarnne had a good-luck Colt 45 pistol with a pearl handle he kept by his side when he served as captain of a gunboat in Vietnam. It wasn't the firearm he used in battle -- in fact, he wasn't even supposed to have it on him. It just brought him comfort and good luck, he says.

"I got shot four times," he says. "I'm still here."

Charles Mollins, a pitcher for Lehman College back in the early 1970s, also wore a pair of lucky socks during games. But unlike Brown of the ValleyCats, Mollins refused to wash his socks between games.

"You can't," he says. "That takes the luck off."

Now, as director of finance for Lia Hyundai in Albany, Mollins' sock obsession has been crossed out with black ink. Yes, it's all about pens now.

"If things are going well I'll continue to use the same pen and, if not, I'll change them," says Mollins, who lives outside Woodstock.

Luck of the dog

A good luck charm named Owney put the Albany post office on the map. Owney was a dog, now stuffed and in the hands of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington. A stray mutt, Owney apparently wandered into the Albany post office in 1888 and eventually became the unofficial mascot for the Railway Mail Service. Attracted to the texture or scent of mailbags, he traveled across the country on mail trains and across the ocean on steamships, all the while keeping watch on the mail.

"In an era when train crashes were common -- as many as 400 per year -- no train with Owney aboard ever crashed," wrote historian Paul Gromosiak.

Good luck charms and superstitions can serve simply as comfort -- such as with the collection of angel medallions and figurines kept by Mary Jannizelli of Latham (how many does she have? "About a million," she says). Or they can be contorted into practical purposes, such as when Nassau fisherman Bill Moxon spits on his bait before lowering it into the water ("It wards off your scent," he swears).

But at the other end of the spectrum, the world of superstitions can be a hall of mirrors navigated by people who border on obsessive-compulsive behavior.

Consider, for example, Major League slugger Wade Boggs, famous for taking exactly 150 ground balls in practice, going to batting practice at 5:17 p.m. and running sprints at 7:17 p.m. He also ate chicken before every game and drew the Hebrew word "Chai" (meaning "life") in the batter's box before each at-bat. Boggs retired in 1999, one of just 25 players to reach 3,000 career hits.

Emotional response

Richard Lustberg, a Long Island psychologist who studies sports superstitions, says superstitions are "coping mechanisms." They can serve as succor for some who experience fear, anxiety or loss of control in a world where the odds don't necessarily stack in their favor, he says.

"Intellectually, people understand that it doesn't make sense, but emotionally they're unable to make the break," he says. "Emotion always overruns intelligence, otherwise we'd have world peace, right?"

"Everybody's got them," says Billy Turner, the trainer of the legendary horse Seattle Slew, winner of the Triple Crown in 1977, standing beside his barn at Saratoga Race Course. "Horse racing has so many variables, and so many unpredictable things happen, that anything that works for you you go with."

He, for one, says even if a horse he trains wins a race, he usually won't enter the winner's circle personally, unless he believes his horse has achieved its finest hour in its career. For Seattle Slew, he says, that race was the Belmont.

Most trainers also won't travel with a used broom or an open bag of salt.

"Maybe our brains get mildewed from hanging around the barn here so much and we have nothing else to think up," speculates James Toner, also a horse trainer and also somewhat superstitious.

For instance, if he wins a stakes race, Toner usually wears the same suit at the following year's race.

Why?

"I don't know. Why black cats?" he says. "None of this makes any sense. But when I see a black cat, I go the other way."

Felix Carroll can be reached at 454-5089 or fcarroll@timesunion.com.