The Jersey Curse of Innsbruck

From a Joke to a Suspicion

You do not have to look far in sports to find superstition. One look inside any locker room is usually enough. I have always had my own little quirks too. My routines, my habits, the small things I hold on to. Nothing completely crazy. But enough to know how quickly a feeling turns into a ritual. And how a ritual can slowly become something you almost believe in.

At some point, though, you reach a stage where you stop ruling things out completely. For me, that point came almost exactly two years ago. That was when I got to design the jerseys of HC TIWAG Innsbruck for the first time. To me, that meant something. It was not just another graphic job, not just another piece of sportswear. It was the skin of a club you suffer with, celebrate with and care about. Something you take on with pride.

The problem is this: ever since I started designing those jerseys, things have gone downhill on the ice.

And I do not mean just a little bit. I mean properly downhill. Two seasons, two last-place finishes by a distance. Before that, the picture looked very different. HCI had become a team people took seriously again, not just in Innsbruck. A strong regular season, third place, playoff hockey, Champions Hockey League, international attention, special nights, real momentum. It was not perfect, but you could feel it. Something was moving. Something was alive.

And then I came along. Or more precisely: my jerseys.

Of course I know that, rationally, this is complete nonsense. I know standings are not decided by sleeve cuffs, that a penalty kill does not collapse because of a typeface, and that a designer does not cause goals against. And still, this whole thing has grown into something bigger than it probably should have. Inside the club, this idea keeps coming up again and again. Always with a grin. Never fully serious. Exactly the way people in a club talk when things are not going well and everyone is looking for something, anything, to joke about and hold on to.

The only difference is that I have reached the point where I may be taking that joke more seriously than everyone else.

Everything Becomes a Sign

In hockey, superstition is nothing unusual. You do not step on a logo on the floor, you tape your stick the same way every time, you do not mess with routines, and the playoff beard stays no matter what. These things are simply part of it. Across years, across generations, across almost every locker room. Not because they make perfect rational sense, but because hockey has always lived with rituals like that.

So why should a jersey be just a jersey?

Maybe for the last two years we have not been wearing jerseys at all. Maybe we have been wearing some kind of textile curse. Maybe every line was too much, every idea too bold, every design decision a quiet handshake with the bottom of the standings. Maybe I should have left everything exactly as it was. Who knows.

This kind of idea is nothing new in sports. There is the famous Madden Curse: the moment an NFL star appears on the cover of the football video game, people start wondering whether injuries, bad luck, or a drop in form will follow. Then there is Racing Club in Argentina, where the story of seven black cats buried in the stadium is still seen as one of the most famous sports curses of all. Even in tennis, people suddenly started talking about a “Netflix curse” when an unusually high number of players featured in Break Point either went out early at the Australian Open or were unable to play because of injury. And even at Bayern, there was recent talk of a “cursed” white kit. As absurd as all of this sounds, this is exactly how these myths are created. Not because they are logical, but because they get repeated until they start to feel almost more real than reason itself.

So now I am doing the only logical thing and saying it out loud. Yes, maybe it's my fault.

Maybe it really was not the best idea for me to start designing HCI jerseys right before the club finished bottom of the table twice. Maybe I should have realized earlier that I was not just creating designs, but accidentally putting dark forces onto fabric. Maybe at some point someone should have stepped in and said: Jörgi, listen, it looks great, but we would also like to win games again.

Maybe Something Is Still Missing

There is, however, one small complication. At SK Wilten, I also had a hand in designing the jerseys, only this time with my logo on them. Since then, the team has remained unbeaten. A coincidence? Maybe. Either way, it does very little to clear my name.

And that is exactly why this article might help. Because maybe the only way to break a curse is to name it first. Maybe you have to drag it into the light, make it public, make it ridiculous. Maybe that is the moment it starts to lose its power.

So this is me doing what has to be done: officially recognizing the jersey curse of Innsbruck. Because I believe every good sports story needs a little bit of madness. And because deep down, I honestly hope this is exactly what has been missing. Not a new system, not a new import player, not some new whatever. Just a properly worded release of pressure.

And if HCI starts climbing again from here, then the story is clear anyway. Then this text mattered. Then this was what had to happen. Then maybe the curse was broken, not with holy water and not with magic, but with the most beautiful weapon a club can have in hard times: self-irony.

And if not, then at least we know what might still be missing. 🙃