A few weeks ago, after our grandsons had completed their homework assignments and enjoyed another one of grandma’s great meals, Phil, now 9, was watching his favorite cartoon show “SpongeBob SquarePants,” and Robbie, all of 13, joined grandpa in the den for a man-to-man talk.

I’d taped and saved a game in which my beloved New York Giants had beaten the Dallas Cowboys in the Cowboys’ brand new billion-dollar stadium. Robbie noticed me printing a label to stick on that tape and thought back to the day of the game.

“Grandpa, did you switch chairs or get up and walk around the family room to change the Giants luck from bad to good?”

I laughed. “Robbie, I did better than that. I programmed the tape to begin at 5:30 p.m. and didn’t dare turn the video on until nine, when I was sure the game would be over.”

I told him that if the Giants lost, I wanted to get the bad news over in one bitter gulp, then go on with the rest of my life not dwelling on what might have been. In sum, I said, “I didn’t want to jinx my team!”

The word jinx seemed to upset Robbie. With a serious expression on his face, he said, “Grandpa, jinxes and hexes and fear of the unknown come from unfounded beliefs right out of the dark ages.”

Of course I knew he was right. But I came from a generation where beliefs from the Middle Ages held on.

As a kid, we knocked on wood for good luck, carried a rabbit’s foot on our key chains and believed in the power of a horseshoe nailed to a wooden door.

I had a lucky baseball bat, and one day that Louisville Slugger, which still had hits in it, cracked in my hands. I knew I was in deep trouble. Never mind the fact a good pitcher might have had something to do with my striking out, it was the end of that lucky bat that did me in.

None of this would I divulge to my innocent grandson, who walks and talks a straight line. However, our conversation reminded me of the jinxes I inadvertently cast onto two football coaches and a Major League baseball player.

On a fall afternoon in the 1960s, I attended a football game at West Point, thanks to my pal Ben Gulino, who did Army football statistics in the Michie Stadium press booth. We rooted for the brave old Army team that afternoon, and the Black Knights beat Tulane University. Following the game, Ben introduced me to the new Army head football coach, Homer Smith. I shook Homer’s hand and wished him much success.

The following week I shook my head in sadness while scanning the sports page. Army had traveled to Nebraska and lost to the Cornhuskers, 77-0. Ouch!

Later that week Ben called to tell me that Coach Smith asked who was the guy who shook his hand and jinxed him.

A decade later, I was at an NYPD retirement party for my longtime partner and friend Rocky Torre. After many of us stood up at the Amber Lantern Inn in Flushing, Queens, and told stories about our days and tours with Rocky, his younger brothers Frank and Joe, both major leaguers, took the microphone to talk about their big brother.

Later I approached Joe and wished him well with his new club, the New York Mets, congratulated Joe on his great career to date and predicted he’d win another Most Valuable Player award as a Met. Joe, a solid .300 hitter, went on to hit a dismal .247 that year, his lowest career mark.

Rocky called me one day after the season ended. “My brother Joe wanted to know who the guy who jinxed him was?”

Finally, one day in 2002 there I was behind the Napa Valley Marriott, watching the Oakland Raiders go through summer practice drills. I shook hands with the new coach, a nice fellow named Bill Callahan, and predicted that his team would win the Super Bowl. That prediction earned a double pumping of hands and a smile from the coach.

Well, Bill and his Raiders did make it to Super Bowl XXXVII, but the outcome was not what Raider Nation wanted or expected. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers mauled the Raiders, 48-21.

The Raiders haven’t been the same since, and sometimes I wonder if Bill Callahan recalls the guy who jinxed him at Redwood Middle School field seven years ago.

Ev Parker can be reached at evjenpar@mailbug.com or 224-9956.