Бывший педагог из Техаса выдвинул «теорию обратного предсказания», утверждая, что его прогнозы всегда оказываются неверными

As an ex-public educator of 14 years, I'm no stranger to the laws of science, especially as they relate to life here in the Texas Hill Country. In fact, I don't mind admitting that I've been working extensively on a precept that I hope to publish, and eventually establish as scientific law. At first, I thought that my discovery was just a fluke, an accidental series of related events. However, I now realize that this phenomenon is a constant, and therefore confidence is high (even among my colleagues) that I will eventually prove this theory into law. I call it "Kerr's Theory of Reverse Prediction." You may be familiar with other scientific laws such as Newton's Law, which states that for every action, there is an opposite reaction of equal force. Too complicated? Try something a little on the lighter side, like Murphy's Law, which says that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. You can reduce most scientific laws to a mathematical equation. For example, the well-known mathematical formula "E=MC2" expresses Albert Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Therefore, to better explain my theory, I will offer the simple equation of J= -J, where "J" represents what John says will happen, and "-J" represents what actually happens. To be more specific, Kerr's Theory of Reverse Prediction is the given that whatever I expect to happen will produce the complete opposite result. Consider this theory as it applies to my ability to predict the weather here at camp. For example, the Sr. Youth Camp Director, Chandler Pruitt, notices some ominous gray clouds forming in the sky, and he calls me on the radio for a weather forecast. Naturally, wanting to give him some educated analysis, I go online and download the current radar loop, which shows zero precipitation, and virtually no storm cells within a 100-mile radius. I then report to Chandler that the scope is clear and that he has nothing to worry about. Fifteen minutes later, rain begins to pound down in torrents, causing a flash flood warning for Real County, and a sheriff's evacuation order of Garner State Park. Conversely, let's say I opened the radar loop and had seen a storm cell headed straight for us on my computer screen that was the size and color of an overripened strawberry. In this scenario, I would immediately get on the radio, and cause a county-wide panic only to have the rest of the day resemble the peace and tranquility of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Of course, this phenomenon of reverse prediction is not just correlated to the weather. Here are some other recent self-assured statements that didn't exactly pan out the way I expected. "I know you're tired of hiking kids, but our truck is just on top of that ridge." "Hey Coleman, duck down so I can cast over your head. Don't worry, I won't hook you." "Of course I know where we are, we should be there in 10 minutes." "You can jump across that ditch easy, honey. Anyway, that mud is only two inches deep." "Don't worry William, baby skunks can't spray yet." It's not that I'm bad at predicting things… okay, that's exactly what it is, but don't throw me under the bus just yet. There's a silver lining with this theory. Actually, I'm so bad at predicting things that I'm good at it, and people around me have learned to act on that consistency. Follow me here; if I tell Chandler that we are about to get hit by a storm that would rival a Category 3 hurricane, Chandler knows with certainty that it's time for campers to go swimming. If I tell our Outdoor Ed. Director, Erik Silvius, not to move because wild boars don't generally charge humans, he knows that he'd better find a tall tree post-haste. It's all about consistency, and I've even learned to use reverse predictions to my own advantage. Just last week, while fishing with my son, I tested my theory out with an experiment. Noticing that the fish bite was getting slow, I said out loud, "Hey Gideon, the fish aren't biting anymore. Let's grab our gear, and head for," BAM, even before I had finished the sentence, a hard-hitting strike bent Gideon's rod into the water, and a few moments later, he landed his personal best speckled trout. All I need is a little more evidence before I can finally publish my research, and finally have the professional world of science recognize me. In the meantime, the weather is going to be beautiful out here in the Frio Canyon this week, and I thought I'd go out for a nice long walk. Anybody want to come with?