| I was at a wedding in New York over the weekend, and as I was ironing my pants I happened to catch a preview for a movie on HBO about Roger Maris and Micky Mantle. The film showed the harsh brutality that Maris and Mantle were subjected to as they pursued a record that Yankees fans held sacred -- Babe Ruth’s single season home run record. I didn’t get a chance to see the movie itself, but as I watched the preview, saw those two heroes of the diamond laugh, cry and love together, saw them overcome amazing odds to become heroes, goose bumps rose on my neck and all I could think about was how much I f***ing hate the Yankees. I hate their uniforms. I hate their stadium. I hate their town. I hate their fans. I hate their players, coaches, trainers, owners, and managers. I know it’s baseball sacrilege to say you hate Joe Torre, but you know what? He wears a Yankee uniform. I have the same view of people in Yankee uniforms that people in Mississippi had in 1863. He survived cancer, great, more power to him. I’m sure lots of pedophiles and cannibals have survived cancer over the years. I’m not saying Joe Torre is a pedophile or a cannibal, but he wears a Yankee uniform six days a week, so you‘ve got to wonder. And Don Zimmer -- this guy is like the Charlie Watts of baseball. You know he’s dead, but somehow he manages to move his arms and legs. They used to call him “the gerbil”...clearly someone forgot to put this guy in a shoebox and bury him in the backyard. Those of you who don’t know me personally are all saying the same thing to yourself -- this guy is a Red Sox fan. That’s true, but that isn’t why I hate the Yankees. Well, okay, but it’s not the only reason. The Yankees are everything that’s wrong with sports. They buy their World Series rings every year, simply because their convicted felon billionaire psychopath of an owner can. How funny is it that the Twins, who as a team make less money than my wife and I, are in first place over the Yankees who have the same payroll as Indonesia? Right about here is where Yankees fans, who are in fact pedophiles and cannibals, start spitting statistics at you and saying “When was the last time the Red Sox won the pennant?” This is assuming you’re talking to one of the six or seven Yankees fans who can understand English and don’t speak in a New York accent that so thick it might as well be Bolognese. I don’t care about statistics. They mean nothing to me. Clearly anyone who bases the love of their team solely on statistics is a common frontrunner. Where were all these Yankees fans during the “boy we really suck” years? Rooting for the Mets, that’s where. Roger Angell once described Yankees fans as “overdressed, uncomprehending autumn arrivistes.” That may have been true at the time, but you can’t call them overdressed anymore since their either wearing a “21” shirt that’s so small you can see their ass crack all the way from Maryland or they’re not wearing a shirt at all. This isn’t because they’re fans; it’s because they don’t remember where they put it after they puked on it the night before. You know what I thought of when I saw the two guys playing Mantle and Maris? Stinking drunk and completely overrated. Maris had three good seasons (and they retired his number -- this would be like the Cubs retiring Kerry Wood’s number next year). Mick was great, don‘t get me wrong, but the Yankees have a habit of getting great personnel it's completely impossible to like, such as Steve Howe, Billy Martin, Sparky Lyle, (Did you read Bronx Zoo? Yeah, I’d be miserable too if I was making millions pitching for a World Series winner), and the Babe. (And speaking of their greatest hero this side of fan-hating, Monroe-stalking DiMaggio, has New York forgotten what the Schpankees did to Ruth at the end of his career? They sent him to the Boston Braves, who were 38-115 with him. Huge stars like Frank Coleman and Roy Weatherly wore Ruth's #3 before they retired it -- now that’s love. While we’re on the subject of retired numbers, let’s remember that Yanks retired Reggie Jackson's and Billy Martin's numbers -- that’s a combined twelve seasons and .261batting average. It’s a minor miracle Wade Boggs doesn’t have a statue in the outfield.) I’m proud to be a Red Sox fan. I’m proud that my team loses every year. They’ll lose this year too, I guarantee it. But you know what, I’ll put on my hat and my jersey and I’ll cheer for them next year. If the Yankees went five years without a pennant you’d have to drive by Graceland to see them play. Sox fans keep coming back, despite soaring ticket prices, moronic management and year after year of disappointment. We keep coming back. It’s bred in us a pure love of the underdog, a staunch affinity for the team that has no chance (except in this year’s Stanley Cup finals -- we want the Avs. There isn’t a single Boston sports fan that wouldn’t perform a homosexual act on Ray Bourque if he asked. And speaking of hockey, New York, what’s up with those Rangers? Guess a billion dollar payroll will only buy a World Series, though it seems to score an equal amount of drug-addicted reprobates). But we have so much more class than you, New York, can’t you see that? We’re 1947 Triple Crown winner Ted Williams to your 1947 MVP Joe DiMaggio (how does a Triple Crown winner not win the MVP?) We’re Bill “Spaceman” Lee to your Rich “Goose” Gossage. So come August when Steinbrenner starts to panic and signs every washed-up former all-star he can get his hands on, when Jeter decides he’s just a little too cool to sign autographs for kids, when Knoblach finally admits he’s legally blind, when that Bronx strike zone suddenly widens to the size of a minivan for the Rocket but not for any opposing pitcher, New Yorkers can take pride in their Yankees. |
| PRIDE OF THE YANKEES |