Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don't...

Last night I PASSED OUT on my couch at like 7:30, only to wake up 2 hours later with the Sox up 6-0 and my Yankee fan friends too demoralized to make it to a bar. So I stayed in and watched the rest of the most exciting, boring game in the history of sports.
I actually typed out a long, Yankee-hating diatribe earlier today, but deleted it cause I really don't think it's necessary. Y'all know what's up. That’s all. You have been pretty disgraceful to us Mets fans since 2000, so there's not much sympathy coming out of queens this morning. I, for one, was happy the Red Sox beat the Yankees.

But when I was leaving my building today, my doorman, who has worked there for 25 years, and is a Yankee fan for life, told me with a pat on the shoulder and a scrunched up face, "next year, Yeff, next year." The humble and disappointed Yankee fan...something I thought was gone with the Alvaro Espinoza era, apparently still exists...And I was touched. For a moment, I felt like maybe I should have been rooting for them all along.

But no. The grand scheme outweighs the individuals. You really can't control who you root for. It's automatic. You can pretend...like Boston's own Mike Bloomberg getting bundled up in enough Yankee jawn to make J-Lo jealous. But deep down everybody knows who they want to win. Someone hits a Home Run and you either die inside or wake the fuck up. There's really no in between, and you can't always explain it.

So I'll be rooting for the Red Sox again this Saturday...not loudly and obnoxiously as some may choose to, but quietly and respectably for the sake of witnessing history. And while the passers by may scowl and jeer like my name was Johnny Walker Lindh, I've lived in this town long enough. I’ve got nothing left to prove as a true New Yorker. I don't need to feign disappointment for a team I never really liked that much to begin with. If you don't get that, then you're part of the reason why I feel this way.

Go Sox.