hate the player, hate the game

As a fan of the game of baseball, it's hard not to respect Yankees. It's the first team you associate with the game, and for a reason. They have the most championships and more than twice as many as the team that's second on the list. As a fan of the New York Mets, the other New York team, I find it easy to hate the Yankees. I think it's genetic. My dad was a New York Giants fan before the team moved to San Francisco and a die-hard National League supporter. When I asked my father what team he pulled for during the time there was no National League team in New York--when both the Giants and the Dodgers fled to the west--he answered, "Whatever team was playing the Yankees."

People out here don't understand. I guess I don't really understand either. It's either one or the other; if you say you like both, you're not really a fan. It's crazy, yeah, but that's really how it is. Growing up as a Mets fan, I learned to hate the Yankees in the cafeterias and playgrounds at school. Obviously, the Yankees have many more fans--and they're all loud and obnoxious, at any age. If they're not loud and obnoxious, they're not really fans. I've been in many an immature screaming match--never a fight--and I've been called, and have called others, many things that I probably shouldn't repeat. I don't take any of it back either.

Baseball is one of the few things I'm really passionate about, the Mets specifically. I don't really know why, but I am, and it's nice to be really passionate about something, especially considering I'm so detached normally. I remember watching the ball roll through Buckner's legs in my parents' living room. I remember my dad calling after Jesse Orosco tallied the final strike out in game 7. I remember Robin Ventura's grand slam single to stave off elimination against the Braves in the longest playoff game of all time. These were all great memories that rank up there with my first kiss (mostly better than my first kiss, too). I also remember all the heartache and disappointment. The Dodgers upset win in the 1988 NLCS and the Yankees clinching the 2000 World Series in the Mets home stadium.

In a way, being a Mets fan has taught me humility. It's taught me how to take the good with the bad, and all those other cliche lessons. And it could be worse. I could be a Red Sox fan.

I watched most of the playoff game between the Red Sox and the Yanks today (the Red Sox one game away from being swept in the best of seven series). I decided to watch something else because Joe Buck and Tim McCarver might be the worst commentating duo in sports. Their flair for pointing out the obvious and their propensity for self-felatio make for a nauseating broadcast. Often, especially in the case of McCarver, I wonder if they're even watching the same game as I am. But that's Fox for you. How that network has been able to produce The Simpsons and Arrested Development is beyond me (though I have to give them props for signing up my boy, Al Leiter, who does a fairly decent job). Unfortunately, I turned it off before the Red Sox made their dramatic comeback in extra innings; I would have liked to see that. The Yankees have become a metaphor for everything I don't like about the world. They've made the rest of Major League Baseball their farm team, culling all the best players from other teams, because the Yankees are the only ones who can afford any price. They force everyone else out of competition, and for these flimsy morals, they're rewarded by winning all the time.

In other news, my plan for only leaving bed to lay down on the couch worked perfectly, though I left on my cell phone so I could talk to my mom and dad. I watched Clash of the Titans today for the first time in forever, which renewed my love for Ray Harryhausen's work as well as my desire to have a real live Bubo of my very own.