THE YANKEES.
right now the team is reminding me of that certain type of person who wants something very badly—a significant other, say, or a job—yet they have no idea why they want it, so it never comes to fruition.
you know that type. they go about life emitting a scent of desperation and fear mixed with l'eau de lame ass. you feel sort of bad for them because, wow, if only they could get a clue—life would be so much easier. if only they realized that pulling their heads out of their big fat overpaid rear ends is really the only way not to miss the playoffs for the first time since 1995, things might fall into place a little more easily.
but no. they just keep on keepin' on, flailing about as they do, talking about succeeding but sorely under achieving when push comes to shove. or, you know, when the bases are loaded.
this had to happen sometime. i only turned obsessive where the Yankees are concerned in 1996. not because that's when they started winning—i promise you—just because that's when my brain finally finished developing and the part that comprehended and appreciated and loved with all its might the sport of baseball finally popped into place.
i mean, yeah, 2001 nearly destroyed me, and every postseason since has taken an emotional toll—some years worse than others (dear god, 2004). but this—this season—this takes the cake. in my career as a fervent, borderline psychotic Yankee fan, this season is a horse of a different color.
this season, i finally know what it's like to be a Mets fan.
mb
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