Fond memories

There is no agony like watching a Yankees/Red Sox playoff series. There is no hatred to match it that I can fall back upon. Every shot of the Red Sox bench, every Red Sox fan, every Joe Buck comment about something positive about the Red Sox. Every Manny being Manny, every Cowboy Up, every stupid fucking word that comes out of every one of those fucking fans is brutal this time of year. Every time they show the clip of A-rod smacking the ball out of Bronson Arroyo's glove, every clip of tough guy Jason Varitek keeping his mask on when A-rod tried to break his face, every drip of Soul-Glo on Ortiz's jersey. All of it makes me sick during the playoffs. None of it bothers me before then.

So when you ask if I can stand another 60 hours of agony this year, I would say no, but I just feel so damn confident against the Red Sox this year. Maybe it's the fact that the Yankees finished in second in the division and therefore are not the favorites. Maybe it's that all of Boston's pitchers have gotten shelled by the Yankees hitters this year. I am getting way ahead of myself in that the Yankees and Sox both need to defeat very tough first round opponents, but should that happen, I'm actually looking forward to the series this year...that is, until it starts. Then the first paragraph comes back and makes me want to kill every Sully, every Fitzy, every Faust I see.

Well, not totally true. It makes we want to kill the girls I know who are Red Sox fans but don't know who actually plays for the team. One told me Mo Vaughn plays first base for them. That was literally 7 years ago.

I have this problem where this is my most favorite time of the year. It's a problem because I love it when the Yankees are in the playoffs and love it when it's over. If they win, it feels incredible. If they lose, it feels awful...but either way, it's over and I can relax for a few months. This year has been easier than others with the stress of leading a division off my back due to a slow start, but usually the season is a stress filled six month experience. It's easier to trail in the division. You don't have to constantly expect your team to fail. Ask a Red Sox fan which is easier. Up until this year, I'd bet they'd tell you that being in first is so much easier because you're in first and on top. I would always say how stressful it is to see your team lost and then have to watch over your shoulder as the second place team might have won and how everyone is claiming you will blow the lead. It's such a pain in the ass.

When you're in second, everyone rallies behind you because who doesn't root for the underdog? People are saying your team has a shot to catch up. Fans talk to each other about catching a few breaks and being on top. When you're on top, all you worry about is losing the lead. Fans talk to each other about how close you are to disaster. Rarely does it actually happen where the first place teams blows the lead (let's go mets) but until that final day, there is usually a lot of trauma associated with rooting for that first place team.

So am I looking forward to a possible 7 games series against the Red Sox? Sort of. Will I be happy when it's over? Hell yes. Will I break a chair, my laundry basket and tear a pair of work pants off that I am currently wearing in frustration? Likely not.

I was going to wrap this one up, but I guess I can't until I tell that story, right?

So in 2003, the Yankees beat the Red Sox on an Aaron Boone walk off home run in game 7 of the ALCS. Earlier in that game, the Sox had taken a big lead and I was convinced it was over, no matter how early in the game. I even got a call from the Junkyard Dog himself that said nothing more than, "Cowboy Up". I've never wanted to kill more than then. When Boone hit that homer, I called him back with the same words...he doesn't remember because he was blacked out.

In 2004, the Yankees and Red Sox met in the same series, but this time, the Yankees won the first 3 games. Then the Sox won the next 2 and it just felt like they weren't going to look back. Sure enough, they win game 6 also. At this point, the entire world is rooting for the Red Sox and therefore everyone is giving me shit as a Yankees fan. Urge to kill was even higher. Post game 6, I walk down into my room and am steaming mad. I'm also living with 2 Red Sox fans at the time, one of which who has converted his girlfriend into a Red Sox fan because she is happy when he is happy (even though she is from NJ) - F U Faust. Anyway, I walk, pissed beyond pissed off, into my room and try to sit down. That won't do it, so I pick up my laundry basket and heave it into my closet door. Closet door never recovers from the shock of being domestically beaten and therefore refuses to ever go back on its track again. Laundry basket never quite recovers.

Rage still burning. Must do more to calm down. So I walk into the basement living room and turn on the tv...I'm pretty sure it was cued up to espn, meaning it was all about the collapse...so I pick up the nice lay-z-boy in front of me and spike the shit out of that. A few pieces fall to the floor and the chair sits there with a slight limp. Oh so sad.

The next morning I get driven into the city by Saint Balog and stop off at the doctors for breakfast. As I sit down, the pocket of my pants gets caught on the edge of the chair as I go to sit down and the slightest of slight tears happens on the seam of the pocket. Fed up and still incredibly heated, I proceed to rip open the seam and tears the pants completely off. The doctor was likely taken aback by this burst of rage, but to this day continues to laugh about this outburst.

The yankees went on to lose that series and the Red Sox are still gay.