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I became a baseball fan -- New York Yankee fan, at that -- in the summer of 1978. I thrilled to the Yankees putting aside their personality conflicts and making up 14 games on the Red Sox.
I chortled with glee at the Boston Massacre.
I literally ran home from school on October 2, 1978, to catch as much of the Boston Tea Party as I could; I got home in more than enough time to witness "Bucky Fucking Dent" smack it over the Monster.
I cheered wildly as the Yankees dispatched Kansas City in the ALCS, and became a firm believer when they overcame an 0-2 deficit and smacked the bejeezus out of the Dodgers in the World Series.
Reggie Jackson was my main man, along with Munson and Nettles and Guidry and Gossage and Piniella and Randolph. They were like gods to me. Even greater, once I began studying Yankees history, were Ruth, Gehrig (especially Lou, in more ways than one), DiMaggio and Mantle. Believe me -- I was a True Believer; they all every one of them kept me going through my adolescent/young adult years.
With that said, I was no fair-weather fan. I grieved when Munson went down in that plane. I freaked out when George Brett and Co. swept them in the '80 ALCS, and was even more hacked off when Garvey, Lopes, Russell, Cey, Dusty, Lasorda, et al, avenged themselves in '81. I and millions of like-minded folks then had to sit through fifteen years of Steinbrennerian idiocy and major-league disappointment.
And when Jeffrey Maier came through for us -- yes, THAT WAS fan interference, but we'll take it -- and Jim Leyritz brought us back from the dead in Atlanta and Charlie Hayes squeezed that foul pop by the third-base dugout, I was beyond ecstasy, so much so that I locked myself out of my apartment.
However, since that Saturday night in October, 1996, my ardor has cooled somewhat -- and I don't know why. I just don't feel the same way about MY TEAM anymore. Maybe it is my personal politics, in which sympathy for the underdog, uplifting the less fortunate, is an important value. In 1998 I found myself pulling for the Padres for some reason. I was okay in 1999, because I absolutely despise the Braves. However, when 2000 rolled around, I found myself OPENLY rooting for the Mets.
It was then and only then that I finally could relate to how many baseball fans felt when the Yankees were dominating from the 20s through the 60s. And -- GOD DAMN ME -- I WAS GLAD THAT ARIZONA WON IN 2001!!!!!
Here we are in 2003. There is a new sheriff in town, and in New England, he is known as AARON FUCKING BOONE. The Florida Marlins are next on the proverbial chopping block, and there is a significant part of me that is PRAYING for an upset. I am, after all, from Florida.
Maybe I am taking this TOO seriously, but I have come to feel that the Yankees represent something that goes against my sensibilities. Perhaps it is because that the more baseball I have watched over the years, the more I have come to respect other teams, other players, and their contributions to the game. I enjoy watching the Marlins and the Diamondbacks and the Braves and the Giants and the Cubs and the Cardinals and the Red Sox and the A's as well as the Yankees. I enjoy watching Bonds and Sosa and Prior and Pujols and Maddox and Smoltz and Andruw and Chipper and Ramirez (YES, I LOVE MANNY!) and Pedro and A-Rod and Sheffield and Bret Boone and Thomas and Bagwell and Zito and Mulder and Hudson and Ichiro and Luis Gonzalez and Randy Johnson and Dontrelle as much as as I do Jeter and Clemens and Pettite and Rivera and Soriano.
As I write this, I am wearing a gold necklace with a "4" charm. This is in tribute to my favorite Yankee, Lou Gehrig. I also own an official pinstriped jersey with "4" on the back. I have seen "Pride of the Yankees" more times than I care to. Ask me damn near anything you want and need to know about the Yankees, and I'll tell you. Still, I am finding it harder and harder each day to cheer on "my boys." And George ain't helping matters any. Perhaps I have just grown up, period.
Flame away if you must, my fellow Yankee DUers, but this 25-year love affair has degenerated into a love-hate relationship. Peace.
Much Love and Maximum Respect, A Conflicted Yankee Fan.
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