I hate the New York Yankees almost as much as I love the Boston Red Sox. I might even hate the Yankees a little bit more. Until the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004, one of my greatest sports memories was watching the Yankees lose in the 2002 postseason to the Angels. I watched it in my brother’s college dorm room and the two of us celebrated like we had just won 10 grand on a scratch-off ticket. We were just floored that someone had actually beaten the Yankees.
Now that the Red Sox have won and regularly contend (don’t laugh), I don’t celebrate the Yankees shortcomings as outwardly, but I still walk around with a little bounce in my step every time they fall short of winning the World Series. If the Sox can’t win, the Yankees might as well lose.
When I was very young, someone in my family stumbled across some angry rant that a Mets fan had written about the Yankees. The internet was still in its early stages at the time, so instead of e-mailing it we printed it out and passed it around from family member to family member, getting our laughs in and repeating it at family parties and such. That was the first time that I realized that people outside of my sheltered little circle hated the Yankees as much as I did.
One of the highlights from that rant: “If a homeless came in off the street and beat the s*** out of my grandmother, I’d still hate him less than I hate Jorge Posada. And I think that means I have a problem.”
It was great to know that I had some company in my Yankee hating. Since that point, though, there just haven’t been many seasons where the Yankees were head and shoulders better than the Red Sox. Sure, the Yankees have been the better team – they’re better than the Sox basically every year – but it wasn’t to the point that I envied them and wanted to throw up every time they ran off 17 out of 19.
Well now it is to that point. The Red Sox suck – even though they’ve won four straight - and the Yankees are 14 games above .500 and are well on their way to cruising to their 131st consecutive division title. The contrast between the two teams is as pronounced as it as back when I was little kid, when the Sox were perennial losers and the Yankees were, well, the Yankees.
I hate them with every fiber of my being. I’m bitter, and I figure it’s time to express that the only way I know how – by making fun of their players to make myself feel better about this season. In honor of that angry rant that one sullen Mets fan wrote when I was a kid, here’s a list of reasons why this latest version of the New York Yankees make me want to stick my own fingers down my throat every time I look at the AL East standings:
1. Joe Girardi looks like he got beat up in middle school
Nice teeth, metal-mouth. What the hell is a grown man doing walking around with full metallic braces like that? Does he change the colors in the braces for the holidays, like I used to do when I was in fourth grade?
You could always tells when it was Christmas season, because my mouth was bright green and red. The only difference is that I was busy learning how to write cursive, not managing the freaking New York Yankees.
I wonder if he’s allowed to leave the dinner table before he’s eaten all his vegetables.
2. John Sterling strikes me as a potential pervert
Is it just me, or do you that decidedly perverted feel from Yankees radio broadcaster John Sterling. I can’t listen to this guy without getting a shiver down my spine. Every time he yells out one of his stupid catchphrases on a home run I feel like I need a hot shower.
An A-Bomb! From A-Rod!… Why don’t you go ogle A-Rod through that hole you carved out in the locker room shower out you sick bastard. I assume that weird guy that calls the games with you is a little freaked out by your shtick.
Robbie Cano, Don’t Ya Know! …I know you’re not wearing pants in the booth.
You’re on the Mark….TEIXEIRA! …You’re a pedophile….STERLING!
Also, nobody knows how old the guy is. According to his Wikipedia, he was either born in 1938 or 1948. That’s kind of a big gap. Sounds like a classic case of sexual perversion on the run, if you ask me.
3. A-Rod is still a whiny little punk
Not only does A-Rod now suck at the game of baseball, but man…he’s kind of a little punk. His lips are as purple as ever, his teammates still hate him, he reached out to LeBron James the other day to tell him that he “knows what he’s going through,” and he probably still has pictures of Madonna tacked up to his ceiling.
But you know what the best thing about A-Rod is? Nobody cares about him. The fans don’t care about him, management doesn’t care about him – nobody does. He’s just some guy playing third base now. When he retired, nobody will give a you-know-what, just like nobody gave a you-know-what when he tied Lou Gehrig’s grand slam record the other day. It’s all moot because he’s such a little punk. Had he not sucked in the clutch his whole life, not slapped the ball out of Bronson Arroyo’s glove, had he not dated Madonna, had he not commissioned a painting of himself as a minotaur, had he not yelled at that guy trying to catch a pop up while running in the basepaths, then maybe even his own fans would like him.
Instead, he’ll just go down as some cross dresser with purple lips (I know, I’m harping on the lips, but look at them!) who played third base for the Yankees for a while.
F*** you Alex Rodriguez.
4. Nick Swisher celebrates like Maria Sharapova
You know how every time Sharapova wins a point – even if its in the first round of the “Eats***.com Open” she pumps her fist, but does it in this weird girly way with her thumb on the wrong side of her hand? Well trust me, she does, and it’s almost as annoying as it is when Swisher does his stupid chest slap – like he’s a freaking orangutan – despite the fact that it’s the third inning of a game in mid-April.
Yankee fans will tell you that they “like his fire,” but really they’re just making excuses for him because ”his fire,” is a code word for “mental retardation.”
And Yankee fans also tell me CONSTANTLY that I would love Swisher if he was on my team. Maybe, but you know what? He’s not, so until he is I hope he chokes on one of those basketball-sized dips he puts in six times a game.
5. Andy Pettitte is still a steroid-infused freak
Yeah, I’m sure you can just take a year off, hang out a little while at “extended Spring Training,” and then come back to the team and pitch like you’re Sandy freaking Koufax even though you’re 40. You’re not fooling anyone.
Someone check his guy’s butt for needle marks. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before.
6. CC Sabathia wears his hat like he’s a member of the Bloods
You know what is a really smooth look when you’re a professional baseball player? Wearing your hat sideways. Somebody should check this guy’s back pocket for a gat and a bottle of Alize.
Why don’t you concentrate on going to the salad bar once and while so you can lose some weight and not look like you just ate Hideki Irabu, instead of concocting new ways to establish street cred, you fat tub of you-know-what.
7. Joba Chamberlain probably smells like horse you-know-what
I know he’s been injured this year, but remember when all those bugs inexplicably swarmed Fat Joba Chamberlain in that playoff game, and he was such a fat, sweaty mess that he wasn’t able to fight through it and throw strikes?
I feel like the was something more to that story. The bugs basically left everyone else alone, but they swarmed to Joba like he was a pile of horse you-know-what.
The verdict? Joba Chamberlain smells like horse you-know-what. Take a shower, and then change your first name so you don’t sound as much like a fictional slug created by George Lucas.
8. Boone Logan…
Oh don’t even get me started on Boone Logan.
Boone Logan? That’s what you’re going with? Why didn’t his parents just Davy Freaking Crocket? I haven’t even looked this up – and I”m not going to – but I would be willing to bet the lives of everybody I care about that Boone Logan is from either Texas or Oklahoma.
You know how I know that? Because his name sounds like he was conceived in a coal mine. It must get weird when ol’ Boone tries to drill for oil in the middle of the locker room.
So in conclusion, I may not be able to stop the Yankees from running away with the AL East, and I may not be able to make the Red Sox contend, but I’ll always be able to stir up a good batch of hate for the guys in the pinstripes. And if they end up falling short of winning the World Series – preferably in heartbreaking fashion – it will be almost as good as the Red Sox winning it.