Hating On The New York Yankees Is My Life's Work
Wednesday October the Tenth, in the year of our Lord two thousand and eighteen. The Yankees are dead. Put the tag on the toe, zip up the bag, dig the grave, and bury the body. For the 16th time in the last 17 years, the New York Yankees are not World Champions. Just lumped in with the Mets and the Phillies and the Padres and Mariners as teams that all finished as losers this season. This is the post mortem of a Yankee Hater as we clink our champagne glass like the ’72 Dolphins, cheersing every time an undefeated football team catches their first L. Another year gone by, and we’re safe. Successful season of hating on the Yankees.
My entire life I’ve been hating the Yankees. As much as I’ve rooted for the New York Mets, I’ve rooted against the New York Yankees. And at times, more often than not, I’m more passionate about my hate. For two reasons:
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1) During prolonged periods of shitty Mets baseball, when there isnt even a light at the end of the tunnel – when the Cicadas are hibernating before their 7 year revival as Clem and I would say – there isnt anything to be positive about in Queens. In a year like 2006, 2007, 2015, I’m more dialed into the Mets than anything else in my life. In a year like 2002-2005, or 2018, when the Mets arent even relevant, there’s actually something on the line with Yankees hate.
And (more importantly) 2) I hate harder than I love. I always have, and I always will. As will most of my fellow Mets fans, New Yorkers, and truly just goddam adults. If you’re a grown adult and you dont have hate in your heart you’re either unimaginably rich or a moron oblivious to the world around you. I’m neither, so I hate every fucking asshole I come across.
And when you grow up a Mets fan in the Bronx, you come across a lot of assholes. I’ve lived my whole life behind enemy lines. Very few cities have the multi-franchise dynamic. And none have it as large and as heated as New York. Chicago kinda has it, but even they are a distant second to Mets/Jets vs Yankees/Giants. So throughout my formative years I spent my entire life surrounded by these people:
Which naturally leads to an extreme level of hate. Mets fans are their own stereotype. Long Island squids and lifelong losers. But there is nobody worse than the Goomba Yankees fans. The fat guidos, the juiced up roid monkeys, and the 27 Rings Bro’s with rocks for brains. When thats your entire life, it is quite literally impossible to feel anything towards these people than pure, unadulterated hatred. Throughout this time in Hell, I had constant run ins with these assholes. One time during the Subway Series in 2000 I was walking the halls with Mets gear on. A Jay Payton shirsey to be precise. I was catching it worse than Shawn Michaels with the belt in Canada:
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At this time I was dating an older girl a couple grades above me. No big deal, but kind of a big deal. Anyway there was this Yankees Goomba named D Bach and as I walked by him in the hallway at school he said “..Tell Becky I’m gonna put it in her butt!” There was nothing I could do about it because he was on steroids and older than me and I was on the verge of getting rolled in the World Series. These are the type of things that inspire hate that extends will beyond the sport of baseball. We’re no longer talking about “my favorite player is better than your favorite player!” when your girlfriend’s butt is on the line. When you wear orange and blue north of Manhattan, shit becomes a personal battle.
The Yankees won the Subway Series in 5 games. D Bach did not, in fact, have butt sex with my girlfriend. I dont think. Credit to me. As a Mets fan beggars can’t be choosers and I was happy to get out of there without getting stomped out by a Roid Rage senior who Prima Nocte’d my lady.
So yes, I hate the Yankees at least as much as I hate the Mets. And no, I dont root for the Yankees when the Mets are out of it just because I’m a “New Yorker.” I think both of those things are PREPOSTEROUS, and its all I’ve seen on twitter from people during this series who dont get it. Mets fans will understand…Yankees fans who are honest with themselves and not trying to play the patronizing “I dont even care about the Mets” card will understand…but out of towners cant seem to grasp this concept. To me, my entire life is New York. Always been here, probably always will be. So my every day life – at school, at work, at bars, virtually everywhere – is what matters. Within my own bubble theres two teams that matter. I want one to win and one to lose. I dont care about anything outside that bubble so you’ll never catch me rooting for that team because they are geographically near me. Thats the EXACT reason that I HATE them, you dummies. And I think its absolutely, 100% acceptable and, really, mandatory to hate the Yankees as much as I do because of 30+ years of shit talking. I got goombas trying to have anal with my girlfriend…in high school…and you think thats not gonna mold a hateful goblin who emerges from his hole every October to do his part in spreading the Good Word of the Scumbaggery that is Yankees Fans? For sure not.
I dont enjoy it. Its not “fun.” But I wouldnt have it any other way. I couldnt. If you’re from the Midwest or you’re not a baseball fan you might not get it, but I have this Jekyll and Hyde thing going. Once my team is out I flip a switch and go after this other one. And so despite never having a team in the postseason, the playoffs are always interesting to me. I get as much satisfaction every time they are bounced as most people get from their team winning, so its always entertaining. Oddly enough, as much as my team loses fails in the playoffs or cant even reach the playoffs, in the last 15 years life as a Yankee Hater, business has been good. It hasnt been easy. Its not enjoyable. Its stressful and scary but the vast majority of the time I’ve been celebrating Yankees demise. Its great. I relish every single salty Yankees tear that falls in October. Tastes just like that cloudy water they keep their muhtzarehl in. I make fun of their fans, I dance circles around them when it comes to busting balls and actually talking baseball, because I follow the team I Hate just like the team I Love. I know everything thing about them and their scumbag fans. You might call that “living rent free” inside my brain. You can call me “obsessed.” But Sun Tzu once said “Know thy enemy,” and I know everything about these fat faced guidos with their unbuttoned jerseys, their backwards hats, their gold chains, their tired, lame chirps, their lazy baseball arguments, and I know every. single. button. to push. Call it whatever you want, but baseball to me is life and death, and every day like this in October is just about the only time I feel alive.