Welcome to Paradise
Never again.
Never again will I have to listen to a complacent Yankees fan tell me that the Red Sox aren't a threat.
Never again will I have to stand Yankees fans asking, "What rivalry?"
Never again will I have to listen to chants about 1918 without having a good response.
Never again will the Yankees be assumed to be the better team.
Never again will I have to hear sports announcers say that the Red Sox always let their fans down.
Never again will Sox fans have to hear that the Yankees always come through in the end.
It's all done now. It's all over. The Yankees, the team that couldn't be beat, the team that was built to win championship after championship, that team, they lost. Wait, wait, let me say that again: they didn't just lose, they choked.
Let Captain Derek Jeter, Alex "Cheaters Never Prosper" Rodriguez, Gary "Gosh My Foot Feels Big in my Mouth" Sheffield, Joe "We're always gonna win" Torre, and lest we forget George "All that Stands for Evil and Greed" Steinbrenner swallow this one. Take a big bite, fellas.
26 rings and one big choke.
God, that feels so good to say.
I never thought I was this bitter. I never thought I'd love this revenge as much as I do, but I gotta say, it's been absolutely euphoric.
Last night, they showed pictures of Yankee Stadium as the Sox completed their 10-3 bashing. Sox fans, smiling in anticipation of the biggest celebration in recent memory. Yankees fans? I hardly recognized them - their sad faces slumped against the dugout, shock ruining the normal complacent grin plastered on their dumb New York mugs. Cashman? Trying to find the fastest escape route out of the Stadium. Pretty boys Jeter and A-Rod? Looking to each other for late night comfort cuddles. Who's the fraud now, Sheffield?
Some people have suggested that Sox fans should empathize with Yankees fans. I mean, haven't we all had our hearts broken? Haven't we all been there before?
Here's my answer: I hate Yankees fans.
I hate the way they told me for years that there was no rivalry. I hate the way they always assumed the Yankees would be fine, no matter what. I hate how they go out and get players just to take them away from other teams, even when they have tons of billion dollar position players sitting on the bench just so that they're not out on some other team's field. I hate how they assumed that the pennant was theirs. I hate how on the afternoon of Game 7, I couldn't find one Yankees fan who admitted to being just a little nervous about the Sox. I hate how they think they own the American league.
Guess what? They don't.
It's their turn now. It's their turn to wonder about "what ifs" and replay the games, over and over again, hoping that it's just an awful nightmare and that in reality, the Yankees came out victorious and are really in the Series. Let them wake up day after day and wonder where it all went wrong. It's their turn to be angry and bitter and upset. It's their turn to cry. The heartbreak? All theirs.
And the thing is, it's not just that the Yankees lost; it's that the Red Sox won. Let me say that again, just so it's understood: the Yankees did not just give up to the Red Sox; the Boston Red Sox beat them. They were down by one run, three outs away from going home and watching the Yankees celebrate in the middle of their hallowed Fenway Park. (As a side note, how good was it to watch the Sox celebrate on their field, while the PA system blasted "New York New York" for the last time this season as their fans streamed out of the stadium? And later, how satisfying was it to see the Sox raise the ALCS trophy on Steinbrenner's lawn? Reallllly good touch. Realllly good.) The Sox though? They wouldn't allow that kind of celebration. Not in their house.
Game 5, they were down two runs in the bottom of the eighth, again facing Mariano Rivera. And again, they didn't stop.
I can't even talk about Game 6 without getting emotional. I mean, here's a guy who was brought to Boston to win a championship, by his own admission. A guy whose heart is arguably bigger than the game. A guy who gets right into the heart of his fandom, calling into radio stations and posting on fan websites. He pitches injured all year, taking shots to numb the pain. He wins 21 games, the most in the major leagues. And then, when it matters the most, he has his skin stitched together so that he can pitch for his team. Through unbelievable pain and gushing blood, the guy goes seven innings, gives up one run, puts his team in a position to win the ALCS, and inspires anybody with passion and heart. He makes even non-believers believe. I mean, whatever happened in Game 7 - and whatever happens from here on out - Curt Schilling's Game 6 performance, I believe, should go down as the gutsiest performance by a Red Sox player. Ever.
And now to Derek Lowe. Here's a guy who was told (rightfully so), "You're just not good enough to start during the postseason." I mean, the guy could have legitimately been contacting Jose Offerman for employment advice. He steps up and pitches on Sunday. He doesn't even whine (that much) about it. And then two days later, he goes out there again, in the biggest game in Yankees-Red Sox history. Miraculously, Rainman doesn't make an appearance. There's no meltdown. Sixty-nine pitches. One hit. One run. Derek Lowe. Who knew?
That's the thing that gets me. When the Sox traveled back to New York, David Ortiz made an important comment. He said, "It can't just be me." He knew it. David Ortiz alone can't beat the Yankees (though I might debate that). And so, everyone stepped up. Walks, singles, sacrifices. Defensive moves. Tight bullpen. And it all worked. As the Yankees unraveled, the Sox came together. They won it. The Yankees choked, sure, and I'll be glad to repeat that for the rest of my life, but make no mistake: the Red Sox played like a championship team games four through seven, and they ultimately beat the Yankees and owned every single one of them - and their greedy bastard of an owner, too.
I don't know how to get over it. I don't know if I want to. I'll be sitting around, anywhere, and suddenly, it will occur to me: the Red Sox beat the Yankees. The Yankees choked. The Red Sox came back from a 3-0 deficit and won this thing. The Red Sox. They beat the Yankees.
I told my friend I was going to wear my "Posada is a Little Bitch" shirt tomorrow. I really love it. I got it a while ago, but I haven't worn it because I really wasn't into the whole "Yankees Suck" thing (ahh, the old days) and I didn't really get into the mean shirts. Now, I had a whole new dilemma:
"Would it be more damaging to Yankees fans to wear the championship shirt, or the Posada shirt?"
She suggested the Posada shirt, saying that its effect was "at its peak" and that Thursday or Friday would be the most appropriate day to wear the shirt.
I don't know. I think forever is the day that's appropriate for any Yankees Suck shirts. Let's face it.
They did.
I'm tempted to leave it at that, but I don't think that's the point of all of this.
For all of the true Red Sox fans out there (maybe about ten at BU last night and maybe oh, 50 in Kenmore Square), it's been an amazing four days. Since Sunday, the Sox have given their fans so much to be consumed by and to be proud of and to cheer for. I've had the absolute best time reading all of the articles online, going to the bars early, wearing my Red Sox shirts, talking about the Sox, rehearsing good luck handshakes, toasting to good plays, and watching it all with good friends. This is what life's all about, if you ask me. Finding something you absolutely love and enjoying it with people you absolutely love to be around.
I don't know how often this will happen. In this life, I don't know how many good wins we get, how many good seasons, how many good teams, how many good friends to share all of this with. But I do know that when all of this comes along, and when it all comes together like this, you just have to smile, take it in as best you can, and love every single second of it.
Never again will I have to listen to a complacent Yankees fan tell me that the Red Sox aren't a threat.
Never again will I have to stand Yankees fans asking, "What rivalry?"
Never again will I have to listen to chants about 1918 without having a good response.
Never again will the Yankees be assumed to be the better team.
Never again will I have to hear sports announcers say that the Red Sox always let their fans down.
Never again will Sox fans have to hear that the Yankees always come through in the end.
It's all done now. It's all over. The Yankees, the team that couldn't be beat, the team that was built to win championship after championship, that team, they lost. Wait, wait, let me say that again: they didn't just lose, they choked.
Let Captain Derek Jeter, Alex "Cheaters Never Prosper" Rodriguez, Gary "Gosh My Foot Feels Big in my Mouth" Sheffield, Joe "We're always gonna win" Torre, and lest we forget George "All that Stands for Evil and Greed" Steinbrenner swallow this one. Take a big bite, fellas.
26 rings and one big choke.
God, that feels so good to say.
I never thought I was this bitter. I never thought I'd love this revenge as much as I do, but I gotta say, it's been absolutely euphoric.
Last night, they showed pictures of Yankee Stadium as the Sox completed their 10-3 bashing. Sox fans, smiling in anticipation of the biggest celebration in recent memory. Yankees fans? I hardly recognized them - their sad faces slumped against the dugout, shock ruining the normal complacent grin plastered on their dumb New York mugs. Cashman? Trying to find the fastest escape route out of the Stadium. Pretty boys Jeter and A-Rod? Looking to each other for late night comfort cuddles. Who's the fraud now, Sheffield?
Some people have suggested that Sox fans should empathize with Yankees fans. I mean, haven't we all had our hearts broken? Haven't we all been there before?
Here's my answer: I hate Yankees fans.
I hate the way they told me for years that there was no rivalry. I hate the way they always assumed the Yankees would be fine, no matter what. I hate how they go out and get players just to take them away from other teams, even when they have tons of billion dollar position players sitting on the bench just so that they're not out on some other team's field. I hate how they assumed that the pennant was theirs. I hate how on the afternoon of Game 7, I couldn't find one Yankees fan who admitted to being just a little nervous about the Sox. I hate how they think they own the American league.
Guess what? They don't.
It's their turn now. It's their turn to wonder about "what ifs" and replay the games, over and over again, hoping that it's just an awful nightmare and that in reality, the Yankees came out victorious and are really in the Series. Let them wake up day after day and wonder where it all went wrong. It's their turn to be angry and bitter and upset. It's their turn to cry. The heartbreak? All theirs.
And the thing is, it's not just that the Yankees lost; it's that the Red Sox won. Let me say that again, just so it's understood: the Yankees did not just give up to the Red Sox; the Boston Red Sox beat them. They were down by one run, three outs away from going home and watching the Yankees celebrate in the middle of their hallowed Fenway Park. (As a side note, how good was it to watch the Sox celebrate on their field, while the PA system blasted "New York New York" for the last time this season as their fans streamed out of the stadium? And later, how satisfying was it to see the Sox raise the ALCS trophy on Steinbrenner's lawn? Reallllly good touch. Realllly good.) The Sox though? They wouldn't allow that kind of celebration. Not in their house.
Game 5, they were down two runs in the bottom of the eighth, again facing Mariano Rivera. And again, they didn't stop.
I can't even talk about Game 6 without getting emotional. I mean, here's a guy who was brought to Boston to win a championship, by his own admission. A guy whose heart is arguably bigger than the game. A guy who gets right into the heart of his fandom, calling into radio stations and posting on fan websites. He pitches injured all year, taking shots to numb the pain. He wins 21 games, the most in the major leagues. And then, when it matters the most, he has his skin stitched together so that he can pitch for his team. Through unbelievable pain and gushing blood, the guy goes seven innings, gives up one run, puts his team in a position to win the ALCS, and inspires anybody with passion and heart. He makes even non-believers believe. I mean, whatever happened in Game 7 - and whatever happens from here on out - Curt Schilling's Game 6 performance, I believe, should go down as the gutsiest performance by a Red Sox player. Ever.
And now to Derek Lowe. Here's a guy who was told (rightfully so), "You're just not good enough to start during the postseason." I mean, the guy could have legitimately been contacting Jose Offerman for employment advice. He steps up and pitches on Sunday. He doesn't even whine (that much) about it. And then two days later, he goes out there again, in the biggest game in Yankees-Red Sox history. Miraculously, Rainman doesn't make an appearance. There's no meltdown. Sixty-nine pitches. One hit. One run. Derek Lowe. Who knew?
That's the thing that gets me. When the Sox traveled back to New York, David Ortiz made an important comment. He said, "It can't just be me." He knew it. David Ortiz alone can't beat the Yankees (though I might debate that). And so, everyone stepped up. Walks, singles, sacrifices. Defensive moves. Tight bullpen. And it all worked. As the Yankees unraveled, the Sox came together. They won it. The Yankees choked, sure, and I'll be glad to repeat that for the rest of my life, but make no mistake: the Red Sox played like a championship team games four through seven, and they ultimately beat the Yankees and owned every single one of them - and their greedy bastard of an owner, too.
I don't know how to get over it. I don't know if I want to. I'll be sitting around, anywhere, and suddenly, it will occur to me: the Red Sox beat the Yankees. The Yankees choked. The Red Sox came back from a 3-0 deficit and won this thing. The Red Sox. They beat the Yankees.
I told my friend I was going to wear my "Posada is a Little Bitch" shirt tomorrow. I really love it. I got it a while ago, but I haven't worn it because I really wasn't into the whole "Yankees Suck" thing (ahh, the old days) and I didn't really get into the mean shirts. Now, I had a whole new dilemma:
"Would it be more damaging to Yankees fans to wear the championship shirt, or the Posada shirt?"
She suggested the Posada shirt, saying that its effect was "at its peak" and that Thursday or Friday would be the most appropriate day to wear the shirt.
I don't know. I think forever is the day that's appropriate for any Yankees Suck shirts. Let's face it.
They did.
I'm tempted to leave it at that, but I don't think that's the point of all of this.
For all of the true Red Sox fans out there (maybe about ten at BU last night and maybe oh, 50 in Kenmore Square), it's been an amazing four days. Since Sunday, the Sox have given their fans so much to be consumed by and to be proud of and to cheer for. I've had the absolute best time reading all of the articles online, going to the bars early, wearing my Red Sox shirts, talking about the Sox, rehearsing good luck handshakes, toasting to good plays, and watching it all with good friends. This is what life's all about, if you ask me. Finding something you absolutely love and enjoying it with people you absolutely love to be around.
I don't know how often this will happen. In this life, I don't know how many good wins we get, how many good seasons, how many good teams, how many good friends to share all of this with. But I do know that when all of this comes along, and when it all comes together like this, you just have to smile, take it in as best you can, and love every single second of it.
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