Congratulations Douchebag Yankee Fans

Lovingly borrowed from Yankees 2000
Lovingly borrowed from Yankees 2000

About the best thing you can say about the Yankees' Series victory is that it's been too long since the last one -- in which they defeated our beloved Mets -- for their fans to have achieved total douchebag status. True, last night they chanted "Who's Your Daddy" at Pedro Martinez -- which insult, in typical bully fashion, they built off a self-deprecating remark by their target. But, as we saw from the less than ugly celebrations last night, many of them are new to douchebaggery of the sort exhibited by Yankee fans in the 1990s. This will require time and practice to achieve...

In the years 1996-2000, the Yankees had briefly brought back that aura of invincibility the franchise used to have in bygone days, and its fan base became swollen with just the sort of chunkheads you would expect to parasitically attach themselves to a guaranteed winner:

  • fat, lonely teenagers;
  • dead-eyed stockbrokers with suspenders and goo in their hair who, when they were not pretending to actually watch the games, liked to drink single malt, smoke Cohibas, and purchase lap dances;
  • young fogies whose bedrooms were crammed with baseball books and whose lack of a suitable father figure drove them to fantasize that DiMaggio, The Mick, and the Sultan of Swat walked with them;
  • dorks and assholes.

The lean Yankee years (because any year in which they achieve less than world championship is a lean year for their validation-starved supporters) seems to have peeled some of these constituents from their fan base. And from the example of our own Crazy Yankee Chick, and from the guys who hang around our bodega, we see that not all, and maybe not even most, Yankee fans are sub-standard specimens of humanity. Hell, some of them are as classy as the fans we knew in the Ralph Houk era.

Still, recidivism is higher among sports fans than among parolees. The Philadelphia fans, who were famous for their violent reactions to success in the 70s, brought it back when the Phils won last year. Soon you will see in parks across America (even in Queens) pinstriped putzes pumping their fists and bellowing about 27 rings, in which achievement many of them already find special, almost numerological significance and behave as if they got to wear the fucking things themselves while they were cleaning the garage. You will find businessmen using Yankee metaphors in their PowerPoint presentations. As in the old days, the favored leisurewear of the city's mouth-breathers, subways gropers, and bump-and-runners will become a Yankees jersey.

Enjoy it while it lasts, guy. Next year a number of your veterans will have aged into sports-commentatorhood, and A-Rod will be revealed to have used HGH and crystal meth when he was 30 and too young know any better. Don't worry, though -- losing is part of the process of growing up, which is why we Mets fans are not merely mature, but practically senile.


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