Pissing off a Yankees fan gives me a high like no other.
Don’t get me wrong—I get shit, too. The worst was when a guy told me at 4 a.m. that he’d just heard on the radio that Johnny Damon, my favorite Sox player at the time, had signed with the Yankees. The guy laughed at me and yelled, “Let’s go, YANKEES!!” and “HELLLLL-OOOOoooo Johnny!!” till he was a faint echo down the hall.
And we were in a hospital.
But anyway, the day I get to fuck with one of them, I rejoice. I celebrate. I call my Mom.
This October day was extra special, though.
I was in the subway when the guy next to me smiled at me. At any other time, granted, it would’ve been interesting. He was tall with dark hair and wore jeans and sandals—and I love that. He was cute, and I was single.
But I wasn’t in the mood: I just wanted to get home. When he mumbled something about the homeless guy across from us who kept dropping his Snapple, I ignored him.
Then he said something nasty about the guy. I looked up, and saw his shirt. “Ohh, you’re a New York fan.” Go figure.
“Yeah!” he said, lighting up. “Go Yanks! You, too?”
“Hell no. But I loved watching them get their asses kicked last night. They’re eliminated! Ha-ha!” I jeered, excited at the prospect of bantering with a Yankees fan.
He started to defend his team, but I interrupted him—after all, I had just gotten started.
“You guys are over! Finished! How does it feel?!” I was still laughing, but slightly hesitantly now. Why hadn’t he said anything back yet? By that time I’ve usually gotten the “There’s always next year” mutter or the by-now-cliché “We have 26 championships!!” retort.
To which I don’t pay any mind, by the way. The last championship was seven years ago, and the only thing the Yanks have done lately is spend the biggest payroll in baseball on players who don’t hold up when it counts (read: A-Rod). How humiliating.
I ranted on to this kid about Giambi (the ’roids man) and Damon (who throws like a five-year-old), before I realized he’d been quiet for a while.
I looked at him more closely and saw he had tears in his eyes. I made him cry?
We were approaching my station. Shit. I tried to look apologetic and said, “Dude, I’m sorry. I was just having some fun.”
Whatever. He tried to hit on a random chick by making fun of a homeless guy.
He looked at me, his eyes welling up some more. “You know,” he said. “People always told me you guys were mean. I just never knew how mean.”
What about the guy who refused to serve me in a New York deli just because I was wearing my Red Sox hat?
I tried again. “Dude, I’m so sorry…I’m sorry. Don’t get upset.”
When the train stopped, I took one last look at him. He looked miserable, and his eyes were full of tears. And, God help me, I couldn’t stop laughing.
What fun that this is just the beginning. What with the Boss’s era coming to an end, the House That Ruth Built being demolished, and the team having some of the oldest players in the league, it’s about damn time Yankees fans start feeling insecure. Then again, there’s always next year, right, guys?