Not every year. Maybe every five years. Just enough to make me riotous with grief and angst and the thought that they'll never win again...until they do, and victory is sweet.
I respect some Yankee fans. Honestly, I do. Some of them have a real fervor for the game, and the spirit of the Babe shines through their eyes when they talk about him. That's great. That's honorable.
Then there are the Yankee fans that sit behind their desks, distracted, arrogantly announcing that the winning run is on base and the game is over, when really, they choked when they had a grand slam in position and the Marlins swept it from them anyway.
It's those Yankee fans. THOSE Yankee fans. Those Yankee fans should be made to be a Mets fan for a while. They need to feel the hurt and pain when they get close and lose. They need to not have the consolation of the extremely reasonable thought, "They'll get it next year." They need to actually be on the tips of their toes, biting their nails (especially when they're not regular nail-biters), heart thumping and everything tensed, waiting for Benitez to screw up another save.
And when they win, when the sweet moment comes when Mets fans can have a whole year of bragging rights over Yankee fans, those displaced Yankee fans will feel the true glee for the first time, an elation that could probably only be matched by a Sox or Cubs fan. And when you explain this to Yankee fans, they don't hear it. They just don't hear you. It's like telling a winning man he should step away from the craps table for a while. It's like telling a child to take slower bites, so he can enjoy it more.
They just don't listen.
But when victory comes, boy will it be sweet.
And boy will the
newsroom hear my glee.
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