Every October, If the New York Yankees have managed to avoid folding like a lawn chair under the pressure of the pennant race, I suddenly transform from a seemingly harmless and objective sports journalist into an idealistic and cynical Yankee hater, campaigning for their imminent demise. I’ve taken this change for granted for years now, but when the final out of Cleveland’s series-clinching 6-4 victory fell into catcher Kelly Shoppach’s glove last night, it struck me. Why had I been so strongly opposed to the game’s flagship franchise and their success?
I was sitting in my living room flanked by my two roommates. One of them, a die-hard Yankees fan, was watching reluctantly because my other roommate had the remote. He couldn’t bare to watch, instead distracting himself with a game on his laptop.
When I had burst in the room about an hour earlier, I reminded him that it could be the last hurrah for long-time manager Joe Torre, among others.
“That’s why I turned it off,” he fired back. “I don’t want to get depressed.” And this was a life-long Yankees fan talking. If it was so bad that he couldn’t even bare to witness it, you can imagine how delighted I was.
During the final out, I tried mightily to hold in the celebration that has always followed such a joyous moment, out of respect for my housemate. As I sat there, containing my bliss, I wondered. Why do I derive such joy out of seeing a baseball team lose?
With the highest payroll in the game year in and year out ($189 million on Opening Day 2007, for example), the Bronx Bombers assume they will challenge for, if not win, the World Series every single season. Is that realistic? Is that fair to the millions of loyal fans across the country, and world? By expecting a title every year, the Yankees repeatedly set themselves up for failure and disappointment, leaving the players unjustly blaming themselves and the fans, like my roommate, fighting depression. Expecting a championship every season will always leave you heartbroken. I know every coach and player says they want nothing less, but deep down, they know it’s a long-shot.
Expecting the unexpected should be what sports are all about. Great teams and dynasties can be good for the game, but not when it takes the gross domestic product of Tonga to get you there. To me, playoff baseball is about drama and excitement. Where’s the fun in seeing the same team spraying champagne every year? Thankfully, after New York’s titles in ‘96, ‘98, ‘99 and ‘00, they’ve been back to the Fall Classic only once, losing in dramatic fashion in ‘01 to Arizona. That very run of four titles in six years was really what sparked this for me in the first place, but unlike so many previously sane friends of mine, I refused to jump on the bandwagon.
Winning every year is too easy. Losing every year is hard. Winning once in a blue moon is terrific. Losing when you expect to win is failure.
Why do we root for underdogs? Sure, it’s a great story. But more importantly, it breaks a pattern. When the team nobody expected to even be in the playoffs knocks off a spoiled, rich perennial contender, it’s amazing. It’s David surprising everyone by slaying Goliath. It’s Appalachian State stunning Michigan. When these things happen, we remember them.
In fact, it all goes back to the playground. No one likes a bully, and the bullies themselves are always the ones with the deepest emotional problems. Just like the Yankees, they’re setting themselves up for constant disappointment and a meaningless existence.
Success and power are elements of the so-called ‘American Way’, but as it turns out, it’s actually possible to live a great life without the “greed is good” mentality.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I can understand the appeal. My father was born and raised in New York City. I’ve been to Yankee Stadium and watched Roger Clemens pitch. I’ve seen the propaganda. I know the history of the league’s most storied franchise like no one else I know. But this is a rift that cuts so deep, it goes beyond family ties and personal experience.
For me, seeing the Yankees logo is often all it takes to flip the switch. But, when you think about it, isn’t that healthy? I’m all for loving everyone and dancing around the Maypole when I’m in Dreamland, but in reality, we need natural rivals. It’s just part of our nature. It’s why Clark Kent has Lex Luthor, or why Luke Skywalker had Darth Vader. It’s why I, for all the reasons stated above, have the Yankees, baseball’s Evil Empire.
I might have been holding in my excitement in the living room last night, but I was ecstatic on the inside. Sure, there are things that give me much more enjoyment in life. You know, significant things and people. But as soon as the calendar flips to October, the anti-Bronx sentiment spreads through my bloodstream like the symbiote in Peter Parker. Then, when it’s all over (culminating in a New York loss, of course), everything returns to normal. The goals of journalistic integrity and objectivity are restored, and there is peace in the land once again.
Until four months later, when every season preview lists the Yankees as the team to beat.
