I went out at lunch to grab a sandwich and when I got to the counter, I noticed the guy behind it wearing a Yankees cap. Fair enough, I say. This is America, and everyone’s free to express themselves as they see fit. But then when I ordered my sandwich, the guy, motioning to my Red Sox jacket, says, “Maybe I should spit in your sandwich.” To which I replied, “Maybe I should shoot your ass.”
And that’s when I realized two things. First, in the post-9/11 world, people don’t take kindly to jokes about firearms. Particularly, it seems, folks who own sandwich shops. Second, despite all my good vibes and nonchalance and “aw, who cares about the Yankees” attitude, the fact is I really, really, really like it when we beat them. And not just beat them, but demoralize them, smash their last ounces of hope to shards of glass, and snap the brake line to their team bus on the way out. I want to see AJ Burnett give up 22 runs in the first inning before recording an out, Mark Kotsay driving a steamroller over Joba Chamberlain, Luis Tiant rubbing his bare ass on the post-game spread in the visitor’s clubhouse and Josh Beckett using Johnny Damon as his personal hand-puppet. Give me carnage and destruction and Dennis Eckersley storming the YES Network booth to shiv John Sterling. And let the Yankees leave town still having not defeated us in 2009.
That’s not too much to ask, is it?
Anyway, we’ll see you at 7:05, skaters.