Yankee fans, in recent years, are those claiming greatness based on teams who didn’t actually make those great conquering achievements, win multiple rings, and establish their dynasties, but these fans find themselves, because of a certain uniform and accident of geography to be in a position to (air quotes) “carry on a tradition.”
Yet those fans sit there on their giant recliners and polish their black onyx rings and try to dictate fandom and loyalty according to them, about how their team can take steroids as long as they apologize, or how their team deserves the bloated salaries, or how you shouldn’t take pride in your team’s wins because their team is still superior, and the rest of us, those poor, filthy fans of other teams, are just supposed to take it.
Well, a few years ago a bunch of rowdy idiots shook off the shackles of defeat, went down to the Bronx, and kicked some pinstripe ass. And in doing that, it forever changed the face of not just the American League, but of humanity itself. That when confronted with Steinbrenner-like conceit, fighing the good fight is not only the right thing to do, it can be a heck of a lot of fun. And who has more fun than us?
Go Bruins, and of course, go Commander.