Thursday, June 14, 2007

"Yankees picking up games on Boston like they're picking up candy."

Those words were spoken by the great Christopher Russo, AKA the Mad Dog from WFAN.

Why? Why do I subject myself to such torture? Why don't I just become a Pirate Despiser, so that I won't have to aggravate myself every year? Why didn't I become a Devil Ray Despiser?

Here we go again. The Junkees look like they're down and out, and they come storming back, ripping my heart out in the process. And they're not even sweating these games out. It's coming easy to them. Too easy. Like it did for the '98 Yankees. Show up, score a bunch of runs, shut down the opponent, and hello World Series.

Why? Why do I have to sit in my car, turn on the radio, and hear John Sterling tell me that A-Rod hit another A-Bomb? Why do I turn on the YES Network, and when the score pops up, my heart drops and I scramble for something else to watch?

Why? Why do I have to pick up the local papers to read the columnists laud this team as the greatest bunch since the '61 Yankees (after week of ripping them, no less)?

Why? Why couldn't I be like my buddy from LA whose dad took him to a Dodgers game when he was eight, only to decide that sports is stupid, and a waste of time? If I hated sports, would I care if the Junkee won or lost?

Why? Why do I waste my time? It's hopeless. They're going to the playoffs, and I'll have fifteen ulcers before all is said and done.

Then again, another October choke would make it all worthwhile.

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