Hello, my name is Christopher and I’m a Red Sox fan. Which makes what I’m about to say so difficult.
I could not have written this years ago. In October 2003, we Sox faithful had once again suffered another devastating defeat to our arch-rival and overall evil-doers, the New York Yankees. This time, the blow came from the bat of Aaron Boone in the American League Championship Series. Game Seven, extra innings, another loss to the Yankees, could things get any worse?
Numbness ensued. Another crushing loss meant yet another year of ribbing from Yankee fans everywhere who were, and had always been, our daddies. However, six years, two World Series titles and one Ruthian exorcism later, Red Sox fans can put all that behind them.
Growing up, I hated the Yankees. I hated absolutely everything about them. The pinstripes, the fans, Graig Nettles catching Yastrzemski’s foul pop-up in the 1978 playoff game, the endlessly, obnoxious Reggie chants, Yankee Stadium and of course the Boss, George Steinbrenner. He is the Yankees epitomized. His tirades were legendary, his temper that of a scorned Latin lover. His passion for the game and his desire, if not need, to win were unrivaled. Indirectly, he made me a better fan, for he made me care more about the Red Sox, and beating the Yankees.
This article appears in Jul 8-14, 2010.