Well, at last, the Yankees have gotten their comeuppance. And in Yankee Stadium, no less. I haven’t felt so good since the Marlins beat them in game 6 of the 2003 World Series in the house that Ruth built. I didn’t see the end of the game last night and it went on too late for the papers to carry the final result. Should it surprise anyone that I actually had a slightly difficult time learning the Tigers had won?
Do you think if the Yankees had won that it wouldn’t be plastered all over every Internet site and on everyone’s lips? Crawls across the bottom of every 24-hour news channel would be filled with quotes from all the Yankee players and management about who they’re going to start in the League Championship Series, and of course, looking ahead to the inevitable World Series.
I don’t know about you, but I’m really tired of this New York-centric culture we live in, which I’ve had to put up with my whole life. You know, it’s the greatest city in the world, they have Broadway shows, Times Square, blah, blah, blah. The Yankees, according to New Yorkers, have been permanently anointed and are therefore supposed to win the World Series every year. Those years which do not result in a championship are considered failures. Give me a break.
Being eliminated in the first playoff round is particularly humiliating for such a team who feels entitled to scarf up everything in its path, who feels other teams should, by definition of being “other teams”, lie down and allow the Bronx juggernaut to steamroller over them. Fortunately, the Tigers had other plans. And now we will be spared having to gaze at Derek Jeter’s fucking smirk until next season. I’m actually surprised that the breathless countdown to his 3000th hit didn’t continue beyond it, so that we’re constantly informed that he’s now at 3001, 3002, my God that was hit number 3003! Anybody remember such hyped-up reporting surrounding Rafael Palmeiro’s 3000th hit? I didn’t think so.
My advice to the Yankees: go back to New York and get another year older.