I know, I know... blasphemy. But let me set one thing straight: I don't love ALL Yankee fans, just mine. And what do I mean by my Yankee fans? Those friends that we all have whose only flaw is loving the Bronx Bombers. If such a problem can be accepted, there has to be a good reason: for instance, my friend and pseudo-roommate, Becca, is from Manhattan. She loves the Yankees like I love the Red Sox... that's a lot.
So how are we such good friends? It's because we both love baseball. The love for the game, for players who play right, whether they are named Dustin Pedroia or Derek Jeter, brings us together. In fact, we're leaving tomorrow for New York, to watch the Yankees play the Cubs in the new Yankee Stadium, or, if the weather doesn't cooperate, to watch the Mets play the Red Sox at the new CitiField. Of course, I would rather we watch the Sox while she would rather see the Yankees, but whichever happens, we will both be happy, because we will finally be watching [exhibition] baseball again.
She knows what I'm talking about when I mention the shortstop logjam, and I can follow her excitement over the NYY pitching staff. Almost no one in my life will even pretend to listen when I start quoting Dustin Pedroia's newest interview, but Becca does... sometimes reluctantly (this is a multiple-times daily occurrence). We can talk about the Steroid Era, uniform changes, and obscure statistics, and our only conflict is about which team we want to win in the end, and while that may seem like the biggest problem possible, we deal.
Wanna know the best part? She thinks A*rod is a dork, too.
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