As you are certainly aware, a dark evil masquerading as spirituality has formed in the east around a nucleus of pure evil. The proponents of this “religion,” while claiming they live among us as brothers, are responsible for countless heinous acts, attacks on good Americans, and general erosion of tenets most fundamental to the United States.
And those are just the Red Sox fans living in Boston. Every year, thousands more are churned out by the “institutions of higher learning.” located there to disseminate their twisted, perverted views throughout our great nation.
Believe it or not, some people have suggested that my views on the Boston Red Sox and their fans are, well, irrational. But I can’t help the bile rising in my throat every time I see David Ortiz’ grinning, porcine mug on TV or hear about Many Ramirez being excused from some act of near criminal stupidity simply because he is Manny Ramirez (the pundits repeating their criminally clichéd mantra ‘That’s Manny being Manny’).
And it’s not just because of the franchise’s great success in recent years. As a lifelong Yankee fan, I always want to see my team win, but without competition the drama, the excitement is missing from the game. Omniscience is boring in sports; we fans want to worship men, not gods.
No I hate the Red Sox because of the way they win, and because of the smug self-righteous hive-mind superiority that induces in their fair-weather fans. Seemingly every Red Sox game ends in a come-from-behind victory with an Ortiz walk-off home run topping the game like a cherry on a hot fudge sundae. Or a pitcher gets cancer, beating the disease in the off-season and returning to the mound amid the popping off of both flashbulbs and the fawning mouths of sports talk hosts. Or some schlub comes up from the minors and pitches a no-hitter in his first game.
Or the Yankees lose 4 games in a row to choke away the American League pennant.
It’s uncanny, movie script after movie script, all written to be pitched to the Hallmark Channel. And, naturally, the media loves it. An endless stream of television segments about the Sox’ saccharine heroics has transformed their players into, not demigods, but flawed, earthy heroes. Likewise, that dilapidated hovel Fenway Park has eclipsed the great Yankee Stadium as the true temple of baseball in the minds of the people. And Red Sox fans are eating it up.
Incidentally, I’ve yet to actually meet a Red Sox fan. All I’ve encountered are smug post-collegiate types who speak and act as if they have the world by the balls. Because college is the best time of your life, and everyone goes to college in freakin’ Boston. In fact, it’s depressing top note how seditious these fans are, turning on their original teams the moment they’re in an big city, living on their own for the first time, and faced with the very real possibility that they might get laid. It’s worth noting that, when the chips are down, Red Sox Fan is equally treasonous to his or her adopted team. When the Sox tank in the pennant race, a feat they perform with astounding regularity, there’s nary a ‘B’ to be found on the person of Sox fans.
But the worst characteristic of the Red Sox Fan is the constant loud-mouthed hypocrisy. They yap their eloquent mantra, ‘Yankees Suck,’ though they cannot come up with any evidence that backs this well-reasoned argument. They crow about ‘reversing the curse’ with their 2004 World Series win, although all they did was prove that, for the previous 86 years, their team simply sucked.
And then there’s the hypocrisy. The Red Sox fan is quick to accuse the Yankees of ‘trying to buy the championship,’ by paying for high-priced talent. As if Boston fielded a team of volunteer local boys from Southie.
Dreams can’t always come true, and my dream involving the demolition of Fenway Park and replacement with a Starbucks on the corner of Landsdowne Street and Yawkey Way, which would house a display case featuring Ted Williams’ frozen head won’t be realized either.
But, as a true Yankees fan through thick and thin, the Red Sox can never take away my dreams. Or, for that matter, my sanity.