Why I Hate the Yankees

When Hurricane Frances hit Florida this September, the state had the largest evacuation in its history. Even after the hurricane had subsided, more than 70,000 people remained huddled in shelters: many had no home to which to return. Fourteen deaths were attributed to the storm. Early high-end insurance estimates reached upwards of $5 billion. Just three weeks prior to Frances, Hurricane Charley had ravaged the Sunshine State, causing 27 deaths and an estimated $7.4 billion in damage.

The day after one of the costliest hurricanes in United States history, the Yankees and the Devil Rays were scheduled to play a double header in New York to make up a game that had been canceled due to Frances. The Devil Rays players, many of whom live in Tampa Bay, wished to remain in Florida a while longer to wait out the hurricane and make sure their families were secure. The Yankees, always putting others before themselves, demanded that the Devil Rays either show up to play or forfeit the game. Some people might call this demand callous and selfish, but how could this be the case?

Just think about the upstanding citizens that the Yankees do and have employed:

First there’s Alex Rodriguez, who accepted the largest contract in baseball history from the Texas Rangers, all the while knowing that he was making a commitment to a bad team. As soon as he realized how bad they really were, he abandoned his team and quickly jumped ship to the only team in baseball that could afford to pay him his ridiculous salary.

Then there’s Roger Clemens - a man who only plays hard when he feels like it, which is usually every third year when people start calling him fat and out of gas. Mind you, this is the same Roger Clemens whose kids all have names beginning with K solely because K is the baseball symbol for a strikeout. That's cool… but not really.

And last but most certainly not least, there is Jorge Posada, who admits to urinating on his hands to “make them tougher.” Ever heard of batting gloves, Jorge?

I could go on right down the roster of past and present Yankees, making room for former Yankees Karim Garcia and Jeff Nelson, who saw fit to level a Red Sox groundkeeper last year, but I think you're starting to get the point. Yankees players are clean cut as per team rules (I guess a beard is somehow less clean than peeing on your hands), but Lord forbid anyone should smile occasionally or try to have some fun.

I'm sure there are plenty of nice guys on the Yankees, but all the good deeds in the world can't redeem you once you've sold your soul to Steinbrenner…a deal is a deal, and you're still going to end up somewhere near the seventh circle of Hell. Bill Simmons of ESPN.com, a folk hero of the collective body of Red Sox fans around the world known as Red Sox Nation, has coined the phrase: “Rooting for the Yankees is like betting on the house in blackjack. You just don't do it.” The Yankees are the house; they represent a payroll of over $180 million. It's simply impossible to compete with a team that has a half-senile geezer with pockets deeper than Captain Kangaroo.

Then there are the fans. It is a well-known fact that at least one out of every two people who claims to be a Yankee fan can’t name more than three players on the team. Not surprisingly, most of these fans change with the weather. Everybody who really knows baseball will tell you that there’s nothing worse than discussing the game with someone who doesn’t know anything about it. Let it suffice to say that most people I know would rather have a root canal than talk baseball with a Yankees fan.

If you haven’t figured it out already, I am a proud member of Red Sox Nation. Do the Red Sox lose most of the big games? Yes, they do. But unlike A-Job, who seems to cop out when times get tough, the Nation will continue to do as we have always done and keep the faith even in times of despair. I don’t know if Mr. Steinbrenner got the memo, but unlike many of those who call themselves Yankees fans, our loyalty is not for sale.

I have never seen the righteous forsaken. Our time will come. When it does, it will be one of the greatest moments in the history of baseball.