There's so much in life to be positive about, so it's not hard to ignore things that arouse negativism in oneself. There is one way I fail miserably at this: I hate the Yankees so much I'm almost ashamed of it. It was with great joy when I woke after midnight last night and found out they had been ousted from the playoffs. I've been giddy all day. I suppose my hatred stems from how easily success comes to them, while the rest of the human race struggles mightily. They are the richest American sports franchise and are able to buy contention every year, which means eventually the cards will fall right and a championship will occur. I read with glee in this morning's paper that Alex Rodriguez struck out twice in key situations, including the last out. If he is truly in the decline his second half performance indicates, I am thrilled, as he is under contract for several more years at a salary no other team would assume. Last month Catcher Russell Martin, in his first year with the team, said he hated the Red Sox. He should have hated the Tigers. Yankee fans exulted in the Sox's collapse and used the word: "Choke." Well, their stars gagged in the clutch last night.
Contrary to all this is the fact that as a kid I idolized Mickey Mantle. I had several pictures of him, cut from sports magazines, on the wall of my bedroom. They surrounded a crucifix. I rationalized that Jesus was at the center and therefore more important. My brother in law, 20 years older, saw the truth and, in his inimitable way, remarked: "Mickey Mantle is your God?" He was. My enthusiasm was tempered when I learned he was not nice to fans, even kids. Many years later Tony, a gold trader at the Commodity Exchange, told me of his friendship with The Mick, who visited his house, where one room was a shrine to the Yankees. Tony did not understand my hatred of the Yankees. "You call yourself Italian?" he'd say. He was teased for his resemblance to Rocket J. Squirrel of the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon. He was lucky enough to get close to Mantle, to see the superstar's true self.
Kudos to the Tigers. The way things are going, maybe the Lions will contend for the Super Bowl this year. Maybe the Motor City's steep decline, brought on by perpetual liberal rule, can be reversed.
So I will begin the celebration by paraphrasing the radio voice of the Yankees, John Sterling: "Thhhhhhe Yankees lose - the Yankees lose!" And I'll throw in the words of their TV voice, Michael Kay, as the players get ready to hit the golf course: "See ya!" And top everything off with Marvelous Marv Albert's signature call: "Yes!" And do an encore with the pet phrase of The Great One, Jackie Gleason: "How sweet it is!"
In a sidebar concerning yesterday's blog, it was fun to read in today's New York Post, mentioned by several pundits, how many in the crowd of Wall Street protesters are using the products of the ultimate capitalist, Steve Jobs. Life never ceases to fascinate.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
No comments:
Post a Comment