With Game 1 of the AL Division Series only three short days away, it's time to get in as much delicious, delicious hate as possible before my favorite team in all of baseball once again crushes the (utterly corrupt and indecent) hopes and dreams of my least favorite team.
Oh, I know it's totally passe to hate the Yankees, but nevertheless, there are too many reasons my hatred burns with the white-hot intensity of a magnesium-flare factory fire and I cannot remain silent. On with the hate!
I. For an enterprise that has grown up around what is still just a game, the Yankees are like the least fun sports team ever.
There once was an athletic, fun-loving outfielder who once referred to himself and his teammates as "idiots" and grew a beard that would have made any late 19th-century president green with envy or looked at home on Azerbaijani currency. Bring him to the Yankees. Now he's a striped-shirt wearing cologne vector with spiky hair. The life gets beaten out of everyone on that team. If Derek Jeter had been drafted by the Colorado Rockies, he'd be making movies with Will Ferrell, have a semi-regular lounge-singing act at a bar in LoDo and generally make Barry Zito look like a big tool. For real.
II. Their fabled stadium is actually kind of an emperor-has-no-clothes dump that had all the grace notes beaten out of it during a 1970s renovation. Naturally, their new ballpark will be almost exactly the same, because nothing the Yankees do is ever wrong.
And when you go to a game there, don't expect a welcoming attitude. Any and all Yankees game-day employees will do their best to make you feel as if they're doing a favor by allowing you to pay $20 for nosebleeds. From the neckless men with buzz cuts who pat you down and make girls leave their purses at a nearby bowling alley (lest women attempt to bring their menses onto hallowed ground), to the ushers who refuse to let you move during the singing of God Bless America, the whole experience is unsettling. It's like being forced to be a houseguest at your ex-girlfriend's place.
III. By far the most offensive thing about the Yankees is having to deal with the massive cult of personality that surrounds the team. They have their own fucking channel, which plays like 30-second commercials to sing the praises of the Yankees and produces hour long hagiographies of basically anyone who wears the uniform long enough. And there's the whole myth of the True Yankee, which I'll get into another time, and the idea that Yankees fans (also due for a savaging here) are somehow more dedicated because they act like bigger assholes than other fans.
And then, sweet Jesus, you have one of the biggest hacks in radio. John Sterling, who never met a line drive to the short porch in right that couldn't be described by the words "high" and "far." And then there's all his little trademarks. He starts every game by (inaccurately) describing the Yankees uniforms every single fucking time they play, which is a pretty clear trailing indicator that most Yankees fans have an IQ of 78. And he comes up with little signature catchphrases that are affronts to baseball, the English language, good taste and several countries.
Gaze upon that list of catchphrases -- the very notion of which makes Yankees fans hug themselves with glee -- and see if you don't want to strangle someone, too. Willful stupidity has no greater champion than the New York Yankees.
They must be destroyed.