Eighty-percent of New York Yankees fans have either jumped on the bandwagon within the last decade or root for the team because they want to have sex with Derek Jeter.
I saw both virtues embodied in the same "fan" last weekend at Shea Stadium, where the Yankees were visiting the Mets in the second stanza of their annual Interleague series.
She was a rather large woman, maybe early 30s, looking very much like a cross between Janice Soprano and Gary Glitter. As she walked to her seat -- two innings late -- she discovered her oversized foam platform shoes were too large for the stairs down to the mezzanine.
She realized this the hard way: falling first into her own row, and then a second time, in the same stumble, on her ass in the row across the aisle, spilling half a bottle of water on a group of fans who had the nerve to show up on time.
This is what happens when the only thing larger than your heels is your hair.
How did I know this woman was a Yankees fan? She didn't have on any Bombers gear. She was there with a girlfriend rather than some pumped-up lugnut with a Hideki Matsui jersey.
But I rationalized she was a Yankee newbie when Jeter stepped up for his second at-bat. All of a sudden, out comes the camera. Out come the catcalls, the "Go Jeet-uh!" squeals. This woman had been acting like she was in a public library, and now it was like George Clooney was standing in front of her chopping wood.
She was so infected with Jeter Fever, I thought she might faint out of her seat (although I figured she had already hit her daily quota for slovenly somersaults a bit earlier).
This is what it's come to for Yankees fans: Jenny-come-latelys, who spend more time on their cell phone than scoring the game, and who buy tickets in leftfield just so they can get a better view of the shortstop's moneymaker.
Don't think I'm one of these people who blindly hates the Yankees. Oh, I hate them with every fiber of my fan-being. But I respect them, too. I don't think they've "purchased" their pennants; not with a homegrown core of players like the aforementioned Mr. Jeter, Bernie Williams, Mariano Rivera, Jorge Posada, and former Yankees like Andy Pettitte and Ramiro Mendoza.
Not with a manager like Joe Torre, who like Scotty Bowman and Phil Jackson, has the uncommon capacity for utilizing talent and understanding the clubhouse politics of ego -- although winning makes that pretty damn easy.
But no amount of respect for the 26-time World Series champions can do anything to dull the odious impact of one of those "Yankee Moments" -- those detestable occurrences that remind you why you hate, hate, hate, hate, hate the Yankees, and then hate them a little more than that.
I had a "Yankee Moment" moment at Shea last weekend. Jason Giambi (who left small-market Oakland for the Bronx for over $11 million per season) stroked a double to rightfield. Torre then sent in a pinch runner…
... named Kenny Lofton.
Yes, the same Kenny Lofton with the five stolen-base titles and the 541 career swipes, which have him near the top-25 base-stealers of all time.
What ... was Lou Brock busy or something?
Sure he's been hurt, and sure he's 36. But he's Kenny Lofton, and he's what passes for a pinch runner on a George Steinbrenner team. Other teams have their long relievers running wind sprints to see if any of them are faster than a snail with a broken foot ... but the Yankees call on Kenny Lofton.
His substitution produced the same kind of loathsome mixture of disgust and jealously you'd feel when the Yankees would send up Jose Canseco or Cecil Fielder as a pinch hitter.
If Lofton had scored the winning run against the Mets last Saturday, it would have been another star play by a star player. It would have been the fulfillment of a contract, the realizing of lofty (Lofton?) expectations. Just another triumph for a franchise that has over 9,000 of them in the regular season.
But Lofton didn't score. The Mets' Kaz Matsui did, in the bottom of the ninth, on a RBI by Shane Spencer. The win was, like the Flushing team's nickname says, simply Amazin' -- reliever John Franco rallied from a 3-0 count to strikeout Posada with the bases loaded in the top of the frame, and Spencer's 40-foot infield roller was bobbled and then thrown high to home plate by somebody named Tanyon Sturtze, who apparently has a Major League contract.
Game over. Mets win.
Spencer was drafted by the Yankees in 1990, and eventually made the show in 1998 as a 26-year-old rookie. He was a postseason hero that year, hitting two homeruns in only six at-bats in the divisional series against Texas. New York went on to win the World Series over San Diego.
But was Shane Spencer ever really a Yankee? He didn't have the blue-chip talent of homegrown stars like Jeter and Posada, and he certainly didn't have the wattage of the imports on New York's roster. Quick --which one of these is not like the other: Darryl Strawberry, Paul O'Neill, Tim Raines, Chili Davis, or Shane Spencer?
Truth be told, Spencer always seemed more like a Met: scrappy, opportunistic, makes the most out of what God gave 'em, like Lenny Dykstra or Wally Backman or Ron Swoboda. (You know, before the Mets became the team of Roberto "Show Me Da Money" Alomar and Mo "Why Yes, That is My Fat Ass on the DL ... AGAIN!" Vaughn.)
But for one afternoon, those words found all over Shea -- "Amazin'," "Miracle," "Believe" -- they all seemed relevant again.
And that's got to kill Yankees fans. Not the fact that the Mets won. (The Subway Series will be eternally tipped to the Bronx after 2000.) But because the Yankees will never be the underdog. They'll never be the Bad News Bears. There's nothing miraculous and amazin' about them, unless you're talking about their payroll.
Take Aaron Boone's series-clinching homerun against Boston last year. Will that be remembered as Yankee Magic, or Red Sox Misery? The latter, of course, because all it did for the Bombers was secure their 39th pennant in team history. That's as many as the White Sox, Indians, Tigers, Royals, Twins, Phillies, Orioles, Astros, Expos, Rangers, and Mariners have won combined from 1901-2004.
My best friend is a Yankees fan, and I feel for him. His team will never be expected to lose a World Series. He'll never begin to understand the elation when the Red Sox or Cubs finally win one again. He'll never understand the postseason legerdemain generated by teams like the '91 Twins or the '88 Dodgers.
It's like sleeping with 26 different women, and never getting to experience one "first time."
Of course, don't shed any tears for the kid. When the Mets won in '86, my buddy had to settle for second place in the AL East, a .352 batting average from Don Mattingly, 104 RBI from Dave Winfield, and 87 stolen bases from Rickey Henderson. Seven seasons later, the Yankees would begin their streak of nine consecutive postseason appearances and four World Series championships.
This season, the Yankees will again trade for a big-name starting pitcher (like Randy Johnson), finish in first place, and advance to the ALCS.
From there, it goes one of two ways for Yankees fans:
Another winning footnote added to 91 years of mystique, or acting as the catalyst for someone else's "miracle."
But either way, at least Derek still has his looks, right?
We Get Love Mail
"I enjoyed your breakdown of the present state of hockey in your June 6th article, along with the well-deserved shots you took at misinformed media types like Boswell, who should just stick to baseball. As the author of a book on hockey and an avid historian of the sport, however, I must say I am deeply concerned about the NHL's future given the CBA's expiration in just over two months. Owners like Jeremy Jacobs in Boston have been preparing for this work stoppage for nine years now (and its no coincidence the Bruins have won merely a single playoff series in that time period), and I don't think they'll be caving in to the players' demands as they did in January 1995. We'll have to wait and see."
-- Brian S., Boston, MA
No worries. Theoff-season activity in the NHL has been brisker than expected. The GMs aren't acting as if they expect the entire season will be wiped out; maybe half, if that.
"I read your article about "The Naked Truth About Women's Hoops" and it's a good article. WNBA president Val Ackerman is not doing a very good job with the league and I have a feeling that WNBA will become the next WUSA women's soccer. They can barely draw out 8,000 to 10,000 fans into the arena and now women are going out posing topless or nude in magazines. You wonder why WNBA is in a bad shape right now. If women want to go nude or topless in a magazine book, so be it. But they better be ready to pay a heavy price 80% of men don't have a problem with that. But, 90% of women WILL find it as insult and a slap in the face. I thought women like Lauren Jackson is supposed to be role models for younger girls in middle and high school. I've a 7-month-old niece and I don't want her to be exposed because women who can't respect their bodies that god has given them and keep their clothes on. Thank you."
-- Anthony Bryant, Jr., Sumter, SC
While I have no, zero, nada, zip problems with any athlete, male or female, posing in the buff, I think the WNBA has a real headache on its hands. A league playing the "role model" card as a selling point is begging for its paragons of virtue to be corrupted. It's no different than a politician who tried to claim the moral high ground -- he's begging to get knocked off his perch.
Keep all the love (and hate) mail coming to [email protected]. Thanks for reading...
Greg Wyshynski is also a weekly columnist for SportsFan Magazine. His columns appear every Saturday on Sports Central. You can e-mail Greg at [email protected].
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