2003-08-29 - 4:57 p.m. YS2 Just a note; the internet's been down all day, and this entry is very angry in retrospect. Don't take it too too seriously. These men on the train. I think that most humans call them, Conductors. They were all growing beards as a work thing for good luck for the Red Sox�s. I didn�t realize this until I saw that all of them were growing beards. We used to have a female conductor. I wonder if she would grow a beard. Probably for the Red Sox. I know that almost none of you understand the feelings of this weekend hear in Boston as the Yankees come to town. It�s like the feeling of occupation by enemy forces, an evil empire coming to take away the thing you love, to smash your hope for post season play. Think I am being too �over the top� We celebrated when Jeter separated his shoulder. We rejoiced when the Yankees lost in the playoffs. The city will shut down if we ever do win. It�s been far too long. Germany and France fought twice from 1914 (about) to 1919, and then again from about 1939 to 1945. Now they are friends. Sorta, but nonetheless they don�t hate each other to the point of fighting. The Red Sox and Yankees played in 1902 and have hated each other every year since. What�s that you say? The Red Sox and Yankees don�t fight? We don�t hate? You do not understand hate until you understand the Yankees. This is the Banner I will be running over the weekend. I think the Yankees are ripe, and ready to be hit off the tree like a pi�ata. All we need is some bats. You see the Yankee�s are ruining baseball with their winning. We haven�t won since 1918. Oppression since the first World War. Even Israel and Palestine haven�t been at it that long. Screw you George Steinbrenner. You see he has so much more money. It is the equivalent of competing with a Bully in fifth grade when you are in first. No matter what you do you are going to loose. The Yankees buy up all the talent; even if they don�t need it, just so other teams can�t have it. He really likes pitching. And all we have left is hate. The Red Sox�s, Boston, and all New England has only hate for the Yankees. It�s in our Blood. There was play when the Yankees were trying to score from third, and Carlton Fisk stopped the Yankee player, though he was called safe. The whole play erupted, causeing a brawl. You could just see anger and passion in the eyes of the players. Old Fight You can see it in the fans. We claw at the scraps of hope that the team gives us. We bleed Red. This Baseball phenomenon is about passion. The desire that we want to win so badly, but are oppressed by the Yankees, that it comes out in anger and frustration This Shirt shows that Boston hates the Yankees. Rather if you are from Boston you hate them. This is the most common T-shirt that depicts the evil empire. There is a chant we do related to this. We chant Yankees Suck. However, you might be thinking that sounds lame. But try being a yankee and looking into a crowd of 35,000 people who would sooner kill you than breathe air. They are chanting for your blood. They want to see you die. We don�t pull any punches. We sell every seat. We cheer every pitch. We watch every out. We are funny though. This is for the liberals in the city who need to feel that they have purpose. It�s a little anti New York, anti-establishment. I am a fan of this shirt. Also our star Player, Pedro Martinez (the best pitcher in the game of baseball) was asked about the curse on the Red Sox. The curse when we traded the best player in the history of the game, Babe Ruth, to the Yankees for peanuts. Pedro didn�t believe in the curse. He said he wanted to �Dig up the Bambino so I can drill him in the ass.� You might be offended. We put it on a shirt and have our sons and daughters wear them. Pedro is a hero. He is our warrior against the Evil Empire. The Gladiator who is small but crafty, with surprising power. He stares you down, and strikes you out. He is incredible. The Yankees want to buy him. We fight against them, but they win. We grow bitter. We struggle against their undaunting power, and try to obtain victory, but we fall short. The national media is against us. Popular opinion says we will never win. We froth for baseball. We grow sick at the sight of Pinstripes Nomar and Jeter are the two shortstops. They are always compared. Nomar is better. In every aspect, and yet they compare them. He hits better, field�s better, hit more power numbers, strikes out less, is more clutch. But Jeter �wins.� So he is considered better. That�s bullshit. The greatest hitter in baseball, Ted Williams, was not given the admiration against his counterpart Joe DiMaggio. Ted was an amazing player and changed the way the game could be played. But Joe �won.� And was considered better in his day. We hate the Yankees. They steal our Thunder. They steal our players The Best pitcher we have ever had except maybe Cy Young and Pedro is now known for his pinstripes. The traitor Rodger Clemens is someone who personifies the disgusting wealth of the Yankees and misfortune of the Red Sox. He wants to wear pinstripes in the hall of fame, because he �won� there. Let�s hope he doesn�t win here. On Sunday, he will take the mound for the last time in Fenway, and we hope that he does not win. We hope he takes a baseball of the orbital socket. He will have to beat us on our battlefield, on our home turf. We will stand against him and dream about someday winning. We have had tastes Carlton Fisk hit the gamewinner over the green monster and its said that Fenway has never exploded with such noise. The crowd gasping as the bail sailed in slow motion into the night sky. The Red Sox won that day. But the taste grows sour. 101 years of losing to the Yankees can be seen in Bucky Dent�s smash into the Green monster in left field to drive in the winning run. The Yankees win again. But we have one more chance. This weekend we can beat them. We can be the winners. We are dreaming of winning. But that�s not all. We want the Yankees to undergo pain. We will not be happy until their arms break, and their legs snap. We will not rejoice until the ocean swallows their plane, and Yankee Stadium burns. They need to suffer, and it�s been far too long. Here�s to their torment! May their children die, and their wives leave them. Let them die alone in the most terrible of ways. To happiness for just a moment in the greatest and longest rivalry and hatred in professional sports, and possibly the modern world. May the Red Sox�s win and unbeatable giants of New York fall. | |||||||||||
