Every day as the enemy

In case you hadn't heard, there's a fairly significant anniversary tomorrow, and much like the Red Sox amazingly always seem to be home on one of Boston's two fake holidays (the other being the amazingly lucky circumstance that makes St. Patrick's Day a holiday) they miraculously get to play at Fenway on the 100th anniversary of the ballpark opening, against the very same team.

Well ... at least the current incarnation of that team, as the Yankees were the New York Highlanders back in those days.

So, for the next three days, the lifelong Red Sox fans since 2004 can put aside their disgust at what the team has become and focus on their one true enemy.

Yes, you read that right, I took a shot at the "wonderful," "passionate" Red Sox fans who probably think there have always been seats on top of the Green Monster and that Red Sox Nation is actually its own free and independent nation-state.

I did so knowing that many of them hold me, a Yankees fan who lives 15 miles from Boston, in the same minimum high regard.

To be fair, most of my interaction with Red Sox fans takes the form of friendly banter, since the ones I deal with most are friends. (One of my college roommates, who lives in the Boston area, loves to tell the story of how there wasn't a lot of tension between us because both the Yankees and Red Sox were terrible during that time. I then burst his bubble ... again ... by reminding him that he was a Cubs fan at the time.)

But every now and then, things happen

The main one is the "Yankee fans exist?" look. When I tell people, they get that look in their eyes like they're seeing something that they had heard rumors about, but didn't actually believe existed. They then have to get to understand this semi-mythical creature, so they have to ask questions. Although it may not be word-for-word correct, I once had a conversation very much like this with a co-worker:

"You're a Yankees fan?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Because I'm from New York and my entire family is Yankees fans, so I grew up as one."
"OK, I can respect that."

Now I know he was coming from the right place, so I couldn't get too miffed at him, and the co-worker who blithely suggested I just switch because that's what she (a New Jersey native) did is just lucky I liked her.


I also once had the "pleasure" of riding on a train coming out of Boston (where I was visiting a friend in the hospital) on the day Pedro threw Don Zimmer on the ground and hearing some idiot chirp into her phone about how awesome it was. Fortunately, I'm a peaceful man who does not believe in hitting women, because otherwise I would have been tempted to choke her.

Speaking of my generally peaceful nature, it's the only thing (that and him being about 70 years old) that kept me from slugging the most-obnoxious Red Sox fan I encountered, ironically, not in Boston, but in Hartford, CT.

My in-laws live outside Hartford, which is basically the demarcation line between Red Sox and Yankees territory, and we were peacefully eating lunch one afternoon when a "gentleman" walking by our table took notice of my Yankees Universe shirt.

(Nodding his head in the general direction of my shirt) "You're not a good person."
(Me, somewhat incredulous that I heard what I think I just heard) "Excuse me?"
"You're not a good person. You should root for the Red Sox."
"Ummm, great, thanks."

And he wasn't joking.

So forgive me if I don't get all caught up in the nostalgia of the event. Good for them and their fans, but I'm hoping to see them go home unhappy after every game.