Enjoying the World Series through hatred and negativity

Jason Gay of The Wall Street Journal - a newspaper synonymous with both poetry and sports writing - recently lobbed a whimsy grenade at Yankee fans, noting that - ha ha - we have nothing to do this fall. Our team is - ha ha - done. So we're cleaning -- ha ha - the hamster cage. O, it's sheer prose of gold, served with that deft touch of humor that is known to all business reporters. 

"One assumes that when the Red Sox are in the World Series, Yankee fans dutifully attend to delayed domestic matters. One assumes that during a Red Sox World Series, the kitchens and living rooms of Yankee households never look cleaner. The laundry is folded perfectly. Books are read. Hobbies are born. Puzzles are solved. Chairs are fixed. Long, elegant and possibly ruffled sweaters are knitted for the dog."

I hope you weren't eating Cheerios, because they'll hurt coming out of your nose. Well, harrumph, harrumph, we're good with a ribbing now and then. But the truth is this: This guy whiffed. He thinks we're scrap-booking and getting on with life? He should write fiction.

Listen: Yankee fans are watching the world series like Darth Vader in his pod, distilling our evil into felony-grade purity - driven by the blackness of hate, which burns in our heart with a negativity that can blot a billion suns. If there are dogs nearby, we kick them. Watching Joe Buck, I root an asteroid strike. I root for earthquakes. I want hail, falling frogs, self-immolations... with Tim McCarver screaming, "O the humanity!" One assumes that we are carving pumpkins? Hell, I'm toothpicking the Pedroia doll. At the end of the movie, Magneto may be in plastic chains, but as long as there is iron in the blood of his jailer, he's never done. The Power Rangers may win, but Rita Repulsa is still on her moon base, plotting for the next episode.

Let the darkness guide us, Yankiverse.  As long as our hearts are black, there will be an Evil Empire. And at least once per trilogy, we strike back.