Classy Things: Bye, Bye Baseball

At the tender age of eight, I decided not to be a Yankees fan. It was 1993 and Danny Tartabull and Matt Nokes were lulling crowds to sleep at The House That Ruth Built. And I’d always hear my dad say George Steinbrenner was a scumbag – something about hiring guys to follow Dave Winfield. Plus, this guy named Griffey was playing out in Seattle and everything about his game mesmerized me. And that’s how I became a Mariners fan from the Bronx. Sixteen years later I feel like a jerk off writing that sentence. It’s probably the worst sports decision I ever made – next to rooting for the Oakland Raiders. If only I’d followed my brother down the path of Yankee fandom. He’s got five World Series titles. Me, I’ve got a mediocre team with a moose for a mascot. Am I bitter? Probably. Envious? Most definitely. I used to detest the Yanks -- still do a little bit -- but I’ve learned to respect them. When I’m crusty and old, my baseball memories will be flooded with images of great Yankee teams and part of me is grateful for having seen them play. Sadly, I’ll never be a Yankees fan, I’m too loyal, but I’m happy for the rest of you. You deserved it. Shit, I kind of even rooted for you guys this postseason.


Truer words have never been written on a banner. We do love our Phillie Blunts in New York, but after Game 1 of the World Series a good friend of mine refused to smoke them, claiming they were detrimental to the Yankees chances of winning. While that might seem asinine, superstition is a vital and unforgiving tool in the gamut of fandom. The logic is simple, if you wear a certain shirt, for example, and your team wins, you wear that shirt the next time they play. To any person not in a sports coma that syllogism is highly flawed, but to the diehard fan the reasoning is sound: I wore this T-shirt for the game, my team won the game, therefore my team won because of this T-shirt. Regardless of the irrationality, the superstition must be followed. As such, my friend switched over to White Owls for the Series and everything worked out pretty well.


Speaking of smoking weed, I was none too shocked when two friends called to me last night to say that Tim Lincecum, reigning National League Cy Young, had been caught with 3.3 grams of pot following a traffic stop in his home state. Lincecum, a Washington native, was observed going 74 mph in a 60 mph zone. When he was pulled over, an officer approached his 2006 Mercedes and smelled weed waft out of the car as the pitcher rolled down the window. Lincecum immediately complied with a request to hand over the weed and his pipe. I can’t say I was blindsided by this turn of event. By his looks, the shaggy-haired and somewhat grungy looking pitcher would more easily fit into Pearl Jam than he would a baseball clubhouse. I’m pretty sure Lincecum had just left his dealer’s house and was smoking the first .2 of a 3.5 gram eighth when he was pulled over. Thankfully for the pint-sized pitcher, weed is hardly frowned upon in the great sate of Washington and he’ll only be facing misdemeanor charges.


So Alex Rodriguez has finally shed his playoff-goat image, but apparently now he wants to be a horse. Or at least half horse. According to the ever-reputable US Weekly, the Yankee's slugger has commissioned paintings of himself - as a centaur. But wait, it gets better - they're hanging above the superstar athletes' bed, according to the magazine. Normally, any story in US Weekly falls in the realm of New York Post-like integrity and accuracy, but this could be true. Shit, one time I heard A-rod brought a girl back to his house and banged her while watching highlights of himself on Sportscenter and having his nipples pinched. So centaur paintings don’t seem too out of the question. Sure, it could be a lie, but wouldn’t it be better if we just pretended it wasn’t.