Enemy Perspective:

The Toughest Fan year

This article appeared in the July 25, 2007 issue of Barstool Sports.

Web site: Barstoolsports.com

Being a Yankees fan in Boston has not been easy, but some years have been tougher than others.

When I first moved here in 1999, the Yankees were at the apex of their dynasty. It was tough adjusting to the fact that I was now "behind enemy lines," but I got used to it. Being yelled at and having the occasional empty beer cup hurled at me wasn't so bad. It was easy to take because I could just turn and smile: everyone knew who the better team was.

It was always easy to see the hate Sox fans had for the Yankees. The hate went deep, it was genetic. But my first taste of just how real it was occurred in 2001, when the Yankees faced the Diamondbacks in the World Series. I watched game seven in a room full of Red Sox fans, which was my first mistake. Those people weren't really rooting for the Diamondbacks, but they were avidly rooting against Yankees. It felt, in some ways, like the Yankees were actually playing the Sox.

I had never experienced that before: people rooting against a team. The negativity was palpable. It wasn't fun.

And when the dynasty died that night, when Mariano Rivera's magic left him, it was the first time since I had moved here that I saw Red Sox fans truly happy.

And it wasn't even their team that had won. It was an evil happiness, and I can honestly say I lost respect for people in that room. They weren't baseball fans--they were something less.

That was when I finally understood how deep the hate was: Anyone but the Yankees. The truth that I learned that night was that Red Sox fans--the real ones, the ones who were raised by true fans, not all the bandwagoners you see now--hated the Yankees as much, if not more than they loved the Red Sox. The years of pain and anguish had seriously driven these people mad. (I can't say I blame them--I'd probably be the same way.)

The only analogy I can think of is that of an occupying force in a foreign country, one that completely oppresses any sort of freedom. Think Communism in Poland post-WWII. People don't care who gets them out, as long as the invaders are ousted.

That hate would reach a fever pitch (pun intended) in 2004. But that was after the events of 2003, when Aaron F. Boone did his upper deck thing. When that ball disappeared into the ecstatic Bronx throng--after I experienced a moment of pure joy that my team had won--I actually began to feel guilty about this relationship, the domination of the Yankees over the Sox. Of course, I was happy about the outcome, but when all your friend are depressed for weeks because of something that makes you happy, guilt is the natural reaction. I couldn't talk about it in front of them--they couldn't handle it.

That's why the 2004 ALCS comeback was a lot easier to take. Sure, I heard more yap about that than anything ever before, but for the first time since I had been in Boston, I wouldn't have to be the bad guy all offseason. Plus, I had to concede a point: the Sox were the better team. I leveraged the 26 championships whenever anyone really got out of line--it was my trump card--but the Sox deserved everything they achieved that year.

And I will admit: I rooted for the Sox during the 2004 Series, for several reasons:

1. I'm an American League guy.
2. I wanted to see what would happen if the Sox won. I thought there was at least a 70% chance we'd be witness to the apocalypse. Seriously.
3. I knew it'd make my friends happy, and quite frankly, after years of suffering, they needed the break. I was worried about their mental well being.
4. I knew there'd be one hell of a party. And I always root for that.
5. We had been told we'd get a day off work. Honestly, I'd do just about anything for one less day of work.

Since then, we've had mostly anticlimactic playoffs (what could match 2004?). So living here hasn't been all that tough the past few years. (Oh yeah, and there was that five-game sweep last year. Everyone was really quiet after that. That silenced my friends even more than Boone.)

Out of all the years I've been here, I have to say this edges out my 2001 experience as the toughest year. I've never seen Sox optimism as high as it was before this year began, and the team ran with that out of the gate, building a 14-game lead.

The Yankees compounded the pain by playing like the Devil Rays--without the hitting. Not since I was a kid had I heard anyone declare that the Yanks were dead as early as mid-May.

Co-workers and friends just piled on. My team was "dead" and I was like a wounded wildebeest surrounded by a pride of lions. My friends could smell the kill, and they struck early and often. Emails, texts, phone calls, muttered comments in meetings, you name it. Every time the Yankees faltered, I heard about it.

I laughed them off, warned them that it was too early--that they were counting chickens.

Then I bided my time. (Bid my time? Bode my time?) The Yanks were too good to be this bad. They'd come around.

I knew the team could make a race of it, but as the All-Star break neared, even I began to wonder if time was running out. The Yanks were 10 down, and while not insurmountable, that was a damn good lead.

Then I heard about the second-half schedule. I was born again! Yes, the Red Sox technically had the easiest remaining schedule, but the Yankees had a golden window:

Twenty-nine straight games against sub-.500 teams to open the second half.

The number came into my head instantly: five games. As in, the Yankees need to be five games out by the time they're at the end of that stretch. If they can do that, they can--and will--win the division.

Today is July 21, and the Yankees are 7.5 back. They've killed 2.5 games in a 12 game stretch. That means they're ahead of the pace I've set for them--I'm sure Jeter and the team are aware of it, obviously--and we're not even halfway through the 29 game stretch.

The funniest part is that Sox fans seem to be well aware that their fortress is no longer invincible. The Yankees are crossing the moat, the portcullis is being lifted, and the Bombers are creeping into the outer defenses.

The fans know their team is bleeding, and this time, I can smell the blood. No one has talked any shit to me since the break--before that, it was a daily occurrence. I don't talk shit unless talked to--I prefer to speak softly and carry a big Louisville slugger: 26 championships; so many consecutive AL East titles I was a teenager when they lost it last.

The Yankees and Sox play head to head six more times. Get within five games during this stretch of bad teams and hold it there until they get their shot at the Sox.

Then the fate of the division is in their own hands. And with the Yankees, I'll take that every time.

If the Bombers can manage a comeback to win the division, the rough first half of the year will have been worth it.

I'll appreciate the sound of October silence on the streets of Boston all the more.

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