I have no greater shame in my life than being a Yankees fan. I mean, yes, there was the time I killed that guy, but it was dark and I didn't see him there and I can forgive myself for that indiscretion. It is impossible, however, to forgive myself for my loyalty to America's winningest baseball team. Rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for Wall Street. It's like rooting for Goliath. Or Vladimir Putin. It's like rooting for the best-looking kid in high school to get the girl. Yet I cannot help myself.
One excuse is that I am a New Yorker. But New York has two baseball teams and I could easily root for the (usually) hapless Mets. And, in fact, I did root for the Mets back in the mid-80's, back when they had Keith Hernandez and Daryl Strawberry and Doc Gooden and Gary Carter. In other words, back when they won. At the time, the Yankees really did suck. So I went with the winners.
And I go with the winners today. Sports fans revile people like me. Fair weather fans. Bandwagon jumpers. They are right to hate me. After all, the measure of a true fan is their willingness to endure suffering. To hurt like their teams when they, inevitably, fall short. Only one team can ultimately prevail, which leaves a lot of unhappy fans at the end of each season.
But here's the thing: I don't like to suffer. I have enough suffering in my day-to-day life. Why add to it by cheering on some shitty baseball team? Why needlessly subject myself to their woes when I have plenty of my own? There is no good reason. And so I root for the Yankees, who have won more championships than any other franchise in sports. I hitch my wagon to these winners, this soulless baseball corporation who charge too much for seats and forbid their players from expressing themselves through facial hair. Who do not even have their players' names on the backs of their uniforms, just as a factory does not name its cogs. I choose the Yankees because, in this one thing, I choose to go with the favorites. I love the Yankees. The Yankees suck.