When There Is No Lesser Evil

I hate the Yankees, but not as much as I hate the Red Sox.  This might explain why it was so hard to watch them play today.  It was an awesome game, the kind of game you wish you watched every time you watch baseball.  If two other teams were playing I might not have given in to the afternoon nap.  Deep down inside I wanted them both to lose.  I wished Bud Selig would lean over the rail of his box seat and declare the game over.  No winners, only losers, and no asterisks.  I'm not bitter just because I'm an Angel's fan.  Well, maybe a little bit.  Sure, I'm sick of being owned by Boston every October and the Yankees using dollar signs to pull away future hall of fame talent.  

What really bugs me about New York and Boston is their fans.  Or at least the fans in Orange County that go to Angel Stadium.  I've met Red Sox fans that hadn't seen Boston until Netflix sent them The Departed and Fever Pitch.  When Edison lost the naming sponsor to Angel Stadium they should have renamed it Fenway West.  At least the Yankee fans wear blue so you can sort them out from a distance.  If you want to be a Yankee fan that's fine.  My Grandfather was from Yonkers.  I can understand the loose connections that make people cheer for teams on the other coast.  But just because you're a Yankee fan doesn't mean you need to be an a-hole.  This is Orange County.  We're supposed to be stuck up, not belligerent.

Look, I've been an Angel fan since I was 6.  I remember the orange seats, the football press box, and when the Budweiser Patio was called WallyWorld.  So I have tons of credibility to think that I'm better than any other fan that walks into Angel Stadium.  Plus, it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.