A Yankees-Red Sox Exchange of Epic Proportions

I received the following e-mail from a good friend at Yale called Sean Campion (all you need know of him is that he's an embittered Mets fan whose come-lately support for the Red Sox is couched in a hatred of the Yankees evil-empire in much the same poetic way that his support for John Kerry is couched in a hatred of Bush's evil-empire).

"Hey… I’ve been meaning for a while to IM you, find out how jolly ol eng has treated you and whatnot, but midterms, sloth and the mesmerizing beauty of Johnny Damon have prevented me from doing anything productive for weeks. Hence, hasty email.

Anyway, I’m sure that Jen kept you up on the details of the most humiliating collapse of any team in sports history. I enjoyed it thoroughly, mainly because I won’t have to listen to Ronan Tynan for another year. Did you know that he added a new verse to God Bless America? It made him approximately 33% more jingoistically irritating. And mercifully, we’ll never have to hear another “who’s your daddy” chant from Yankees fans to the “let’s go Yankees” beat. Game 7 was like a maury povich moment when the paternity test comes back, and it turns out that david ortiz is actually your daddy and he rampages through the studio overturning chairs, only that now he hits monstrous homeruns of Javier Vasquez. Did I mention that I enjoyed this thoroughly?"

To which I responded:

"Camp--

Jen and I made a conscious decision to carry on with our lives as if there were only one team in New York and its postseason fate had been decided in April. That being said, I paid 15 bucks for the postseason package on MLBTV and saw every assfucking moment of it. And if you think that's not bad enough, try the fact that of the dozen other visiting students around here (whom I have to eat with, mind you) ten are from Tufts, Boston College or Brown. Not to mention a cadre of wicket-hitting, Pimms-drinking Englishmen who are rooting for the team NOT called the "Yankees". (The only Tory, or Marquis de Lafayette if you will, is my Politics tutor who, being from Boston England, has a bone to pick with tourists from its Masachussets cousin who find the quaint fishing village in the Eastern Midlands to be a bit of a disappointment).

Nevertheless, all of the Americans agreed after Game 3 that the likeliest outcome would be for the Red Sox to come back and win three games and lose in Game 7 in stunning fashion. It might have even happened if Joe Torre hadn't trusted the start to a 40 year-old Faulknerian man-child who throws instead of pitching and whose last postseason appearance saw a four game sweep of his Padres. That--and his decision to bring Vasquez into the middle of an inning instead of letting a reliever take the hits and have Vasquez start the third--is what cost the Yankees Game 7. That, of course, and the Sheffield/Rodriguez Dante-esque descent into oblivion after Game 3.

I will say the following about your proxy-team however: On the negative side, what the fuck goes through Francona's head? Take Derek Lowe out after 88 pitches in game 4? Use Pedro Martinez in relief in a game seven? Musical chairs with the bullpen every nite, let Foulke throw 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 pitches? NOT start Pokey Reese in game seven after Bellhorn's Knoblauchian performance? I think it was truly one of the worst managed series in the history of baseball. But Torre's mistakes were only in Game 7, Francona's were more consistent if nevertheless successful (I'm FIRST-guessing, obviously, not second). Of course, I think its Millar who describes his Red Sox team as "a bunch of idiots"; in a way I'm glad they finally succeeded at cranking out that manuscript of Hamlet. And not a moment too soon, either. Thirteen free agents next year. Hmmm. New York needs a DH, and there's a hitting machine in the AL who plays left field (not very well) and he's said he's always wanted to be a Yankee. Also a disgruntled shortstop in Chicago who'd probably make a fine second-baseman in the Bronx, to further guild the Yankees infield. You cannot stop us Sean, you can only hope to contain us.

On the positive side, a hundred years from now my great-great-grandkids will be able to go to a Yankees/Red Sox game at the stadium and chant with a sense of history and pride: "TWO-thous-AND-four""

So who won the exchange? Cast your votes.