My Entire Team Sucks
by Turtle Jones
Rivalries. Ever get in the middle of something where felt like you needed to yell out something like LESS FILLING? Ever want to stab someone in the gut just because they were wearing the wrong color shirt? Ever just walk up to a Red Sox fan and say Bucky. Fucking. Dent. just to get under their skin? Then you know what a rivarly feels like. They happen everywhere. Not just in sports. In the office. At school. Hell, even at home. Nothing like a good sibling rivalry to make home life interesting.
So tonight, we've got rival posts for you.
Michele's at bat first.
I grew up a Yankee fan. Bleeding pinstripe blue and all that. Mom got it from her dad and she passed it on to me and I infected my kids with it. The Yankee fan legacy is something that gets into your genes. Go ahead. I'll wait here while you make the appropriate jokes.
My hatred for the Mets and most of their fans goes deeper and wider than any hatred I have ever known. Not even my disdain for Uwe Boll or Bruce Springsteen could match this. It's a bitter, nasty rivalry. You cannot enter my home wearing anything with the Mets logo on it. My daughter feels jinxed every time she sees the Mets symbol and goes
Dad. Well, dad is a Mets fan. Every family has one of those people. The ones you kind of just shake your head at in bewilderment. Wonder what happened, where you went wrong with this one. That's dad during baseball season. The Mets? Bad enough he's a Jet fan. Torture yourself just a little more, dad.
Well, my father has turned this rivarly thing into an all out war. It's pretty much standard operating procedure for Met fans to be belligerent, obnoxious and crude, so nothing he has done or will do should really surprise me. And this is why I loathe the Mets more than the Red Sox, more than the Cowboys, more than Duke, more than any team in all of sports, world wide, professional or amateur. Why I hate the Mets with a broad, sweeping hatred that knows no depth nor width, that is endless, black and unforgiving. Because their fans - my dear father included - tend to be assholes. Raging, hemorrhoidal assholes.
Dad has taken the definition of "rivals" to new heights. Or lows, as the case may be.
Case(s) in point.
The last subway series. 2000. Yankees, Mets, World Series. The shit has hit the fan in my parents' house. Mom and Dad barely acknowledge each other. My middle sister aligns with dad. My youngest sister got the Yankee gene. She's with me and mom. There's tension in the house. You can feel it. Mom in her Yankee sweatshirt. Dad in his Met shirt. He wears a Red Sox cap for good measure, just as a little "fuck you" to mom. He really goes all out to make himself as annoying and obnoxious about it as possible.
The day before the series starts, I'm driving home from work and decide to stop at my parents. I come down the street toward my parents' house - they live at the end of this long block, facing the street, so I can see the house from a few blocks away - and I think, looks like something is on the roof? Could dad be putting up Christmas decorations in October? Unlikely. I get closer and see what's going on. Wait. Did he really do that? Is that what I'm really seeing. I pull in front of the house. Get out of the car. There's a guy from Newsday standing there with a camera. Neighbors are out. Cars come past and stop and look at the roof.
Dad took some blue duct tape and made a line down the slanted roof. On the left side of the roof is a Mets banner. On the right side, a Yankees banner. Underneath each, spelled out in pieces of duct tape: His. Hers.
I told you he we take this shit seriously.
So the whole neighborhood is talking about how we are a family divided. They have no idea. Calls are made during the game. Yankees go up 2-0 and I call dad and make some rude comments. The Mets score three runs to go ahead and dad calls me back and just laughs into the phone. Laugh all you want, fucker. Yankees go ahead to win the game in the 12th inning. Booya. In your face. I drive by on my way to work in the morning and leave a little Yankee flag on the hood of his car. Mom taunts him all day. When I get home from work, I stop over the house again. This is outside:
I had to laugh. Dad knows how to play this rivalry thing up. Like the time the Mets beat the Yankees during the regular season and he called and invited me over for dinner. Yankee pot roast.
The Yankees won that subway series. We got all over dad about it, reminding him every chance we got that his team's name stands for My Entire Team Sucks. Things like that. Hey, I can be just as much of an asshole as he can. Especially when my team has a World Series win to back up my words. But when dad gets on my case about me being a sore winner, I have to remind him that he was the guy who tried to get my son's first words to be "Yankees suck."
This rivalry goes the whole season long by the way. It doesn't have to be the playoffs for dad to be in full "fuck you" form. Any chance he can get to whine about the Yankee payroll, yadda yadda, how my mother should burn in hell for rooting for a team that is classest and elitist, yadda yadda.
I'll leave you with this little story I love to tell. Happened right after Easter dinner, when we were all - the whole family mind you - sitting in the living room.
I think this stemmed from the whole Piazza-Clemens incident. Mom was defending the integrity of Clemens (something I would never do) once again.
Dad - "You're always defending them, no matter what they do!"
Turtle taps the keg:
Silence has been a long forgotten in my life. Either I can't hear or can hear and whatever is being said is muffled or covered or blared in my ears. Confusing? When I was a kid all I could remember was one thing. Yeah dude, you prolly got it by now. I'm not that big of a sports fan. I fuck around with them. Sure, I've seen tons of games, but I never really had this whole rivalry thing down. Never been into it. I guess the Cowboys didn't like the Indians cause, well fuck if I know. Maybe they sold them a football with some disease on it or wanted to take their land or something. I have no clue.
I know I hate every hockey team that had Marty McSorley on it, but that's just me. So I guess that really isn't a rivalry.
I know I don't like San Francisco 49ers. You try losing 50 bucks on "the catch" back in 1980, or maybe 1981, and see how you feel. Keep in mind my age. 50 bucks when you are still wearing Tuff Skins pretty much means you are gonna have to turn a trick tonight to pay that cash back. See, people ask why I don't gamble anymore. Try being spun on the top of a Chester for cash to pay back the neighborhood bully and you will hate the 49ers too. But once again, I don't really think that’s a rivalry.
Do I know of any?
Oh yes I do. The greatest rivalry of all time. Something that you stopped to think about.
Taste Great v Less Filling!
This one made you think. Sure, you might not have drank beer when this was in it's pinnacle but the look of confusion of your families as sides were split up on the "What is better" angles took you. You had to notice. My mom would look at her beer and wonder about the true meaning of life while crushing her last Miller Lite on her head. My dad, staring in confusion wondering what the answer is. Is it less filling? Did he make a mistake changing to the "Tastes Great" side? All the while my grandpa just slammed back bourbon wondering why "Perry Mason" wasn't on.
I know I may the only person who thinks it is funny, but when you watch adults yelling at other over sports and who is better than that person and which team is better than that team, "taste great, less filling" always slips out of my mouth. It has a calming effect on people. They can sit back and think about the real reason they are here on this earth. Refocus on what is important. Not to argue about teams. Not to make bets. Not to work on issues at work. This was the ultimate rivalry. This was important. This was deep. Bubba Smith, Dick Butkus, Larry Csonka, Carlos Palomino and Billy Martin were all in on this. This was a worldwide fight. We all needed the answer.
Does it taste great?
Or is it less filling?
Or is it just shitty beer? - T
These are the teams that really have issues. They don't like each other, their towns hate each other, or maybe they just hate the colors of the other's jerseys. As you can tell, there are certain reasons they are on the opposite side, but really, they all play the same game. Rivalries make the game. They make them fun. We told you who we think are the biggest. Now it's your turn. Tell us yours.