I'm not supposed to care about baseball. I know better. Especially professional baseball. A bunch of spoiled athletes. A bunch of egomaniacal owners. People live for their teams. They get tattoos. Spend thousands on playoff tickets. I can see the absurdity of all this.
I know better than to care. But I do care. Alot. About the Yankees, of all teams. I usually root for the underdog and decry the power-mad, absurdly wealthy Yankee-types of the world. But my attachment was formed young, and breaking it would be unthinkable.
So I find myself defending the Yankees when they're accused of buying their titles. Of destroying the competitive balance.
Worst of all I feel truly deflated at every loss. Especially this year, as they fail to live up to expectations, game after game. Especially now, when the bullpen has turned a 2-1 lead over St. Louis to a 5-2 defecit. My stomach tightens, my fists clench. I want to throw a fit. I want to yell at the team. I know how irrational this is. I really do. But do I stop? Of course not.