Speaking as an admirer of the most creative mascot in all of sports, Mr. Met, if there was a baseball game in hell, of course it would be the Yankees and the Phillies. But that's not hell....Hell, its not even purgatory. Right now, it's hell on Earth. The World Series is a Best of 7. I was always taught by my Catholic fore-mothers to never pray for sports teams to win or for the dealer to throw an Ace after receiving a King. After all, gambling is a sin and Jesus has more pressing issues in the world than making sure his own Mother's university puts the ball in the end-zone with no time left on the clock. (He might have lost patience with Charlie Weis and Jimmy Clausen after we already won 3 games this season in the final minutes...Understandable....It's warranted)
The possibility of a Yankees/Phillies World Series is every Met fans nightmare. While its less-nightmarish than the 2006 NLCS and Carlos Beltran freezing on a 3-2 pitch with the bases loaded and two outs in the bottom of the ninth, I'm kind of dreading it. I anticipate two weeks of obnoxiousness that will rival that of a 21 year old Seaside Heights summer renter whose orange skin, pumped up lips and hair texture make me wonder if its Sunday at Bagatelle Brunch or a product of Jim Henson's Muppet factory.
But as these two baseball clubs are making their way through their respective championship league games and to that pinnacle of league . And as a Mets fan, I feel as relevant as the country of Burkina Faso in meetings of the UN Security Council. I mean seriously...What can I say? Its like going into a campaign and using the fact that your opponent has a few extra pounds as a issue relevant to voters.
I'm no Dionne Warrick, but is it fair to say that this is likely going to delve into one of those "culture wars" between two cities. Where every movie, cuisine and nuance is compared, mocked. How many "hoagie vs. sub" wars can we have? Or who the hell cares that I still can't figure out why y'all call sprinkles the slang term for a prophylactic. These are the things freshmen at Rutgers or any other New Jersey school fight about.
A Rutgers Scarlet Knights student could possibly be the genetic product of a mad scientist like Doc...But it's simple...its the union of a Philly fan and a NY/NJ fan (and I include NJ because the Devils...you know that team that seems to win a Stanley Cup every 5 years....Being its been 6, we're due....and not to mention Giants Stadium is located somewhere in the swamps of Jersey) It has a make up so opinionated andso brash that if it were a professional team, I could see Limbaugh owning it. But when it's Giants/Eagles, Mets/Phillies or Devils/Flyers, the common bond of scarlet that flows through the veins becomes darker than George Hamilton after a trip to Monaco.
Channelling my inner Gorrila Monsoon, I think the proper Mets fan decorum can be illustrated by the actions of the Ultimate Warrior in Wrestlemania VIII. A double Main Event at the Hoosier Dome, the first classic match pitted Ric Flair against the newly re-instated (and married) Macho Man Randy Savag
e. (whom after his career ending match against the Ultimate Warrior underwent one of the most bizzare comebacks in history - were you bitten by a King Cobra, Brett Favre?) The second match was Hulk Hogan vs. Sid Justice (more commonly known as Sid Vicious).In this Wrestlemania (which like all WWF pay-per-views were not "paid for" but watched off of "the illegal box", which somehow the Peene family and many of our friends somehow had), Hogan and Sid Justice fought in a semi-even battle. But then Papa Shango (who was more famous and more entertaining later on in the WWF Attitude days as "the Godfather") came in to help Sid Justice.....Then, out of nowhere, with the match out of control...the lights of the Hoosier Dome went out and that familiar music blared through the loud speakers....and running down the aisle was a crazy man in facepaint........Yes, it was the Ultimate Warrior. (whom you apparently can have speak at your college campus or rent him as if you would r
ent a clown or a Power Ranger for a children's party or an "exotic dancer" for a bachelor party - in our case it was for Shenanigan's, a make-shift bar in a dirty apartment (that may or may not have contained a chicken) on Passaic Street in Garfield where I spent a year or two as "the guy on the couch". We were going to get 20 people to each give $100 so we could rent the Ultimate Warrior...True story.) The Warrior had returned to the WWF on wrestling's biggest stage to back up Hogan and bring closure to one of the most forgettable Wrestlemania's ever. (Tatanka vs. Rick Martel...c'mon)Let's face it. The Yankees are Hogan. They say their prayers, eat their vitamins like little Hulkamaniacs....and they somehow always win in ways that make you hate them. We too were champions ("I'm Keith Hernandez"...) once like the
Ultimate Warrior who have fallen on hard times (In our case - injuries and Ponzi schemes....In his case - liberalism). Think of the Phillies as Sgt. Slaughter when he turned into an Iraqi sympathizer. There was nobody you could hate more...especially when 3 days after we bombed Baghdad, he smashed a patriotic Ultimate Warrior with the Macho King's scepter.Jimmy Rollins, because you're not with us, with the terrorists and part of the Axis of Evil. I call detente with the Bronx Bombers for the next 2 weeks. Go with the Yanks. I'll take my "New York State of Mind" over "Philadelphia Freedom" anyday.
If Mike Scoscia pinch hits for the Dodgers and they win (another Met nightmare).....disregard everything I just said.
A jilted Joe Cool is too hard to root against.
hoodia counter
