Congratulations Douchebag Yankee Fans
|Lovingly borrowed from Yankees 2000|
In the years 1996-2000, the Yankees had briefly brought back that aura of invincibility the franchise used to have in bygone days, and its fan base became swollen with just the sort of chunkheads you would expect to parasitically attach themselves to a guaranteed winner:
- fat, lonely teenagers;
- dead-eyed stockbrokers with suspenders and goo in their hair who, when they were not pretending to actually watch the games, liked to drink single malt, smoke Cohibas, and purchase lap dances;
- young fogies whose bedrooms were crammed with baseball books and whose lack of a suitable father figure drove them to fantasize that DiMaggio, The Mick, and the Sultan of Swat walked with them;
- dorks and assholes.
Still, recidivism is higher among sports fans than among parolees. The Philadelphia fans, who were famous for their violent reactions to success in the 70s, brought it back when the Phils won last year. Soon you will see in parks across America (even in Queens) pinstriped putzes pumping their fists and bellowing about 27 rings, in which achievement many of them already find special, almost numerological significance and behave as if they got to wear the fucking things themselves while they were cleaning the garage. You will find businessmen using Yankee metaphors in their PowerPoint presentations. As in the old days, the favored leisurewear of the city's mouth-breathers, subways gropers, and bump-and-runners will become a Yankees jersey.
Enjoy it while it lasts, guy. Next year a number of your veterans will have aged into sports-commentatorhood, and A-Rod will be revealed to have used HGH and crystal meth when he was 30 and too young know any better. Don't worry, though -- losing is part of the process of growing up, which is why we Mets fans are not merely mature, but practically senile.