My buddy Mike Cialini turns in a great analysis of Yankee Fans on his blog.
Being a true Yankee fan is more difficult than being a diehard supporter of any other team. Sure, it's great when they win, and we get substantially more to cheer about than anyone else's fans, but with each playoff exit, the torment that Yankee Fan has to endure by the smug and the envious is a heavy cross to bear.
Thing is, I could've been a fan of any team. My dad introduced me to major league baseball when I was six. He could've taken me to Exhibition Stadium, to kindle a following of the Blue Jays. He could've taken me to Three Rivers and I'd be bleeding Pirate...er... brown? yellow? But no, he took me to the Bronx, to see the team he had followed since the days of Mantle, Howard and Berra. He took me into the upper deck of the most amazing place I've ever been in my life.
Ths week has been harder on Yankee fans than most. The chemistry seems to be gone, or at least that's how the media portrays it. Joe hung on to his job by a D-train strap, A-rod had a season most players would kill for and is being inexplicably run out of town on a rail. And then Corey. As a student pilot myself, I can only say trust me, he died doing something he loved.
Now, back to the consumption of beer.