"Come to bed, honey."
My wife’s voice was weak. She was almost asleep. I turned the TV off, picked up my cat and went to the bedroom. I let out a big sigh and Em told me that she was sorry that the Yankees are causing me so much agita. "Try and let it go, babe, it’s going to do you no good to stay upset about something you’ve got no control over. You need your energy for the week."
I’ve heard that line before and know it to be true. This time, I didn’t fight it for too long and soon enough I was asleep. It is more than slightly ridiculous to get furious over a ball club, right?
It was sunny and crisp this morning on my way to work. I read the morning papers on the subway. Johnny Damon said the game was "embarrassing." I shoved the papers into my napsack and put on my headphones. A young Spanish girl, all of six years old was sitting across from me, next to her mother. The girls’ feet were three or four inches off the ground. She wore pink sneakers, a power blue sweat suit and had a barette in her hair. An i pod nano was in her little palm, little white plug headphones in her ears. She had the most serious expression on her face and she mouthed the words to whatever she was listening to, nodding her head in an exaggerated motion. I couldn’t help but laugh. Not only because she was so intent, so committed to her schtick but because she reminded me of how preposterous I must look at times, snapping my neck to the beat, wearing my super-sized dorky headphones.
Yeah, the Yankees are awful right now. Let them be embarrassed by how poorly they are playing. We don’t need to be embarrassed about anything. Hey, we weren’t embarrassed to root for them when they were winning. Doesn’t mean we have to be happy about what’s going on, but in the end, their performance doesn’t have much to do with us at all, does it?