For the past couple of weeks, I've been hearing how wonderful it would have been had there been a Dodger-Yankee World Series. Everyone would have relived their Reggie Jackson childhood, both coasts would be covered in baseball interest, it's iconic and yada yada yada.
It turned my stomach.
I get that the world hates repeat champions, but honestly? Rooting for Joe Torre and Manny Ramirez (aka, the faces of everlasting Yankee and Red Sox success) while they were wearing the laundry of the team that taught me crushing childhood sadness?
Garry Maddox, sunshine, center field. Greg Luzinski, night, wall, no. Manny Freaking Mota. Crying my eight-year-old eyes out while wondering why God hated my team, and vowing never to care this much about a team ever, ever, ever again.
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