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I believe that bear was part of Jeter's gift basket.
The Barrister

If I'm being honest, my feelings on the Subway Series typically fall on the "hate it" side of the fence. A twice annual reminder of why my team isn't as good as their team is usually not my idea of fun, and even those seasons where the Mets have come out victorious against their cross-town rivals, it's usually set against the overaching reality that the Yankees have a shot at playoffs and beyond, and the Mets just don't. Like in 2008, when the Mets won the season series 4-2, including a sweep at Yankee Stadium...and the Mets were eliminated from wild card contention on the last day of the season by the Marlins. Again. Or 2004, when they swept at Shea and won the series, only to go 71-91 that year.

Living in New York, the Mets are the team you root for if you don't really mind a dark cloud over your head. They're who you root for if sports don't have to be easy for you, if you want to feel a sense of fulfillment by earning success through years of despair. That is, if you think your being a fan has anything to do with anything, which - as it happens - I narcissistically do.  Being a Met fan means that, even when you win, you gotta be ready to hear it from the Yankee fans in the room when they remind you of their many titles and how Jeter is God and how they don't even like A-Rod, as if that lends them more credibility (it does).

This season smells a little different, though. The teams step up the Subway Series in remarkably similar circumstances - the Yankees in third place in the AL East, a half game back of the surprising Orioles; the Mets in third, back a game and a half from the surprising Nationals. They each also sit in divisions with powerhouse teams in last place, further complicating their own prospects at an eventual postseason berth with the chance that the Red Sox and Phillies could suddenly remember how to play baseball again. 

And, lest I forget, they each have teams owned by rich men who made money by swindling middle-class investors.

What's that? Only the Mets are owned by dirty crooks? Oh. Bummer.

/cries in corner over Wilpon crimes
/considers argument that all sports team owners are crooks who swindle the middle-class
/cries more

Despite the similarities of circumstances, the Yankees and Mets of 2012 are still very different teams. The Yankees are squeaking by despite fielding a team of proven winners and more than their fair share of perennial All Stars, while the Mets are exceeding expectations with a team of nobodies and top guys on the DL, leaving a roster seemingly held together with duct tape, naive ambition and the magical, high-pitched tone of Terry Collins' voice. Add in a guy coming off the franchise's first no-hitter, and suddenly this series doesn't just seem like an opportunity to show up the big brother club from the Bronx, but a chance for the Mets to establish themselves - in the context of a very strong season - as the NYC team to watch this summer.
 
No matter what happens this weekend, I'm optimistic about the Mets this season, insofar as I had previously expected to give up on them in May and now actually think there will be meaningful games come August and September. But, if I have to walk into work on Monday to find a gaggle of cocky Yankee fans gloating about beating up on the Mets this weekend, things may get violent. You may disagree, but I don't think I'd do well in Manhattan Central Booking or Rikers Island ... so, if only for that, Let's Go Mets!
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I'm the cute one on the left.
Maybe in the end, it won't matter much - as most Inter-League play most certainly does not - since the Yankee fans will still have those rings to point to with a disgusting level of arrogance and hair grease, and since the Yankees themselves will likely remain the darling of the NYC sports world until the Mets make an actual run at World Series again (and that, despite my optimism, is a long way off). But, for these few days, just maybe the Amazins can put together some solid wins and shut the knuckle-dragging front-runners up for a little while. In a City that seems to live and breathe baseball for the summer months, and is overflowing with Yankee fans falling over each other to pat themselves on the back for the good sense at following one the most successful teams in all of sports, that's certainly a nice thought.
 
 
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The Scizz on Monday afternoon
The Scizz

No "dismantling of the Bills' draft" column today folks.  Not up for it.  I have already posted once this week and I had a god-awful stomach virus in the last few days that was worse than watching Patrick Lalime or Jose Theodore suit up as Ryan Miller's backup.  Which reminds me: What do you call it when you shit and vomit at the same time?  I am not sure if an official word has ever been created for this phenomena.  I was going to connect them and call it a "SHIVOM", but it sounds eerily Yiddish and I don't want to offend any of our fine Jewish friends (Hey Bluedot!  Told you I'd work a shout-out in one day).  Please leave your shit/vomit word creations in the comments.  IT TAKES A VILLAGE PEOPLE!!!
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Welcome to the 2011 MLB season. I'll wake you in November.
So what's up with the post?  Well the fact is I am simply not ready for baseball right now AND possibly all season.  Not feeling it.  Interest has faded.  More concerned with new episodes of Pawn Stars.

As you may know (read our damn bio's!), I am a Cubs fan, and have been since the days of grade school.  It may be easy to blame my lack of concern with the game today solely based on the ineptitude of the Chicago franchise, but I swear to Jim/Thurman/Andre/Bruce, that's not it. You see, baseball and I have always had a love/hate relationship.  I will not bore you with too much detail, but as a young child, Buffalo only had the Triple-A Buffalo Bisons, so with no real MLB team to root for, I flat out didn't give a shit about Baseball.  This went on through most of grade school until I discovered afternoon games on WGN.  As soon as I walked in the door from school, there was the brilliance of Harry Caray calling the game, with the likes of Ryan Sandberg, Mark Grace, Greg Maddux, Andre Dawson, and of course the world's greatest utility man, Luis Salazar!  I was hooked.  My love for baseball grew and my love of the Cubs grew.  I always kept it to myself because my friends either didn't give a crap about baseball yet, or chose the Yankees or Mets because it was the same state.
This early Cubbies obsession went on through Junior High, but as soon as the strike of 1994-1995 occurred, I again was disillusioned with America's past time. Besides, I was in High School now with better things to do, like force myself to be accepted by everybody I came in contact with, ride the pine in basketball only to miss two gimme free-throws in my only chance to win a game, and make my parents feel guilty for not buying me six new pairs of Nikes yearly so that I would look cool.  Gosh darn those were some wonderful years. SHIVOM! (still not working, is it?)

Enter College.  Here I could ramble on forever, but I'll save you your time and effort.  My interest peaked again in these years.  I will say it started to rise right before I left, mostly because of the Home Run race between McGwire and Sosa, but it didn't completely get me back in the groove until that first full year of undergrad.  Yes, having my "favorite" team on the front pages was awesome, but their was still this lack of coverage in Buffalo, or any love for the game from any of my friends, and that held me back.  What pulled me back in, was attending a college that was filled with New Yorkers.  In my entire life I had never seen people so obsessed with baseball.  Their passion for baseball was equivalent to my passion for Hockey and Football.  Watching games with all these guys that would eventually become my lifelong friends was one of the best parts of college.  I could play the middle man between my Mets and Yankees friends because of my Chicago love and enjoy all of the games.

*Sidenote: During the 2000 subway series, my friends and I would go to our usual Thursday night hangout, this dirty and over-crowded bar that had cheap beer and would serve anyone with a shitty fake ID called....you guessed it, "CHEERS".  As we walked in the side entrance, they were only letting in one person at a time, which of course made us nervous that the ID policy had suddenly changed.  But what was really happening, was the bouncer asking everybody "Yankees or Mets"? He was a Mets fan, and  if you answered "Mets", it was two bucks to get in.  If you answered Yankees, it was five.  I answered "I'm a Cubs fan".  He shook his head, said he was sorry and let me in free of charge.  YAY SADNESS!!!
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Yup. These were the type of crazy assholes who got me back into the game of baseball.
After college, I moved back to Western New York briefly and my interest began to fade again.  But the Cubs were on fire and there was no way I was leaving this team behind!  Then Steve Bartman happened.  Fuck.  I actually blamed myself for this.  I kept saying, "Holy Shit!  As a Buffalo fan, my luck is now screwing other cities too."  This is from a real conversation I had in my living room.

This did not last long however, because in the summer of 2004 I moved to New York City, the motherland of baseball (Up yours Boston!  Every one of your franchises has won a championship now so you can no longer whine about ANYTHING!).  Once here, baseball surrounded me.  I got to see the Cubs play in Shea and Yankee Stadium several times (No wins on record yet), and I even found other Cubs fans to hang out with and watch baseball, a first for me.  It has been pretty awesome to say the least.

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The only place in New York City that is a Bills/Sabres/Cubs bar. A one stop shop for emotional distress and alcoholism.
Yet this season.  I really don't care.  I didn't care when the Cubs signed Carlos Pena.  I didn't care when they re-signed Kerry Wood.  And when I heard last week, "Opening day begins Thursday March, 31st", I sort of shrugged it off and went back to work.  I have no clue why this is, and by the end of the season my interest may return.  Maybe its because I'm in full-on hockey playoff mode, or maybe its because the possibilty of no upcoming NFL season has scared to death, but at the same time happy I won't have to deal with any letdowns this year. Who knows.  Until I figure it out, you can find me in my room watching highlights of Jhonas Enroth and Nathan Gerbe over and over again on my laptop.  Midget fetish?  I hope not.
 

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