Time for the Boys of Summer to Begone

The Yankees return to the World Series; the Solipsist yawns. This represents progress. Time was we would have spent World Series week muttering imprecations at the cruelty of the baseball gods. Now, we're relatively indifferent. Probably has something to do with no longer living in New York, and thus not being exposed to self-congratulatory Yankee fans.

It's irrational. We understand why Red Sox Nation hates the Yankees, having suffered at their hands for nearly a century. The Solipsist, of course, is a Mets fan, which means his hatred stems more from envy than any direct sense of injury. Sure, 2000 was painful, but we took it in stride: We knew the Mets were unlikely to prevail, and we mostly just enjoyed the ride.

We can't stomach the Yankee fan's sense of entitlement. Consider Joe Torre: a consummate gentleman and arguably the most successful manager in the history of the Yankees franchise. When he fails to make it to the World Series for a few seasons (NOT failing, it must be emphasized, to reach the playoffs), he is rather unceremoniously dumped.

We harbor no illusions. We know the Mets have acted less than competently with some of their players (see the trades of Nolan Ryan and Tom Seaver) and less than nobly toward some of their other personnel (see the midnight firing of Willie Randolph--although, as he was a former Yankee, that may just have been residual karma). Still, the joy of Mets fans--and, indeed, of every other non-Yankee fan--at the success of their team represents a joy in achievement, accomplishment.

The joy of the Yankee fan is that of someone opening a bank statement and seeing that their CD has matured. It's thoroughly uninspiring.