A Little History...

In a couple of days, my Boston Celtics will play in Game 1 of the NBA Finals, a fact that should fill me with nothing but unbridled excitement and joy. Yet a cloud hangs over this gleeful event, in a form so unjustified it can be called cruel: my wife is a Lakers fan.

Thankfully, this is not my first rivalry rodeo. In fact, I have a propensity for befriending opposing fans--at this point it's kind of my "thing." It hadn't always been that way, though.

Growing up outside of Boston, I don't remember any real conversations with any fans of opposing teams. They were just those idiots in the stands at other ballparks and stadiums that had those dumb jerseys and hats on. But they never got closer than that, and it seemed like that was the way it was designed to be. And then I left my mother's house.

In my first week at my New England area college, I met a guy in the dorm laundry room and was immediately shocked to learn two things about him: he had never done a load of laundry in his life, and he was a Yankees fan. He was from upstate New York, and his whole town was full of them (Yankees fans, not people who don't know how to do their own laundry). But we had many other things in common (a love of baseball among them), and became friends almost immediately. And then the Yankees went to the World Series that fall.

I did everything wrong. I stomped around whining about how much I hated New York (the teams, the people, everything). I grumbled as they played inspired baseball and marched through the playoffs. And when they went down 0-2 to the Braves in the Series, losing those first two games in New York, I gloated. I felt great, they were going to lose. Then came Bernie Williams, Jeter, Pettitte and the Yankees bullpen. Braves don't win another game, Yankees take the Series...I punch a wall.

But despite all of this, I still held on to my laundry-challenged friend. Got to give him credit.

By 1997, I was a year older and wiser. The Yankees again were in the playoffs, but I kept my cool. I still hated them, but I stayed out of the way and just watched in (relative) silence. The ALDS series with Cleveland was a dramatic one (with the Yankees losing a gut-wrenching Game 4 that would have won them the series on a bottom of the 9th game-winning hit), and the Indians won it in 5. Upon the last out, my friend got up from the couch, headed straight for the door and went for a very long "walk." It was then that I learned an extremely important lesson: Yankees fans suffer, too.

So in 1998, as the Yankees were dismantling what looked like a AA San Diego Padres club on their way to a World Series sweep, I was calm. After the last out, I called my friend to say "congratulations, that was a massacre." I was certainly noticing the one-sided nature of this "rivalry."

Fast-forward to 1999, Red Sox-Yankees in the ALCS. Here is where it got interesting...for the first time I was watching the latest chapter of the greatest rivalry in sports unfold with a Yankees fan in my inner circle. We choose to deal with it in an abrupt fashion: we didn't speak. By this time, we were living in different apartment buildings, so this radio silence was not too difficult to maintain. We kept separate, and the series was over quickly. The Yankees had the better team, and one phantom tag call was not going to sway the series. (But it was nice to see Clemens get shelled at Fenway in Game 3...if I could have picked the only game to win in the series, that would have been it.)

Our system for dealing with sports invading our friendship (avoiding each other) was one way to handle it. It was the easiest, least confrontational way--but interestingly enough, it was also the most stressful. It's not fun knowing you can't talk to a good friend, no matter what the reason. So I vowed to come up with a better system. But then 2003 happened, I was living in New York City, and it was Red Sox-Yankees again.

Being in grad school in New York meant I was bound to bump into some Yankees fans. And per my pattern, my best friend in the city was one of them. Again, we watched the ALCS from separate locations, but this time we did speak in between games. After the Sox came all the way back to beat Oakland in the ALDS, I foolishly thought this had to be their year. And the series with the Yankees did not disappoint, complete with player vs. old man bullfights, bullpen pitchers threatening fans and twists and turns galore. In Game 7 we were cruising, Clemens was going to be the loser again. And then Grady Little leaves in Pedro, Aaron Boone connects on a high, motionless knuckleball. Series over.

I didn't punch a wall, but I was upset to say the least. I walked home from the bar where I was watching the game, Red Sox hat pulled hard over my eyes. The traffic in New York means you get the chance to people-watch while waiting in the gridlock...and these people wasted no opportunity to tear me apart as I sulked past their car. They were in their element, really letting me have it, and all I could do was just keep walking and take it. It was brutal.

I had nothing to say to my Yankees fan friends. I just tried to pretend like it didn't happen. I crossed my arms and pouted. I hadn't learned my anything.

Then, the next season, 2004. Of course, it's Yankees-Red Sox again in the ALCS, but this time was a bit different. For one, my Yankees fan friends were not with me in New York, they had moved on to other places (though we still kept in touch regularly). And I had back surgery in October of that year, so I spent the majority of the ALCS in bed, recovering alone. So it was just me and the TV, and I watched history. Red Sox lose the first three (Game 3 in horrifically embarrassing fashion, 19-8), then win the next four in a row in an unprecedented heart-stopping thrill ride. I was beside myself, I couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. It was the greatest comeback in baseball playoff history, as well as the greatest collapse. It was life-altering.

Based on past history, I expected to not hear from my Yankees fan friends again until around Christmas. But the very next morning after Game 7, I received this email from my Yankees fan grad school friend:

Hats off to your team. I'm sorry it had to end this way, but your guys are the AL team with the spark I always saw in my boys. In the 7th inning, I've never seen fans so into a possible 8-3 comeback, be we are now the ones who remain heartbroken. Unlikely heroes win championships ... something that George has forgotten in the past 4 years. For the first time in my life I was carried from a bar with no booze in my system.
Last night I got a lot of phone calls. Some were for utter hatred for your city, fans and team. Most were an odd sense of relief - it almost feels as though an amazing weight has been lifted.
I'm sorry for not calling you this week but from games 1-3 I knew you didn't want to hear it, and I respect the same treatment you gave me for games 4-7. Every Sox fan that I've ever known has been a f*cked-up Mets-my-team-is-pathetic-so-lets-hate-and-blame-the-Yankees-for-not-being-the-worst-franchise-in-baseball-go-boston fan. Meeting you has made me repect you for the same, if not greater, passion we hold for the game.
As you enter the World Series I wish nothing but a monumental collapse by the Red Sox, but, if they do win, I know I'll be happy for you alone - my friend who I share a passion with across the line of the biggest rivalry in American sports history.
When I'm really upset, I write. Last night I came home, watched the 9th on sportsline.com and wrote this:

A great chapter in Yankee history is over. Like a prize fighter with a once-flawless record, the first blemish is always the hardest. The manner in which that blemish was acquired makes it all the more difficult to acknowledge. I have enjoyed a lifetime of impossible feats, extraordinary achievements and improbable dreams come true that no other team's fans can claim. Those pages are already written, and NOTHING can erase them. Although today's entry is dark, yesterday's is legendary. The weight of maintaining dominance is now lifted, and beautiful chapters are destined for tomorrow. It is hard not to thank God every day for making me a Yankee fan.

I write this email wearing my Yankee hat with pride and an honest tear in my eye. Please forgive me for retreating for the next few days or weeks into a world of baseball tragedy. Welcome to the winner's circle. Now, for the first time truly meaning it, I can say, "Bring on Boston." Enjoy the series (not too much). Once again, hats off.


I was amazed. In his moment of intense sports-related pain, he had immediately reached out to congratulate me. Of course, he made sure to remind me that he still wanted the Red Sox to lose, but even that was framed with a real sense of camaraderie (with me, if not with the Red Sox). I was very impressed, and he taught me a very important lesson. And none too soon.

In 2005 I met the woman that would become my wife. No, she wasn't a Yankees fan. But it was the next worst thing: she was a Lakers fan. And not only was I marrying a Lakers fan (and into her huge extended family of Lakers fans), but just to rub it in (it seemed), half of my Groomsmen were passionate fans of teams I hated. That was just the way it was, and I was at peace with it. Then came summer, 2008.

The Celtics-Lakers rivalry had largely been dormant for more than 20 years. The Celtics going to the Finals, let alone meeting the Lakers there, was a remote possibility in most Celtics fans minds. So when it set up that they would meet in the 2008 NBA Finals, my wife and I were forced to face the facts. We couldn't very well not speak for 2 weeks, our Brooklyn apartment was far too small for that. We had to come up with some ground rules...ground rules we will get to in a later post. In short, we made it. But not without some drama...