The long-standing correlation between the Yankees and flag-wrapped, Republican-style patriotism has always made me uncomfortable. From George Steinbrenner sharing a birthday with our somewhat great land, to The Boss's conviction for illegal contributions to the Nixon campaign, to the manufactured "feel-good" moment of W throwing out the first pitch of Game 3 of the 2001 World Series (hence magically curing us all of any lingering 9/11 trauma), to the Yankee's recent police-state tactics during the singing of "God Bless America," to the now-customary moment of silence to honor our troops, it is abundantly clear that the Yankees' brass needs us to know how much this organization loves its country.
We get it.
The Yankees are apple pie, and war bonds, and American Idol, and Rosie the Riveter, and George Fucking Patton, and Country Shade lemonade on the front porch, and the Statue of Liberty, and prayer in schools, and Tim McGraw, and Rambo III, and kinda Ellis Island but not really, and old-timey glamorous Hollywood, and Jeep Liberty, and Andy Motherfucking Griffith, and oversized stars-and-stripes T-shirts stained with Dippin' Dots on the Fourth of July.
All of it kind of makes me sick. I love the Yankees, and I love baseball (if football thinks it's the national pastime, it can go fuck itself with Fred Smoot's dildo), and I guess I sorta love America, maybe. But having George Steinbrenner's version of America constantly shoved down me throat is nauseating, and it's only getting worse with time. So I'd like to mark this occasion, as we prepare for fireworks tonight, to remind everyone that most Americans hate the Yankees. Rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for the British Empire in 1770. There, I feel better now.
Sometimes, I just want to go to a baseball game, and not have to think about unjust wars and the politics of the team's owner.