Yankees fans get a bad rap. A few rotten potatoes can make fans of the Big Apple's premier team look like total douchebags. And this isn't directed at you, the fine Bronx Bomber fans of the world. I don't even hate to admit it anymore, but your team is one of the best sports franchises in history of professional athletics. Your fans are incredibly dedicated.
But Judas priest some of them are fucking douchebags. Every team has its awful fanatics, but there's just something about awful Yankees fans that makes them even worse.
Last night I sat in my bar watching the Twins vs. Yankees. I wore my navy blue Minnesota hat with the red M on the front—but I always wear it backwards. Needless to say, the Twins weren't beating the Bombers.
Then two Yankees fans stomped into the joint announcing their presence to everybody.
"How 'bout them pinstripe boys?" they hollered to the entire place. I nodded because the Yankees played a great game. "Can we get glasses and some napkins please?"
One of our employees handed them some rocks glasses and they stuffed them full of napkins and were about to spit chewing tobacco juice into our nice drinkware.
"Hold on guys," I said. There's nothing more disgusting than the thought of drinking out of a glass that's been used as a spitter. Unless you're serving the same glass to the cocksucker that expectorated into it in the first place. "Here's some plastic cups. Thanks."
"Oh, no problem, Patriot." One of the guys said to me. "How was the second-to-last Superbowl for you?" He asked.
"Um. I didn't really care for that one." In all honesty, I don't care about the NFL.
"Ha! The Giants rule!" The New York fan yelled.
I sat back down and heard a lot more cheers about the Yankees' superiority and then taunts about how crappy Boston is. At the ninth inning, it looked like the Twins might have the best rally in history to almost tie the game, but instead they decided to just score one run and lose the game.
"Oh well," I told my bartender. "You're not a true Minnesota fan without getting used to defeat here and there." My drink pourer just nodded.
From down the bar the verbal assault grew even louder…
"Damn, that will shut up the Beantowners."
"Fucking New England pricks are going to get smoked once the Yanks are done with the Twinks or whoever we're playing."
"Bunch of faggots up in Massachusetts. They've never lived in a real fucking city."
And on and on again.
I needed to run some errands so I started to take off. My path crossed with the hecklers. I didn't feel like socking an asshole, so I walked off.
"What'd you think of that game, Reddy?"
I was still confused for some reason. "The Yankees played a great game and the Twins didn't," was all I could muster to say.
"So you're a little worried for the next series?"
"I'm worried about this one for now."
"Because you know the Red Sox can never beat the Yankees," the guy snarked.
"What? Why would I care about the Red Sox and Yankees?" I said.
"Typical Boston fan. All of a sudden you don't care about your team," Mr. Yankee said.
"Boston fan?" I turned my hat around, again displaying the GIANT RED M. "I'm a Twins fan."
"A Twins fan? Wow, that's too bad. How'd you grow up a fucking Twinkies fan?"
"Probably the same as you. I grew up that way."
"Well ain't that the shits," the superior fan told me. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be sorry," As I left I said, "At least I can tell the difference between a fucking B and a fucking M you fucking dipshit."