I've been rooting for the Mets the past five days because I always like Willie Randolph (who wasn't allowed to name any of his coaches, but one -- who was fired early on), and I've got friends who are fans and like I always say...there's no one I'd rather beat in the World Series than the New York Mets.
What a nightmare these past days have been, with the team collapsing after being in first place since May, 135 days in a row, to be exact. To add to my shock, the Phillies were celebrating as if they'd just landed on the moon and the announcers told me this was their first trip to the post-season since 1993. They hadn't been to the post-season in 14 years? I think I'd buy a gun and shoot someone (probaby myself) if the Yankees failed to even make it to the first round for 14 years in a row. I have to constantly remind myself about the dark days in the Seventies and Eighties (when Steinbrenner was in full bloom) and that this current run is exceptional in any case.
Finally, after the game was over I headed to the 7 train to go to Mass. I suddenly realized the car would probably be full of Met fans. And indeed it was, with one mournful face after another in the windows as it pulled into the station until the car in front of me stopped, revealing a Met boyfriend and girlfriend literally collapsed into each other's arms, hugging, their heads bowed in despair.
Thank God I'm a Yankee fan.