10th Circle of Hell...

So I was diligently reading Robbins this past Wedsneday evening at one of my favorite local cafe's when I receive a call from my roomate with the offer of a spare baseball ticket for that night's game. My first instinct, as I would assume most med students who are Sox fans living in NY, was "Thank you, but no thank you, I should be studying."

After much protest from him, I hung up the phone and continued the internal monologue trying to justify my decision: "I don't like the Yankees. I don't have any remote interest in going to Yankee stadium. I vehemently protest supporting the Yankees in any way, shape or form and just knowing that my ticket revinue and beer money would be going to support Steinbrenner's overflowing coffers would turn my stomach and undermine the foundations of my very being. I can't go. Plus look at what a good and diligent student I'm being, I'm caffeinated and could probably go till 1AM if I keep going at this pace. God, I hate the Yankees. "

So about 25 seconds later I call my roomate back and tell him I'll go...

Problem though: I'm wearing one of my many Red Sox t-shirts (my closet kinda resembles Jimmy Fallon's in Fever Pitch) and I don't have time to go home and change and catch the train to make it to the stadium on time...crap. So now I have to:
  1. sit on the subway
  2. wait around outside the stadium for his friend to show up with the tickets (right next to the 30 or so bars teeming with thousands of intoxicated, pinstriped, ignorant zealots)
  3. get past security (presumably Yankee fans)
  4. buy a $9 beer (from a lady wearing pinstripes)
  5. walk up to the 3rd tier of the stadium (past 40,000 pinstripe wearing Yankee-lovers)
  6. buy a $12 beer
  7. and get to the seats
All with out being killed over my t-shirt. Yes, roomate's girlfriend you make a good point, I could turn my shirt inside out...but what self-respecting, mildly intelligent, somewhat good looking Bostonian living in NY would do that? Not me. So I proudly strode into the gates of the 10th circle of my own personal hell, without incident. Mind you, this is in the state where I cant even go into Bed Bath and Beyond without getting heckled by 60 year old women.

We get to the seats, I've got my second beer in hand, and we've basically got the row to ourselves. About middle of the third inning, Corporate Lawyer Guy rolls up in his suit and $200 shoes with his good non-lawyer buddy and family in tow. He sees me in my shirt and his eyes light up with that demonic rage that can be traced back to February of 1919 when the Yanks stopped dwelling in the basement of the AL east when Babe Ruth's contract was sold to them. The first words out of his mouth: "Your in my seat." You thought it was going to be something about the sox didn't you? IT'S MY STORY, I will build the tension as I please. He didn't even notice my t-shirt because what moron would wear the t-shirt of a team that wasn't even playing in the game that he's watching. It's like wearing a Metallica t-shirt to the Symphony or white after Labor day...just so so very wrong to do, even if it's unintentional.

Anyway, we moved over and everything was fine. It took Lawyer Guy an entire three minutes to start ripping on the Sox with his buddy...it was some completely baseball ignorant. I overheard it and casually mentioned something to the effect of "You're completely and utterly wrong", at which point we begin a somewhat passionate, though civilized discussion of the finer points of Sox v. Yanks this year. He actually was somewhat knowledgable about the game and didn't bring up 86 years once, so he nearly won back the respect that his shoes lost him.

The game was somewhat of a blow out so it was somewhat boring (A-Rod did his two HR in one inning thing...yawn). I did have a few more beers $12 24 oz hineys in preparation for the train ride home though, which I assumed would be some fun as 50,000 pinstripe-wearing lemmings were all heading to the same train station after the game.

It was fun. I was heckled by several intoxicated Yankee lovers on the train. I got into a "spirited discussion" of how well the Yankees and Sox have been playing this year with one fellow in particular. I don't recall all of what was said, however my voice and blood pressure were both slightly elevated in frustration over the number of times he mentioned 26 rings and the sweep of last weekend. It was later described by Roomate's Girlfriend to others as "Bostonian nearly died last night. I kind of was afraid for his life."

Got home alive despite my best efforts to anger everyone on the train, sent out a few emails, passed out.

Pages of Robbins not read that night: 40ish

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