By:Jerry Burke
From a baseball fan's perspective, it's a good thing. The ultimate underdog returned from the dead to whup the vaunted New York Yankees. Now, only the Chicago Cubs and their stupid Curse of the Billy Goat remain. But that curse is stupid. The Cubs just stink. If I owned a stadium, I would kick a goat out, too.
As a Mets fan -- or, as I like to say, an "interested observer" -- watching the Yankees choke was glorious. I mean really glorious. I hadn't had that much fun watching someone fall from grace since Jimmy Swaggart. But I fully acknowledge that it wasn't my team who beat them down, and so I can legally only gloat at a maximum of 65 percent.
The Mets have a curse, too, but it's not quite as bad. The Curse of Nolan Ryan was brought upon the Metropolitans when they traded the all-time strikeout king and thrower of seven no-hitters to the California Angels for third baseman Jim Fregosi. The curse was double-edged: Not only would no Mets pitcher ever throw a no-hitter, but third base at Shea would forever be manned by a cadre of has-beens, never-will-bes and Robin Ventura. David Wright, you're in my prayers.
But not since Rob Lowe starred in the "West Wing," effectively breaking the Curse of the Brat Pack, has such a feeling of foreboding been lifted from the collective souls of true believers. Congrats, Beantown! Now you'll have to find something else to complain about.
As for you Yankee fans out there, walking around like zombies, caught somewhere between denial and grief, I say one thing: deal! Life can be a wicked pisser sometimes. Most of you showed my tribe and me little sympathy back in 2000 when you crushed our hopes and dreams. Tough luck, suckas!
I knew George Steinbrenner sold his soul to the devil in 2000 to beat the Mets. And since then, zero World Series rings. Go figure.
But I can't be too smug. The Yankees are the greatest team ever. Even I know that. That's why I root for the Mets. I always thought rooting for the Yankees was kind of like rooting for the sun to come up.
I know Yanks fans are in hell right now. I know being beaten after being only three outs away from sweeping your favorite chew toy must sting. I know the stigma of the biggest choke in the history of organized sports will forever be mentioned alongside the 1980 Russian hockey team, the 1588 Spanish Armada and 2002 American Idol runner-up Clay Aiken as the most studied instances of grasping defeat from the jaws of victory.
I feel your pain.
But you'll be back, kiddos! You'll get your new crop of All-Stars, forgetting that the reasons your teams won in the late 1990s were solid pitching and a strong core of homegrown talent complemented by dependable role players. It will be OK. Well, until April 11, when the Yanks have to watch the Red Sox banner lifted atop Fenway Park. That's gonna sting, too.
