My MFA Little Sister Erin Corriveau...
...and I are guest blogging for each other today, in honor of Valentine's Day and the Red Sox trucks leaving for spring training. This is her blog (the title speaks for itself). For an alternate take on dating a Yankee fan, check out my guest blog for Erin here.
And now, here's Erin:
I’m sure I made a lot of foolish decisions when I was 21 years old. There were probably a few drunken nights. I probably skipped a few classes, failed to study for a few tests. But the worst decision of all? That’s easy. The worst decision was dating a Yankees fan.
I met Mike at a wedding. That should have been the first sign something would go wrong. Listen up, single ladies. Weddings, like alcohol, cloud your judgment. He’s related to a very close friend of mine, so I’m not going to write anything that would embarrass or hurt him. I knew he was a Yankees fan before I dated him. I am at fault for that. Plus, I can’t really blame all my disinterest in Yankees men on solely him. There were others. Other guys I talked to or dated. All I can do is share the lessons I’ve learned from them all.
First: Yankees fans can talk a good talk. Let’s get something straight right off the bat. It is easy to be a Yankees fan. Mike and I dated in 2006. From 1919 to 2006, the Yankees won 26 World Series Championships. The Red Sox won zero. Why wouldn’t you want to be a fan of the winning team? Being a Red Sox fan takes dedication that Yankees fans can’t even begin to fathom. When you root for a team year after year that hasn’t won in 89 years, you’re obviously committed. Anyone can be a Yankees fan; it takes a completely different person to be a Red Sox fan.
Second: Baseball, like relationships, is a team sport. There is no changing that. The most important thing to mention here is that if you don’t want to be on a team, you might as well trade your bat for a racquet and your baseball for a tennis ball. When you’re part of a team, you need to work with your teammates. Match your strengths with their weaknesses and vice versa. When you’re a member of a team (or relationship) you support your teammates; you encourage them. When one player throws in the towel (Eh Hem, like Manny Ramirez circa Red Sox 2008 season or Mike circa our brief 2006 dating), the other teammates are forced to try and pick up the slack, and this is not a recipe for success. Obviously, no one plays perfectly in every single game, but a little effort goes a very long way, which brings me nicely to my next point.
Third: It isn’t just the home runs (or fancy presents or wild stories of an imagined future) that wins a game. Sometimes, a bunt is what wins the game. In my opinion, it is the small moments that help relationships and win baseball games. Everyone loves the major moments. Fans love the big home runs or stolen bases or grand slams. It makes sense. Who doesn’t like exciting moments, especially when it’s your team that’s winning, but what about the rest of the game? A lot happens in nine innings. When I was a child, I didn’t understand why the player would hit a bunt, but now I get it. Sometimes all you need to do is move the ball for your teammates to be able to move farther, and when you’re in it together, them advancing will help you advance. Sometimes, a bunt is all you need to keep the momentum going.
Finally: Good sportsmanship is the absolute most important skill in baseball, and this is particularly why I’ve always been so fond of the Red Sox, and not so fond of the Yankees. (I won’t get into it, but remember A-Rod swatting the ball out of Bronson Arroyo's glove on his way to first base? Who does that? Well, guess what A-Rod? We won that game, and then the ALCS and the 2004 World Series.) Good sportsmanship, aka respect, is also paramount in dating. What’s that saying? It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game? I completely agree. No one likes a whiner or a poor thing or a pity part. No one wants to date one either.
When I turned 22, I moved from Massachusetts to Norfolk, Virginia for a little while. I’ve been told I have a “wicked” Boston accent, and everyone there used to call me a Yankee.
Yankee? No way in hell. Get it straight, Southerners: I love y’all, but I’m a member of Red Sox Nation.