Seeing Red (a Death in the Bronx)

("Behind Enemy Lines: The Red Sox Fan at Yankee Stadium")

They smelled blood, those scattered among us hoping to watch us suffer a slow painful death. They were seated behind me, even next to me. Armed with the knowledge of 16 to 1, with 108, with possibilities in every at bat and CC, at least what was left of him, all that stood between them and the kill. 

I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable with the reality of the moment. And with the young woman and her Irish green colored Red Sox hat on my left.

There is no greater indignity than being forced to endure a Red Sox fan victory dance in your own home. While this was not the House that the Bambino built (Ruth being received in fair exchange with the Beantowners so that No No Nanette could be yes, yes on Broadway) it still was close enough so that the echoes of Babe, DiMag, Mickey, Derek were ringing in our ears and dancing in our heads.

There was the feel of inevitability in the air from the first pitch to the last excruciating one, when we were forced to stand for an extra minute more before we were finally pronounced dead. No beating on our collective chests could bring us back to life. Nothing left to do to wipe the smile off the face of our executioner.

And yet the woman next to me, between the intermittent screams of delight was, strangely, a very pleasant human being even in the heat of battle. Not the devil herself, but merely someone who had chosen the devil as her God. Not someone I could hate but rather, in a different universe, one I could possibly consider as a positive member of society.

That is until the last out was registered and I was trudging, dejected and depressed, away from the scene of the crime. For there at the railing still stood one person, yelling in absolute shrieking delight at the covey of Sox gathered in prolonged celebration directly on OUR mound. There she was, my next door neighbor for the evening, her inner demons fully unleashed, lording over us, bathed in the triumph of the moment. Her fangs exposed, our blood dripping from her lips.

Et tu Brute. Even you.