Over the multiple decades and millennia I have covered games of all kinds, some would say dating back to the Cro-Magnon time of spherical object discovery, nothing has been more interesting, and often more disappointing, than paying close attention to one specific element of our sporting evolution.
The fans.
These fabulous fanatics of fate, whose very existence hinges on the performance of other flawed human beings who were graced with the ability to, unlike we mere mortals, put a ball in a metal circle, slap a piece of shaped vulcanized rubber into a cage, make a compressed ball of pseudo-twine dance with the gyrations of Taylor Swift backup dancers, or make adults weep in actual mental pain when kicking a ball into a net the relative size of David Beckham’s wallet.
With all the discussion recently about the potential of 2 specific teams facing each other in the baseball World Series, (if the world is measured only in North American cubits), it made me consider once again the most relative of fan base comparisons in any sport.
In simpler terms, how to tell the difference between fans of the NY Yankees and the NY Mets.
You see, there are two kinds of baseball fans in New York: the eternally optimistic, underdog-loving, let’s-wait-until-next-year crowd, and then there Yankees fans. Knowing how to tell the difference between these two types of people is a crucial life skill, especially if you ever find yourself stuck in line for overpriced stadium beer, seated at a bar next to someone wearing a ball cap, or simply existing within a 50-mile radius of Yankee Stadium or Citi Field. It’s like identifying different species in the wild, keeping a safe distance as caution of interfering with their space and bringing about a feral reaction. Only in this case, one group for some reason still steadfastly believes in miracles (Mets fans), and the other believes that the universe and every other living species owes them a championship every year (Yankees fans).
Please remove your caps, and allow me to be your guide on this journey of discovery through the vast wilderness that is New York baseball fandom.
Let’s first consider what I call “The Swagger vs. The Shrug”.
Yankees fans walk into a room like they own it, because they believe they do. They’ll even crack their billfold to show you the documentation, which often comes in the form of a dog-eared ticket from a long-gone era where such things were actually printed on something called “paper”. They’ve got those 27 World Series titles to back up that strut, despite the fact many of them were won during eras where, heaven forbid, there were no betting apps to more easily wager away the family fortune.
If a Yankees fan enters a bar, they’ll immediately let you know two things: first, how many championships they’ve won (even if you didn’t ask), and second, how they’re never satisfied with just a winning season. You’ll hear loud invective-laced grumbling about how “making the playoffs isn’t good enough,” as if anything less than total domination of Major League Baseball is a personal insult and speaks to a lower level of manhood.
Mets fans, on the other hand, enter the same bar with a shrug, the kind of shrug you only get from being resigned to the fact your new puppy will always pee in the same spot right next to the wine cooler, or watching your team almost make it for 30 years.
But give them credit. Mets fans are a resilient breed, conditioned by years of disappointment, bad trades, delusional and sometimes criminal ownership, and collapses that defy the laws of probability. For them, it’s not about how many championships they’ve won, it’s about surviving each season with their dignity and at least a workable level of sanity intact.
They don’t swagger. They slouch. They’re not bragging about their World Series titles (of which there are… two), but they will regale you with stories of how they almost made it to the Wild Card in 2007. That’s how they survive. It’s not the best way to exist, but it does assist in possibly breeding a generation of adults satisfied with having been given a flip phone instead of a smart one when they were children. You just learn to deal with the disappointment and social stigma.
You may now don your overpriced logo cap as we discuss those precious headrest billboards.
A Yankees hat is as crisp and clean as their win record. Always pristine, straight from the store, and probably cost more than your next g-round of Bruce Springsteen concert tickets. The “NY” logo gleams as if a solitary beacon of desire, whether it’s atop the head of a businessman on Wall Street or a kid at Yankee Stadium. It’s not a fashion statement. It’s a symbol of well-earned, bought and paid for superiority. The hat doesn’t look like it’s been through a rough day in its life because, much like their fans, Yankees hats aren’t here for the struggle. They’re here to make a statement, and of course, for the trophies.
Now, the hat of a Met’s fan? Oh, pity that poor bedraggled piece of manufactured angst. That thing looks like it’s been through everything this side of being dropped into the East River, left to simmer for 3 years, then recovered and placed into the care of a rogue scientist seeking something to adorn the head of their latest bio-engineered three-legged experiment.
It's frayed, stained with far too many salty tears and far too few overpriced beers, and it looks like it was passed down from a relative who also survived the 1986 World Series as their only ray of hope, allegedly touched and blessed by the hands of Tug McGraw. This hat is a badge of honor, proof that Mets fans have been in the trenches and survived to agonize another day. Their hat isn’t just an accessory, it’s an emotional support device. It’s seen collapses, heartbreaks, and the occasional glimmer of hope, which is promptly extinguished in September or somewhere around 4th of July.
Which brings us to the inevitable discussion about past performances.
For Yankees fans, this is their “muscle memory”, where they get to flex their dominance with the might of a ball-peen hammer on the noggin of non-believers. They will often take pity on the unfortunate fans of every franchise by skipping the early dynasty seasons and instead bring up 1996, 1998, 1999, 2000, and 2009 as if they happened last week. For them, the Yankees' dynasty is an eternal present, constantly reminding the rest of the league whom they use bow down and worship, whether they like it or not. Yankees faithful might as well carry around the smartphone app of a pocket-sized scoreboard to show off every World Series win since Babe Ruth stopped eating hot dogs long enough to hit home runs.
Meanwhile, Mets fans will also talk about the past. Sadly, it almost always begins with a long and depressing sigh. They won’t be talking about their championships, however. They’re talking about what could have been. Mets fans specialize in near-misses, chokes, bumbles, stumbles and trades so bad they could only be designed to test human endurance and be used to see if a grown adult can spit out one sentence without using an expletive.
"Remember when we had Tom Seaver?" they'll ask, eyes glazed over with both nostalgia and sadness. In such cases, they have to be cautious to gauge their audience as we have entered a time when many of those Mets fans who have suffered losing indignities know as much about Tom Seaver as they do about Tom Mix. Their fandom is a history of “almosts” and “what-ifs,” and that’s just part of the journey. one which after such dissertations demands a consideration of finding a good therapies to talk with.
The next step will be the post-season, and here’s where it becomes a true challenge for Mets faithful.
When the Yankees don’t make it to the World Series, you will hear about it ad nauseam. It will be as if the Heavens themselves imploded and rained down untold grief and sorrow to all of existence. Yankees fans treat the offseason like it’s the fall of Rome and the potential closing forever of the Carnegie Deli.
Sacrilege.
“What do you mean we didn’t sign the best free agent pitcher on the market?” they’ll ask, indignant and figuratively frothing at the maw. They’ll screech and scream on local radio, in social media chat rooms and posting, demanding trades, firings, a little help from Tony Soprano making people disappear, and a new golden statue of Derek Jeter in Monument Park for good luck.
Yankees fans expect the team to sign All-Stars like most people expect Wi-Fi. This is just a basic requirement of life, next to discussions of how that damn FOX or ESPN broadcast crew has a grudge against the Yankees and dare to speak ill of them in any instance.
Mets fans, on the other hand, enter the offseason with a cautious optimism. They’re almost timid in their vocalization of what their hopes are, knowing they are often merely the reviewable text of those who have been summarily dispatched. Again.
They know their team is more likely to sign someone who played well five seasons ago than anyone currently in their prime, attempting for some reason to emulate the championship method of the football NY Jets. They will once again raise the specter of having been infected lo those many years ago by just sharing a stadium with those “losers”.
And when that played trade or pickup inevitably happens, Mets fans will tell themselves, “Hey, maybe he’ll have a career resurgence. You never know!”
Oh, how sad.
They’ve learned to accept disappointment and still show up on Opening Day, which is a testament to either their sheer willpower or needing any excuse not to report to work.
Finally, we consider those championship aspirations, ones that are Given and ones that are Hoped For.
Yankees fans start every season with one assumption: “We’re winning the World Series this year.” Anything less is an utter failure and if said out loud among fellow Yankees fans will deliver peals of rained-down verbal insult. It doesn’t matter what the actual roster looks like or how the competition stacks up. Yankees fans have a collective delusion that 27 championships somehow guarantees them the next one. "It’s in our DNA," they’ll say, as if sports genetics are a thing. forgetting those same genetics brought them Rawly Eastwick, Don Gullett, Kenny Rogers and Pascual Perez. Oh, the horror.
Mets fans? They start the season by simply hoping the team doesn’t implode by June. They’re not asking for much, just a winning record and maybe a shot at the Wild Card. And if they actually make it to the playoffs? That’s the kind of joy only Mets fans know. It’s cautious excitement, the type that knows not to get too attached, because disaster could strike at any moment. These are fans who have been dinged far too many times for anything close to unbridled optimism.
So, if you’re ever unsure whether you’re dealing with a Yankees fan or a Mets fan, just ask one question:
How was your last season?
If the response is an indignant rant about how anything short of a World Series is unacceptable, you’ve got a Yankees fan. If it’s a heavy sigh followed by a quiet “It could’ve been worse,” well, you’ve just met a Mets fan. Often, the answer to the question can be read by looking at their shoulders for a telltale droop, or if the next words out of their mouths as something to the effect, “Bartender, can you give me a double and hold the garnish?”
Now, about those Jets……..
Ed Berliner started his baseball fandom as a follower of the NY Mets, which living in NYC, led him to become hardened at a young age about being ridiculed and often winding up in a physical altercation. He surrendered his love of the Mets many moons ago as the franchise, thanks to inept ownership, became the baseball poster child for a dumpster fire. Still, he would never root for the dastardly Yankees.
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