Let’s face facts: as Yankee fans, we could never truly enjoy a Cubs World Series.
Because it should’ve been us. It always should be us.
Congrats, Cubbies, on breaking your spectacular drought (inevitably). Congrats to the fine people of Chicago. But we want to win the World Series. That’s what we played 162 games for. So your pyrrhic victory is at our expense.
In the midst of a .500 slog, a June funk, Yankee fans are currently not having the maximum amount of fun at the moment.
And so, I beg you, Yankee fans, disillusioned with the world of sport and frustrated to high heaven with inconsistencies and brutal rally-killing, to look to Cleveland, Ohio. Because they’re feeling the purest form of non-vitriolic sports joy felt in several decades at the moment, and they deserve it, and you should take some time to step back and watch how the other half lives. Fully, unabashedly joyfully for the first time in their lives.
Because there is still joy in sport. It doesn’t come in Starlin Castro striking out with runners on second and third and no outs. It doesn’t come in gritting your teeth and trying to convince yourself the Yankees shouldn’t sell. It comes in watching a city that never harmed anyone take home their first championship in most living beings’ lifetimes. This isn’t Boston. This isn’t the antagonist masquerading as the forlorn sports soul, celebrating a World Series and conveniently forgetting they’re also represented by the single most gilded basketball franchise of all time. Phonies, all of them.
This is Cleveland, a city deemed an afterthought by modern society, once one of the largest cities in the country and summarily ignored in the decades that followed, climbing to the top of the sports mountain. This is Cleveland, down 3-1 in a Finals and equipped with the worse team, stomping on the team being fawned over as the best team ever.
And it feels good. Because the best team ever is the 1998 Yankees. Still. And there is nothing more annoying than Warriors fans pretending their team is the Yankees.
So we’re team Cleveland. And we have to be. Because it feels incredible.
Because LeBron James and Derek Jeter are the two most disrespected superstars of an entire era. People often compare Jeter to Kobe Bryant, but that’s always rung false to me. Kobe’s a cold-blooded killer, a certified jerk who stole championships by grabbing them by the throat and refusing to let them go. Derek Jeter and LeBron James were both effortlessly good, and laughed at. You can’t shake a stick without finding someone who incorrectly considers them overrated. Derek brought five rings home. LeBron James now has three. Properly rated, I’d say.
It’s easy for sports fans of our generation to forget that Cleveland’s tortured. After all, they were one of the five centers of the sports world from 1994 to…2010? The dominant ’90s Indians feeding directly into LeBron James. Sure, no titles. But man, a lot of competitiveness.
And plus, who among us could possibly feel bad for the ’90s Indians? After all, once again, we took it from them over and over again. And it was awesome. My best memories involve robbing the 1990s Indians of their glory.
So it’s hard to conceive of. But this Cavs title is an entirely joyous expelling of steam. LeBron James was white hot, embodying the qualities we spent decades admiring from Mr. Jeter. The will to win. The refusal to lose. The smoothness, the ferocity, and the rampant celebration. The gifting the good guys with the well-deserved accolades. Cleveland needed this. We needed this to reinforce the joy of sport.
And mired in something awful up in the Bronx, this has given me life. We’ve got something to fight for. If the Cavs can do it, why can’t Greg Bird hoist a trophy next year? The Red Sox are good. Ha. They’re not “73 Wins Warriors” good. They can lose. Everyone can lose.
We can win. Go Cleveland. Embrace joy.
