Basic Narrative essay about a Red Sox fan's trip to Yankee Stadium in the Bronx.

The evil empire extends its tentacles even into Latin America.

-- Larry Lucchino, redness Sox president, on the Yankees signing free agent Jose Contreras

Having been a Boston Red Sox fan for basically my whole life, I had lived through each part of the rivalry between the Sox and the New York Yankees, except seeing the Sox playing in Yankee Stadium. For years, I had care copiousy grow against the Yankees from the protected confines of Bostons own Fenway Park, surrounded by 35,000 separate citizens of Red Sox Nation . Continuously encircled by sempiternal repetitions of Yankees Suck, Overrated, The Wave, and the drawn out chants of the names of opponent players; all was well until I decided to take a trip to the Bronx, to finally experience the stopping point part of baseballs sterling(prenominal) rivalry.

Driving in New York is definitely not suggested except if the wring of your automobile is yellow, so I wore my Red Sox jersey with surcharge on the bus from our Manhattan hotel to the connecting train that leaves you off at the 161st alley exit, right in front of Yankee Stadium. My ride on the subway was an astonishingly insult-free journey, but after leaving the chopine and heading down the street parallel to Yankee Stadium, the anti-Red Sox heart was clear.



There were many Boston Sucks T-shirts worn by the local anaesthetic morons, with the Red Sox logo X-ed out on the back of the shirts. A number of the local fans greeted Red Sox passerbies with the same message printed on their shirts. Even the guy selling his Yankee pot had a few words for me.

F--k you, ya chowder head ! shouted the marijuana salesman, When was the last time you won a world series? Thats right, 1918! Go back to Boston where you...

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