The Yankees

They say faith is a gift.  I inherited mine from my parents.  I inherited being a Yankee fan from my dad.  My first World Series that I can remember was in 1950.  I was seven. My dad was ironing.  Yes, my dad ironed.  We listened together at the radio in my parents' bedroom.  Mom was not a sports fan.  Pity.  The Yankees won 4 zip.  Why am I remembering this now?  Well, I am reading my second book of this summer on the Yankees.  This is a terrific one, Pinstripe Empire.  It is 600 pages.  Aren't I getting holy, you ask?  Yeh, yeh, but that is in the morning when I pray, read, go to mass, and do ranch work.  Fortunately, it rains a lot, so by mid-afternoon, I say, "Forgive me Lord," and pick up my Yankee book.  When I was seven, I was just learning to read.  Sports pages were my practice.  The Daily News had sports beginning on the back pages.  The Korean War was on the front page.  The world was a mess on the front pages, but all was right on the back pages.  My Yankees always won.

Now, some people hate the Yankees.  Their hate is not caused by the Yankees playing baseball.  That is what the Yankees do.  Yankee haters don't have to hate.  It is their choice.  They blame the Yankees instead of themselves.  They cannot change to acceptance, or actually rooting for the Yankees.  They are wedded to their emotion.  Maybe it is inherited too?  Isn't it that way about a lot of our feelings?  Events unfold, and we decide to have a certain reaction, but blame the event.  We blame people for "making us angry."  Institutions like my church do what they do.  If I choose to get angry, that is my choice.  I choose not to get angry.  Why have a bad day over what is?  I inherited my church.  My Church is imperfect.  I still have the Yankees.  They are in first place.  So are my Giants, but that is for another blog.