I am a Yankee Fan

Written by Steve Alerhand

Don't talk to me.
Get out of my way.
Lower that chin, you b****.

Why? Because I'm a Yankee fan.

I'm loud, I'm arrogant, and I don't give two sh***s about you.
I'm spoiled, I'll beat you down if you I feel like it, and baseball season doesn't start until October.

Why? Because I'm a Yankee fan.

If you wear the pinstripes or sport the interlocking "NY", you can always come sit down, my friend. We'll go catch some fly balls in right field and pass them off as Jeter home runs. Later we can charge that little wimp Pedro.

Otherwise, I advise you to stay away from me. Trust me. Just ask Byun-Hung Kim. Ask Trevor Hoffman. Ask Mark Wohlers. Ask Mike Piazza. They'll tell you.

Why? Because I'm a Yankee fan.

Whenever you talk, I block you out. What you say means nothing to me. Blah blah blah. I swat you like a fly. All I have to do is say "26", and you know what that means.

Why? Because I'm a Yankee fan.

And if I'm in the mood and I don't like your stupid mug, I'll drop you like a hot plate. But first, give me a second. The rings on my fingers weigh me down, and besides, I wouldn't allow your bruised and battered face to even smell these diamond-studied babies.

Fine, you want a gang fight, you say. Don't get cocky, we'll still kick your a**. But you know what? I don't want to just smack you around, I want to pound you like a pancake ten feet into the ground. Who's your biggest guy, your biggest fighter? I'll buy him off, name the price. I've got the dough.

Why? Because I'm a Yankee fan.

I hope I've made myself clear. I'm not to be messed with. You know why.