By reminding myself of the (to me, hilarious and delightful) 2004 playoff collapse of the Yankees, I can at least avoid paranoid thoughts about the structure of the universe. Then again, who knows what horrors lurk in the 2007 baseball post-season.
If one could take a pill and eliminate one's rooting interest for a given team, I would certainly do so with respect to the Mets. But not mainly because of the horrifying choke they have perpetrated. From the standpoint of the principles that lead me to despise the Yankees, the Mets, not to mention the Red Sox, are merely lesser versions of the same thing. Okay, significantly lesser versions given the Yanks' nearly 2-1 spending advantage over the Mets, even though the Mets are the # 3 spenders in baseball.
No such pill exists, however. (And I would decline on ethical or aesthetic grounds to take the companion pill making me a Yankees fan.) The sad thing for me is that this Met fandom just goes so deep, immune to rational questioning and far beyond any positive rooting interest that I have in any other team in any sport. It all goes back to 1964, when at age 7 I became the only Mets fan on my block (in the Bronx, no less). Apparently, rooting interests that were laid down in sediments that deep simply go far beyond any laid down more recently in their emotional depth and ineradicability.