Phils vs. Mets: Ahhh, That's Not Nice
Last night I had to babysit my nephews so I didn’t get to see all of the 7-4 loss first hand (I know, great aunts make for bad fans) but I wanted to share something anyway.
As we’re hanging out at my sister’s house, her boys start fighting which is a pretty common occurrence. They have testosterone and mutual hatred for each other so sometimes they come to blows. So as they’re brawling I get nervous and decide to intervene, then I try to negotiate and beg, and finally attempt to bribe them to stop until I’m so frustrated that I turn to my husband and yell for his help. Here’s what he says.
“Fight nice, boys.”
That’s it. That’s how he takes care of it.
Now we all know about the Mets/Phils rivalry. It’s widely broadcast not to mention manicured. And why not? As humans we tend to get more motivated to watch an opposition we hate then to admire a team we love. And the media knows that too, that’s why they play off it. It’s helpful in two ways: it gets people to the ballpark and it sells hotdogs. Everybody wins (except the cows).
So I won’t lecture about how mean everyone is being even though I know you think my favorite Hawaiian was mocking Jose Reyes last year. Yeah, he pointed, you can’t deny it; they got it on tape (something I wish I had around when my child blames the dog). But people suffer from lack of judgment now and then, just like when my stepson threw-up in his room and sucked it up with my vacuum. I set him straight, just like Shane’s roomies did. But the clapping at third I think was shear enthusiasm, and you know Shane has that. And I know everyone in New York’s upset because Jimmy’s always right and Cole was baited into examining a part of the past New Yorker’s just want to forget, but as Charlie Manuel might say, “We can’t change the past.” So before someone throws out the ball in game two of this series I have one piece of advice.
Fight nice, boys.
As we’re hanging out at my sister’s house, her boys start fighting which is a pretty common occurrence. They have testosterone and mutual hatred for each other so sometimes they come to blows. So as they’re brawling I get nervous and decide to intervene, then I try to negotiate and beg, and finally attempt to bribe them to stop until I’m so frustrated that I turn to my husband and yell for his help. Here’s what he says.
“Fight nice, boys.”
That’s it. That’s how he takes care of it.
Now we all know about the Mets/Phils rivalry. It’s widely broadcast not to mention manicured. And why not? As humans we tend to get more motivated to watch an opposition we hate then to admire a team we love. And the media knows that too, that’s why they play off it. It’s helpful in two ways: it gets people to the ballpark and it sells hotdogs. Everybody wins (except the cows).
So I won’t lecture about how mean everyone is being even though I know you think my favorite Hawaiian was mocking Jose Reyes last year. Yeah, he pointed, you can’t deny it; they got it on tape (something I wish I had around when my child blames the dog). But people suffer from lack of judgment now and then, just like when my stepson threw-up in his room and sucked it up with my vacuum. I set him straight, just like Shane’s roomies did. But the clapping at third I think was shear enthusiasm, and you know Shane has that. And I know everyone in New York’s upset because Jimmy’s always right and Cole was baited into examining a part of the past New Yorker’s just want to forget, but as Charlie Manuel might say, “We can’t change the past.” So before someone throws out the ball in game two of this series I have one piece of advice.
Fight nice, boys.
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