Tuesday night I found myself in my kitchen at 11 o’clock frustrated and angerly chopping celery for my lunch. The Cleveland Guardians lost Game 2 in nothing short of an embarrassing fashion. My favorite player decided to forget how to play the sport and I knew I had to do everything in my power to avoid national media lest I hear the inevitable the smarmy quotes. “The Yankees path to the World Series is easy.” “The Guardians are overachieving.” “Luke Weaver is the best reliever in the playoffs.”
Annoying.
A dear friend of mine dubbed the bubbling rage building in my stomach as “playing-the-Yankees-itis.