This whole year parallels, in reverse, the Red Sox-Yankees rivalry of the past few years, especially 2004. We had the arrogant, buttoned-down, professional, Jeter-Posada-Mo-Bernie Yankees vs. the bunch of idiots cowboying up and pounding shots before the game. Joe Torre's Christ-like recovery from cancer vs. Johnny Damon's Christ-like hair. A-Rod's roid-induced ***** slap vs. Big Papi's roid-induced heroics. Enter Sandman vs. Shipping Out to Boston, complete with jig. Rohan whatever his name was vs. Sweet Caroline. Kevin freaking Millar. The boy wonder (Theo) vs. the evil empire. The mother of all collapses. God, didn't we love those guys?
Except this time, the casting gods have tricked us cruelly, because NE is the Yankees and NY is the Red Sox. They get their own TV show, foot fetishes, the coach's wife all over the internet, Jenn Sturgergate, tripgate, slouchgate, snackgate, kissing the rings, and general lunacy. We get an anonymous, inexhaustible army of stormtroopers drafted off the street which derives most of its success from the system created by the robotic BB. Even when the coach is (rumored to be) involved with another woman it's all hush hush.
Imagine the sheer sportsgasmic delight in New York if the Jets somehow beat the Pats, at Foxboro, in the AFC Championship game.
Whoever said sports is soap operas for dudes got it right!