Casey Michel has this to say in the Rice Thresher about the Yankees winning the World Series.
I didn't cry when the New York Yankees won the World Series last week. I didn't mope, or bite my tongue, or call home and complain until I turned blue. I didn't throw a trash can at a Baker 13 runner out of anger or spite.
Don't get me wrong - I was angry. The veins in my head looked like a roadmap through West Texas. But within the anger was an emptiness, a what's-the-point? voice that made me deflate quicker than Brad Lidge's confidence. After years of battling New York's legacy, trying at every turn to chide them and reprimand them and belittle them, I had never felt more defeated. The energy had quickly drained from me. The Yankees had won. My cause had been crushed.
See, I don't hate things - except the Yankees.
Through the years I've waltzed the halls in "Yankees Suck" shirts, bounced around AIM with a yankeessuck moniker, turned up to every Yankees-Mariners series I could just to shove as much vitriol in George Steinbrenner's ears as I could possibly muster.
Twenty-one years of it, and I have it down to a T. I danced with a Diamondbacks' jersey in 2001; I snapped up Marlins memorabilia in 2003;
At lot of people feel that way, so the question you must be asking yourself is why is this on the front page? The answer to that question is that I went to Rice and this is first time in five years that the school newspaper, or at least that I've noticed, have mentioned the Marlins. Therefore, I feel compelled to include it.
My name once appeared in the Rice Thresher on the back page. I don't want to talk about it.