Let me first say that it would be irresponsible to conclude that one of the worst weeks of gun violence in our nation’s history was a direct result of the Yankees winning championship number 27. There is no direct evidence of this, and to conclude such a thing before a full investigation has played out would be a mistake. Of course, there is no direct evidence exculpating the Yankees, either. We’ll just have to wait and see.*

In the meantime, I was struck by the lack of ebullience that followed what should be one of the most joyful experiences a fan has seems to be, when handed to those who follow the Yankees, something akin to recovering one’s umbrella at a lost and found. In other words, the returning of a humdrum object that already rightfully belonged to said owner.

I didn’t watch a lot of the parade, but I did see an interview with a 12-year-old from Long Island who gave his answers to a television crew in the manner a child his age normally holds forth on “Johnny Tremain” for sixth-grade English. He mentioned that it was his “third or fourth” championship parade.

In other words, attending a championship parade was so ordinary to this kid, he couldn’t even keep count of them.

Now, I am a 29-year-old child, but I remember exciting moments in my life that relate to my baseball team with an enthusiasm that extended well beyond this kid’s range (and keep in mind, he was the true fan in the family- he was there with his mom, who said the Yankees should bring back Andy Pettitte because he is a “cutie pie.”)

By necessity, these moments are not championship ones- though I still can feel myself jumping up and down in my parents’ bedroom at age 6 after the Mets won, while my mother chided my father for keeping me up so late on a school night.

I get more excited just thinking about the time Anthony Young finally snapped his long losing streak on the strength of two runs from the 1993 Mets than this kid was as Yogi Berra passed by in a float.

One of the first words Joe Buck used to describe how Yankee fans were feeling after the final out was made was “relief.” Relief? As in, what Tom Hanks’ mom felt after her son returned home in “Big”?

And all the signs for “Number 27″ that were out in force during Game 6- can you in a million years imagine Mets fans assuming success like that? I would be sure that such a sign would doom the Mets, and wouldn’t even dream of bringing it into the stadium, let alone displaying it prior to the final out. Even then, I’d hold back, fearful of some appeal to the league office that would overturn the victory.

I’d have hoped that after nine long years (don’t even get me started on this phrase), there would be a greater sense among Yankee fans that a world championship is special, worthy of joy, not expected, worthy of a sigh. If anything, this reaction reinforced for me that raising my daughter-to-be as a Mets fan is the right thing to do. The valleys are lower, and there are more of them, but the peaks are not only higher; they exist.

*Disclaimer: this paragraph is a totally false humorous joke. There is no link whatsoever between Yankee victory and domestic terrorism, and I apologize to any Yankee fans or domestic terrorists who were offended by the facetious assertion.

Tags: Anthony Young, New York Mets, New York Yankees, parade