Damn Yankees to Descend Upon Fort Worth
No matter which AFC team wins the conference title game, the Pittsburgh Steelers or New York Jets, Fort Worth, as the host city of the AFC representatives for Super Bowl XLV, will be flooded with loud, obnoxious, condescending, provincial, silly Yankee football maniacs. How do I know? I grew up in Pittsburgh and lived in New York City for a couple of years. And as much as I love my Yankeefied friends and relatives, I’ve seen their stupid sides, and their stupid sides are manifold and prone to manifest themselves constantly and without warning, especially if copious amounts of alcohol and football are involved (and they will be).
As you’re well aware, drinking a little too much and acting like a jackass is behavior not endemic to yanks. But when you take a Yankee football maniac out of his native land and plop him into a city that probably registers only as a cowtown backwater to him, you’ll be ungraciously introduced to a person who will scoff at everything –– everything –– and throw his weight around as if he were a fucking two-ton grizzly bear. There are a couple of things going through his mind as he gropes your girlfriend, smashes shot glasses, and talks with a stupid accent, not the least of them, “I’m from a real city, one that’s been around since the birth of America, one that actually has all four seasons, and I’m pretty much vacationing here in your redneck town, and you can take your Southern hospitality and shove it up your ass.” (He’s also thinking, “I can’t believe I got away from work and am on vacation!”) He will prepare –– and recite at a moment’s notice –– a long list of his Yankee city’s achievements, achievements that will make you wonder how the world managed to revolve without them. He’s not here to make you think, “What a nice guy! I bet everyone from Yankeeland is just swell.” He’s here to drink his face off, flex his muscles, and leave you wondering whether Yankeeland is just one big fraternity party that never stops. Accommodating the Yankee is tantamount to surrendering to him. Remain equanimous under all circumstances.
But here’s a little secret: The Yankee football maniac really hates life up north –– all of that fucking snow and the overcast sky all the time and the lack of jobs and the fact that the hot girls up there have to cover up their hot bodies for 350 days a year and can’t wear skimpy clothing like they do down here –– and he will go overboard trying to convince you, verbally or through multiple acts of douchebaggery, that life up north is just peachy and is better than life down here.
We all know better.
A recommendation: Have pity on our maniacal Yankee visitors, because when they’re telling you that they’re the centers of the universe, they’re really crying for help.