Jeff and I were lucky enough to get tickets from a vendor (thanks, KB International!) for this evening's Red Sox game against the Yankees in baseball's best park. 
James Taylor threw out the first pitch and the Amherst College Choral Society did a beautiful job on the Star Spangled Banner.
The Yankees won, 8-6. But my personal Mudville would have been joyless either way. Since I'm from New Jersey, I'm a Yankee fan, and when I see a Yankee player do something good, I cheer. It's involuntary. Now that I live here, it's hard not to root, root root for the home team. For years I've tried to do that "fan of the game" thing, but that's crap. A fan needs a team. When the Yankees play the Sox, I lose.
Jeff and I made a deal that we'd raise our kids to be Jewish Red Sox fans. But what about me? Tonight I rooted for the Sox because the Yankees had the loathesome Randy Johnson on the mound. Alas, the Big Tool prevailed. It reminded me of the 2003 American League playoffs, Red Sox vs. Yankees. Our friend Bob, also a Yankee fan, shamefully confessed that he was rooting for the Sox. I admitted I was too. First thing in the morning after the Yankees clinched it, my cell phone rang. It was Bob, who vowed "I'll never have my heart broken by the Boston Red Sox again!"
Life would be simpler if Jeff and I were both Jewish, or both Catholic, or both Red Sox fans. But as I'm learning all the time now, life just isn't simple, and it's pretty much a daily occurence for me to feel simultaneously happy and sad. As for tonight, whether you bleed Yankee pinstripes or are a citizen of Red Sox Nation, there's no more pleasant place to be than Yawkey Way on a clear, cool May evening with your sweetie. 
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