The beauty and madness of the American sports rivalry
I sat in the nosebleeds of the parents' section at Homewood Field this weekend, watching what I consider to be one the greatest rivalries in the sport of college lacrosse: Hopkins vs. Maryland. The stands were packed on both sides, and the fences surrounding the field were lined with fans of both schools, peering over the side to catch each moment. TV cameras zoomed in on the field. The roar of chants, shouts, insults and pounding boom sticks permeated the air. It was a scene that made me proud to go to Hopkins, one of the rare moments when late-night library sessions and academic pressures seemed to take a backseat.
One of my good friends from home, another avid lacrosse fan, made the trip from Towson just to catch the game. As we sat among the screaming toddlers with painted blue faces, we started talking about the great rivalry between the Blue Jays and the Terrapins. And, as most of our discussions tend to do, our friendly conversation quickly escalated to a vehement argument over the greatest rivalry of all time.
He'd lived in Maryland his entire life, and I was born in Massachusetts, living there for the first 10 years of my life, so of course, our sports loyalties often clash. His vote went to the recent, but still intense, rivalry between the Baltimore Ravens and the Pittsburgh Steelers, and I sided with the easy pick: the age-old nemeses of the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees.
I'm still fully convinced that I'm right, and recent news supports me. Last summer Gino Castignoli, a construction worker and dedicated BoSox fan, was working on the construction of the New York Yankees' new stadium when he decided to leave behind a little relic of his favorite team. Castignoli buried a David Ortiz (Red Sox DH) jersey under the private seating section of the developing stadium with the hope that its constant presence in the home of Boston's rivals would leave some sort of curse upon the Yanks. This week, an anonymous caller alerted the Yankees' head office and after five hours of searching, officials found the fateful jersey. The Yankees plan on spinning the prank in their favor by auctioning it off and giving the proceeds to charity.
One of my good friends from home, another avid lacrosse fan, made the trip from Towson just to catch the game. As we sat among the screaming toddlers with painted blue faces, we started talking about the great rivalry between the Blue Jays and the Terrapins. And, as most of our discussions tend to do, our friendly conversation quickly escalated to a vehement argument over the greatest rivalry of all time.
He'd lived in Maryland his entire life, and I was born in Massachusetts, living there for the first 10 years of my life, so of course, our sports loyalties often clash. His vote went to the recent, but still intense, rivalry between the Baltimore Ravens and the Pittsburgh Steelers, and I sided with the easy pick: the age-old nemeses of the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees.
I'm still fully convinced that I'm right, and recent news supports me. Last summer Gino Castignoli, a construction worker and dedicated BoSox fan, was working on the construction of the New York Yankees' new stadium when he decided to leave behind a little relic of his favorite team. Castignoli buried a David Ortiz (Red Sox DH) jersey under the private seating section of the developing stadium with the hope that its constant presence in the home of Boston's rivals would leave some sort of curse upon the Yanks. This week, an anonymous caller alerted the Yankees' head office and after five hours of searching, officials found the fateful jersey. The Yankees plan on spinning the prank in their favor by auctioning it off and giving the proceeds to charity.
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