Dear New York Yankees,
I doubt you care, but I’m afraid I will be unable to continue in this relationship. We’ve grown apart and though I’ll always love you, but I’m just not IN love with you anymore. In fact, I kind of hate you. I’d like a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences.
Baseball is, at its core, escapist entertainment. One turns to the game as a diversion from the grind of daily life, the constant irritations of interacting with annoying coworkers or terrible drivers on Route 80 or strangers who go over the 10 Items or Less at the grocery store. Why should I populate my escape with those same kinds of irritants, with those same frustrations, with those same bores?