Before coming to Brandeis, I did not appreciate the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry at all. I was so accustomed to watching the Yankees win the division, that I rarely looked to see who finished second. In high school, the only rivalry I knew of was with the Mets. It wasn't so much between the two baseball teams as it was between the fans, though. Being in different leagues, the Yankees and Mets didn't play each other until the 2000 World Series.I was a senior in high school during the Subway Series. My friends and I were at each other's throats. Every game was endlessly scrutinized by us amateur baseball analysts. Somehow we believed that our enthusiasm would influence the outcome of the Series. Alas, the Yankees won quite definitively, in fact-and I've been spoiled ever since.

At Brandeis, I immediately became aware of the popular perception of the New York Yankees. They hate us with a passion. By 'they' I mean everyone except Yankees fans. This concept was foreign to me. The intense hatred with which all other Americans see the Yankees truly took me by surprise.

I got used to it. My first year, we lost to Arizona in the World Series. Sophomore year, we suffered a first-round humiliation at the hands of the Anaheim Angels. As expected, the day after the Yankees' elimination in both years, Sox fans glowed with pride and delight.

It's tough for New York fans to cope with playoff losses. I'm not from Chicago or Boston, where standing behind perennial losers comes as second nature. I walked with my head down after those games, and I didn't appreciate "foreigners" reminding me how much money Steinbrenner spent only to lose in the playoffs.

By my junior year, I hated the Red Sox. I took special pleasure in watching the Yankees hit home runs off Pedro and I made sure all Sox-fan friends knew it. I think watching Aaron Boone's home run in the 11th inning of Game Seven of the 2003 ALCS is one of my most treasured college experiences. I was surrounded by loud, obnoxious Sox fans who taunted me as the Sox took a 5-2 lead. I don't know how to convey how good it feels to take a late-inning lead away from Pedro Martinez and the Red Sox. The next day was beautiful. The air smelled fresher, the food tasted better and, best of all, Sox fans looked terrible.

I've avoided mentioning what happened last week for five paragraphs but I can't put it off forever. I refuse to spell out the details; you all know how it turned out. On a more serious note, I always find it amazing how sports fans live vicariously through their teams. I suspect that there's some deep psychological explanation why people who haven't touched a baseball glove in years still imagine themselves charging the field at the end of the series. As silly as it sounds, it's true. We really do feel like part of the team, if only for a moment.

As for the World Series, I hope the Cardinals rebound and take out the Sox with four straight wins. I hope Pedro doesn't return to Boston next year. I hope the "curse" haunts the Sox for as long as I'm alive.

As for the Yankees, we'll be back next year with a more expensive payroll and an all-star pitching rotation. George Steinbrenner won't let this happen again. Enjoy this while it lasts; it won't happen again. Just wait until next year.