Yankees send subtle reminder to jeering Mets fans before home opener arrives

The New York Yankees' 5-1 start to the 2026 MLB season has been nearly perfect, save for one thing: Opening Day was a night, actually, and it was aired exclusively on Netflix, and it took place in San Francisco. The Yankees have played six games thus far, all on the west coast — but not in warm weather. No, no. The Bay Area and Seattle. They've gained nothing for their travels other than five victories, but they've all been attained far from home. Friday is the day it all becomes real for New Yorkers. Friday is the day they return to our shared home.

The Yankees punctuated the morning of the home opener this year with a perfect reminder of the ties that bind us. Are there "bandwagon" Yankee fans, those who fell in love with the sweet smell of success from afar? Certainly. The hat, for some, is a fashion symbol and nothing more. But there are also generational Yankee fans. They are 43, 68, 79, or 12 years old. Their fathers and mothers fell in love with the game and placed a petite scorebook in their laps, preemptively ending their search for purpose right then and there. They are local. They rode the train. They might've walked. They have a bodega they trust, and a bodega they side-eye. They are from here, even if they no longer live here.

And, after a bizarre set of recent discourse about why anyone would become a Yankee fan instead of a Mets fan, with reply after reply insinuating that the Yankees are only beloved by greedy Wall Streeters while the Mets (owned by a hedge fund billionaire who leaks corruption) are the "people's team," the Yankees have subtly settled the argument in the easiest way possible: showing the world a swath of the many different varieties of fans who call Yankee Stadium home.

We are Mets or Yankees fans by birth. We love what we love. We're from where we're from. And plenty of us will feel a little bit more whole once the doors to Yankee Stadium are opened again on Friday afternoon.

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When the 1:35 PM EST first pitch arrives, and the bunting flaps in the breeze (please don't be too breezy), as an overwhelming stretch of pinstripes covers the down-the-line dirt, it will briefly feel like more than a game, whether you're watching from home or braving the cold. And then, as soon as the first borderline ball-strike is delivered, the umpire will become instantly blind in the eyes of many. It will revert back to a game in a snap. That is the beauty of this hyper-pressurized 162-game slate of micro-battles that we cannot get enough of.

If you had a choice in the matter, we applaud you. For most of us, it's in our blood and cannot be escaped. So we might as well embrace who we've always been.