What's My Problem, Anyway?

It is said we are a product of our times. Or depending on your perspective, a victim. I plead guilty.

I grew up in the nation's second or third-largest city, depending on how you quantify that. But we were, essentially, invisible. New York had Broadway and Manhattan, and Los Angeles had Hollywood and nice weather. 

Chicago was flat and...well, O'Hare was the world's busiest airport. Yay. 

But we who lived there felt it was a jewel. We were fiercely proud and became defensive when it was attacked. 

And even beyond that, I was influenced by a parent. Go figure. Yes, I had a father who was openly contemptuous of the superiority assumed by so many in the Northeast and the West coast towards the rest of the country—and for the Midwest in particular.

(Which makes my current disdain for the south a bit ironic, no?)

Their attitude was best espoused by their referring to Midwesterners as “the flyover people”—a glib reference to their cross-country travel. I preferred the New Yorker covers of Saul Steinberg, who created maps poking fun at New Yorkers and their self-obsession.

When I look back on it, the media's focus on New York was a natural extension of the fact they were based in New York. But as a proud citizen of the second city, one admittedly with an inferiority complex crystalized by the 1969 baseball season, I grew weary of the constant attention afforded New York.

That went for their sports franchises, too.

While grateful to have come of age after the Yankees' suffocating domination of major league baseball, a succession of teams came to dominate the national stage in my youth. The 1969 Mets were one. The early-seventies Knicks were another.

For a time, it seemed as if the moment an injured Willis Reed walked on court prior to game seven of the 1970 NBA Finals was the end all and be all of sport. This was exacerbated by the insufferable Howard Cosell, who remarked afterwards “You exemplify the very best that the human spirit can offer.”

Sigh.

No wonder I used to joke that hitting .270 in New York was like hitting .300 anywhere else.

Yes, this was all media-induced. I didn't even know any New Yorkers. But as life and my social circle expanded, I came to know many New Yorkers. To my surprise, some of them were quite affable and didn't talk about New York all the time.

Of course, others weren't. And did.

So much has changed since then. Chicago enjoys a far-higher profile than it did during my youth. They shoot movies here. TV shows are set here. Chicago even had a music scene for a time in the nineties, spearheaded by the success of the Smashing Pumpkins.

The Mekons called Chicago home. So did Wilco. Shrimp Boat, Ministry, Eleventh Dream Day, Precious Wax Drippings, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, the Ponys and Naked Raygun all flowered and bloomed here.

Good times. But I've digressed.

Fortunately, at this point I can see the media's New York obsession and its New York-centric coverage for what it is. I'm sure it's the same in England, where news coming out of London crowds out news originating from any place else. Ditto Japan and Tokyo. Or Mexico and Mexico City. Big trumps not-big. I get it.

And the New York versus Chicago pizza thing? The NY food critic who referred to thick crust pizza as a casserole was the funniest thing ever. I'm sure if it had been topped with crumbled foie gras sausage and a pear and white wine reduction sauce he'd have been falling all over himself.

And if New Yorkers continue to consider me and my ilk staid flyover people?

Meh. Whatever.

Better staid and flown-over than neurotically scrolling through our phones to make sure we didn't sleep on a breaking trend.

Isn't that like a felony or something?

Look. My empathy for NYC following 9/11 was absolute and unwavering. Ditto Sandy Hook and Sandy and most-recently, Ida. I don't wish that stuff on anyone.

But I still hate the Mets.

Ditto the Yankees. And the Knicks. And the Giants. And the recently-relocated Nets, who caved to their craven desire for assimilation. Or as I prefer to call it, guilt by association.

I just feel sorry for the Jets.

(Not being a hockey fan, I can't quite work up the requisite antipathy for the Rangers or Islanders.)

So. There it is. My appreciation of New York City. 

Such as it is.