By Lauren Cataldo

My boyfriend and I are officially fighting.

No, it’s not because he doesn’t spend enough time with me, flirts uncontrollably, or lives in a pigsty. I didn’t catch him poking hot girls on The Facebook, (although I KNOW he does it,) or even because he didn’t say “thank you” when I bought him iced coffee from DD and pizza skins from Uno’s.

We’re fighting for one reason and one reason only. He, like the majority of people I’ve met since I’ve come to Northeastern, is obsessed with the Red Sox. When I say obsessed, we’re talking Jimmy Fallon in “Fever Pitch” type stuff, okay?

And all I can say about that is: Thank God baseball season is back.

Last Sunday in the Bronx the most famous (or infamous?) rivalry in baseball, and possibly the world, started up once again for another season of bench-clearing brawls, harsh insults and astounding plays. Oh, how I’ve missed it. Now, before we go any further, let me make one thing clear. I am just one of many people in this same position: a New Yorker living in Boston. Worse still: a diehard Yankees fan living in Boston. And worst of all: a diehard Yankee fan dating a diehard Red Sox fan, living in Boston.

While some of you may be shaking your heads in disgust, let me explain. I’m from upstate New York, not the city — you decide whether that’s better or worse. And as far as the Red Sox go, beside Johnny Damon’s Christ-like hair, I really respect them as men and as a team. If they are playing any team beside the Yankees, I’ll even go so far as to CHEER for them. (Just don’t tell my Dad that.) You might even say we’re one of those cute couples they always show on T.V. at Red Sox and/or Yankee games – the girlfriend in her Yankees hat and apparel, holding hands with the boyfriend in his faded Sox hat and jersey.

Since moving to Boston over two years ago for college, I’ve been sucked into the alternate universe that is Boston sports fever. I bought my Paul Pierce jersey and cheered on the Celtics; I bought my Patriots hat and went to the parade. But when it comes to my baseball, my family might very well disown me if ever I was caught sporting “the B” instead of our beloved intertwining NY.

In just two baseball seasons, I’ve experienced the absolute highs and incredible lows of Red Sox fans. I’ll be the first to admit that in October 2003 when the Yanks took the ALCS — I screamed. I downright went crazy. But then again, you can’t dispute “the greatest comeback in sports history” last season. (Yes, I cried.)

At the beginning of our relationship, we agreed that our baseball preferences wouldn’t come between us. Of course, there would be some teasing — OK, downright BUSTING ON — each other, but we’d never be completely serious about it; it would never start an actual “I’m-mad-at-you-don’t-talk-to-me” fight.

Well, here we are. There’s been ONE match-up between our teams and tension is HIGH. (You might even say it’s reached a “fever pitch” — huh-yuck.) I couldn’t be happier about it. I’ve waited long enough while he’s gloated over the fact that the Sox are the Champs. Now, it’s my turn again.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I told him. “Last October was only a fluke.”

I’ve heard that around springtime a lot of couples start to break up because of a condition known as “spring fever.” In other words, “summer-starts-soon-I-don’t-want-to-be-attached-to-anyone” fever. You know, summer flings running rampant and singles mingling into the wee hours because it’s still 70 degrees outside. Well, if my boyfriend and I decide to break up, I can promise you, it won’t have anything to do with other girls. It might, however, have something to do with guys named Derek and Johnny. Check back with me in October and I’ll let you know how things played out.

And in case any of you dropped off the face of the Earth last Sunday night, the Yankees romped ’em. Cowboy what?

— Lauren Cataldo is a sophomore English major.