...or did you chuckle just a little when the Tigers booted the Yankees out of the playoffs?

For me this is the ultimate betrayal. I was raised in the Bronx, a scant seven subway stops (actually the #4 train is elevated) from Yankee Stadium. My earliest sports memories are of baseball. Growing up on Davidson Ave you were either a Yankee fan or a Dodger fan. (For some strange reason their were no Giants fans.) Those were the days of Mantle and Berra; of Larson and Casey Stengel, Skowron and Richardson. Every kid could tell you the starting nine for his team. In October, because the Yankees were almost always in the World Series, we would plead with teachers to let us listen to the Series games in the classroom or at least check periodically for a score.

Taking the Woodlawn/Jerome train into the city meant passing "the Stadium". As the train rumbled past the outfield there was a small gap between the right field stands and the center field scoreboard. That gap afforded riders the briefest glimpse of the field and I never missed a chance to look, even into my twenties.

In the summer I would pester my father on Friday nights when he came home from work to take me to the Yankee game. It was probably the last thing he felt like doing but occasionally he would acquiesce. I even went to the 1958 World Series.

The day after our graduation from Fordham, Paul Keane and I dragged my fiancee to the Stadium for Mickey Mantle's retirement. I probably cried more than he did.

The point being that no one was a bigger Yankee fan than me.

So what happened? At what point did it become fun to watch the Yankees take it in the shorts? At what point in my travels did I exsanguinate (too much CSI) the Yankee blue from my veins?

Moving to Chicago certainly affected my team loyalties. You become interested in the teams that are covered in the local press. First it was the Bears instead of the football Giants but gradually all of your loyalties change. Rooting for another American League team seemed like treason but the Cubs became interesting. At least I didn't have to watch them after Oct 3rd.

Then the Yankees were purchased by George Michael Steinbrenner III.

Now here's a guy that everyone can dislike. He has a big mouth a short temper and he's always right (just ask him). He has been a major shareholder of the club since 1973. When he took command, he was quoted as saying, "We plan absentee ownership as far as running the Yankees is concerned. We're not going to pretend to be something we aren't". Really? Under his "absentee ownership" there have been 20 field manager changes (Billy Martin accounting for 25% of those) and 11 general manager firings. Behind every personnel change was a quote from "The Boss" He was as hands-off as a blind man in a cat house. John McMullen, a minority partner in the team was quoted saying, "There's nothing more limited than being a limited partner in the Yankees."

Although "dead set against free agency" George has become its greatest enabler. Thanks to his cherry-picking from other clubs, Steinbrenner has a payroll larger than the GNP of Peru. This level of spending has created the sense that rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for General Motors. Unless you live in New York, there is a tendency to resent any team or owner that continually attempts to buy a championship.

Five teams have kicked sand in George's face in the last six years of post season play. They range from the church-mouse Marlins to the equally overpaid Red Sox. In the last two seasons, the Yankees couldn't get past the first round of post season play. Ouch! (It should be pointed out that the Yankees have made the post season every year for the past 12 years.)

Watching a manufactured team fall on its face restores our sense of balance. Money really can't buy happiness or, it would seem, a World Series ring. Although A-rod, Jeter, Posada and Co. are great players and (including Alex Rodriguez) worthy of their inflated salaries, the schadenfreude (I finally got to use that in a sentence) factor is irresistible. Call it David and Goliath syndrome. My team may have lost but we didn't pay $194 million for the privilege.

In 1969 I was among those rare New Yorkers that cringed during every World Series game between the Orioles and the Mets. The Yankees finished fifth that year in the American League East and I hated all the celebrating in Queens. How dare these upstart no-names usurp the crown that rightfully belonged in the Bronx.

Well, that was then and this is now so

Let's Go Mets.