With my beloved Yankees shown an early exit from the playoffs by the clutch play of the upstart Angels, I sat down to write a eulogy.

Not that the reign is over, nor is there much to be upset about (this isn’t the Brewers we’re talking about), but I thought I might step back and give my team a proper send-off.

Much ink has been devoted to describing how Steinbrenner’s crew has received its comeuppance after corporate money fueled four titles, but I’ve read little to honor the fallen champs. Simply beholding a friend’s wall of pictures dedicated to capturing Yankee misery after their loss was enough to make me want to defend them.

I first set out the chronology of my tale.

Randy Johnson, Curt Schilling and some other guys beat the Yankees in a thrilling World Series last season. This was supposed to be the year to re-establish the dynasty’s might. Several huge off-season acquisitions and the emergence of young talent promised a return to glory. In the end, the pitching really wasn’t there and the bats didn’t come around when they needed to.

Then, at 2 a.m., I put on “Bull Durham” and began to let myself mourn, just a bit. Two things quickly became obvious.

First, it’s not very easy to drum up sympathy for a multi-billion dollar corporation of highly paid athletes whose tight grip on World Series’ rings had been loosened by a gang of overachievers working for Disney. Ben Stiller, I agree: it’s not easy being a eugogolizor.

Second, the black-and-white photos that pepper the screen during my mood movie’s opening credits reminded me why I rooted so hard for the Yanks and lived and died with each pitch for so many years—baseball is the best fan’s game out there. It has the best history, characters, moments, and the deepest cultural impact of any sport.

The Yankees lost, I reasoned, but at a critical point in its history, baseball did not.

As I sat in the dark (I turned off the lights to watch Costner’s “I believe in…” scene), I immediately understood how overwhelmingly cheesy my realization was.

But I also realized what it was not—it was not my history thesis (for sure), and that’s a good thing; it was not insincere; and it was not inaccurate.

As a baseball fan of any persuasion, you cannot be disappointed with the way this post-season has unfolded. But before being accused of turning on my team, let me make it clear that I am upset that the Yanks are not in it, but that shouldn’t—and hasn’t—stopped me from appreciating what the playoffs have been.

They’ve been pretty special. If only because two wild-card teams finally got to the Series, they’ve been special. But there’s no shortage of good stories, or compelling angles.

Bonds, the MVP of his era who gets better with age, is finally playing for a ring. The small-market Twins made Bud Selig’s contraction plans look foolish.

The Angels made the playoffs for the first time since shortstop David Eckstein was 11 years old. Eckstein made $280,000 this season. Derek Jeter made $13,000,000.

The untimely death of Cards’ pitcher Darryl Kile will forever be honored by his teammate’s surge into the post-season.

Rally monkeys.

Despite the media hype and human-interest stories, the play on the field has been elegant and thrilling. The Series will see its share of late-inning rallies. Pitchers working deep into the game. Unlikely heroes. Leadoff hitters that choke up and bunt. Hard-throwing relievers.

In a lot of ways, I’m more excited to be a fan than I have been in a while. Watching the Yankees win year after year (after year) gave me enough baseball memories to last a lifetime, but maybe it is time to share the wealth.

But not too much—we need to pick up an everyday left-fielder in the off-season. I don’t want to make this column a habit.