What a bunch of whiners. Reading the complaints about the Yankees by angry fans made me realize that these letter writers are clueless about where to place the blame for the Yankees’ playoff loss to the Angels. Savvy fans know that the last five winless years are the fault of owner George Steinbrenner. Win or lose, I’ve been a loyal Yankee fan for more than 40 years because the team always made the game exciting with its come-from-behind victories. Something’s changed, and Mr. Steinbrenner is to blame.

Growing up, baseball was always a big part of our lives in Spanish Harlem. On Sundays, the neighborhood men would troop over to Central Park and play in the baseball fields while we would play outside the fences. With three major league baseball teams, New York has hosted more World Series games than any other American city.

My mother was a fanatical Yankee fan who would work her fingers like magic to jinx the opposing teams’ pitchers. A devout Catholic who attended Mass every day, she nevertheless resorted to “brujaria” to ward off the evil spirits of the Giants and the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Baseball fever was fun back in the days before television’s big bucks reared its ugly head. Businesses would halt while the Series was broadcast over the radio during working hours. The subway platform at the Bronx 161st Street station would be packed with riders jockeying to get a glimpse of the limited view of Yankee Stadium while listening to the game on transistor radios. These days, baseball jumps to the tune of the broadcasters, looking for high ratings because how else could it afford to pay those millionaire player salaries?

Even though he grew up in the Deep South while it was still segregated, my husband considered Willie Mays, a black ballplayer, the greatest ever. Mays, he said, loved the game. The early heroes of baseball had that in common – a consummate love of the game. Now, my hubby says, many stars act as if they don’t even like to play. He doubts seriously that Barry Bonds or Ken Griffey Jr. even watch the sport in their spare time.

The Yankees back then were the absolute best. Who can forget the year of 1961, with Mantle, Maris, Berra, and Howard all blasting home runs without the use of artificial hormones? The Yanks were our champions because they had this knack of always coming from behind to win. They never gave up, and that was an invaluable lesson we all needed to learn while facing material hardships on the mean streets.

Something’s missing from today’s Yankees, and the rot starts at the top. It’s easy to shout at the players and the manager, but the soul of the team has been dying since 2002, when fans like myself were thoroughly disenchanted by the players’ threatening to strike. They revealed themselves to be more interested in money and advertising contracts rather than lovers of the game.

Paying $25 million a year for a baseball player who has yet to help his team to a Series championship? Outrageous. Yet Mr. Steinbrenner has been salivating after and signing Alex Rodriquez and other big names for years and the question has always been: Why? Big-money players rarely live up to their hype once they come to the Yankees because they carry with them the baggage of overgrown egos, not loyalty. Remember Roger Clemens, who got his ring and then retired? Oops, not quite. He just took a better offer. Yankee victories came via great clutch hitters, not the multimillionaire home-run hotshots that Mr. Steinbrenner lusts after.

Another thing: Joe Torre has been a great manager, but he looks tired. What we needed this year was a Billy Martin type who had the nerve to get in the faces of his stars, telling them that they’re not as great as their press clippings. A few dugout squabbles might have fired up these millionaires into actually earning their keep.

For four years, ’96, ’98, ’99, and 2000, the Yankees thrilled us with baseball at its best but then began the systematic dismantling of the winning teams. Team favorites were put out to dry so that bigger names could be acquired. Did we really lose an Andy Pettitte for an A-Rod?

Here’s a helpful hint for Mr. Steinbrenner: Grow your own stars. The best player you have is Derek Jeter, who came up from the minors. The biggest hope you have now is with two former Staten Island Yankees – Robinson Cano and Chien-Ming Wang. The Baby Bomber team, which has won the last three league championships, is woefully neglected by Mr. Steinbrenner, yet therein lies the Yanks’ redemption.

Instead of raising the ticket prices, stop buying millionaire flops, pass on your savings to the fans, and then, maybe, the Yanks will rise again.