I grew up in Brooklyn in the fifties. By the time I knew what baseball was, the Dodgers had already left for L.A. I did attend one game in Ebbets Field as a toddler. My whole family were Dodger fans, as was the rest of Brooklyn in those days. Instead, I grew up with Mickey Mantle and the Yankees as my heros. They had a few good years when I was very young that I can barely remember. But mostly I remember the horrible seventies and eighties. I thought it was going to be my fate that my team, with the most world series wins ever, was never to win another. I had missed the glory years of Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio and the other immortals, never to be repeated. You can't imagine the emotion of seeing the dynasty resurrected. I took them when they were down, and it was worthwhile suffering all those years for the last five years of success. When their run is over, whether it is this year or next year or never, I will be satisfied to have been able to see my team at the top. Please excuse me if I gloat.