As the quotable Yankee catcher-cum-manager Yogi Berra used to say, it’s déjà vu all over again.

For the 40th time in less than a century, the New York Yankees are playing in the World Series. They are one win away from their 27th World Championship, continuing a tradition not only unmatched but unapproached in major league baseball history.

The legions who follow the Yankees, including yours truly, enjoy having a favorite team for whom to root roughly half the time in the postseason classic. Our numbers, of course, are matched by the hordes of Yankee haters whose teams make it to the Series once in a while — or maybe almost never (eat your hearts out, Cub fans).

For a while the possibility of a return to the classic battles of the 1950s loomed big as the Los Angeles Dodgers got to the National League Championship Series. I cut my teeth on the six battles between the two teams in 1947, 1949, 1952, 1953, 1955 and 1956 when the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn and crosstown rivals of the Bronx Bombers. Of course, Anderson’s Yankee fans found ourselves outnumbered in those days by avid supporters of a hometown hero named Carl Erskine.

Anyway, a rematch failed to materialize as the Dodgers lost to the defending World Champion Philadelphia Phillies. The Phils got to the Series back in my youth, too, 1950. There they lost to the Yankees in four straight games. A harbinger? Not this time; this Series is into its sixth game.

I did manage to catch a game at old Yankee Stadium three or four years ago. The Yanks lost that day. Now they’re in the magnificent new Yankee Stadium, which I may never see. But from what I understand, the ghosts of the House that Ruth Built have moved across the street.

The list includes 44 Hall of Famers and 16 whose numbers have been retired. The Babe, the Bambino. True Blue Lou, the Iron Horse. Joltin’ Joe, the Yankee Clipper. Hug. Marse Joe. Poosh-Em-Up Tony. Scooter. Big Chief Allie. Steady Eddie. The M&M Boys, the Mick and Roger. Whitey. Billy. Moose. Casey. Yogi. Mr. October. Hit Man Mattingly. Louisiana Lightning. Sparky. Catfish.

And now the latest edition: A-Rod. Derek. C.C. Mariano. Jorge.

Tradition. The one thing messing that up, though, is the timing. Back in my youth the World Series was all day games played about the first week of October. You caught snatches of the games on radio or TV between classes or during the lunch hour or at work.

Now here we are in November with the World Series still in progress. And every game is being played at night. In New York. And Philadelphia. Hoodies are part of the regular game uniforms these days. Bullpen pitchers use heating pads.

It’s no wonder most people no longer regard baseball as the national pastime.

Unless you’re a Yankee fan, that is.

Jim Bailey’s column appears on Wednesday. He can be reached by e-mail at jameshenrybailey@earth

link.net.