"It ain't over till it's over," quipped Yogi Berra in the 1970s when his baseball team trailed 9 1/2 games behind another team, but came back and won the division anyway.

Baseball is the penultimate American sport that, to many, brings back many fond, and sometimes not so fond, memories of childhood sandlot games, watching a favorite team take the World Series in seven games in October and just plain old-fashioned competition.

This year's season and postseason is no different, but I am sad to say that it is the first season and postseason that I have paid much attention to since the 1990s. My team growing up was the Atlanta Braves, probably because they were the first team to take my fancy when I realized I really liked baseball at the ripe old age of 13.

Anyhow, the Braves became my team when I watched with glistening eyes as they took on the Cleveland Indians in the 1995 World Series. When the Braves won in six games, I was hooked. I had my team. There was no way my team was going to lose any other World Series for the rest of the 1990s.

The following year's World Series seemed fortuitous of my youthful imagination. There were my Atlanta Braves facing the giant of baseball: the New York Yankees. The Yanks had a new rookie-upstart shortstop that year in the guise of Derek Jeter. But no fear, I knew my Atlanta Braves could handle anything.

Game one went my way as the Braves crushed the Yanks 12 to 1 in New York. Everything was going as planned. Game two went my way that year as well -- 4 to 0 again in New York. A smile was on my face. No way were the Yanks going to ruin my October.

Then the Yanks came back and won games three and four in Atlanta. Tied at two games a piece. But that's OK, because one more game in Atlanta and John Smoltz was pitching.

I finished school and housework early that day and told my friends I had a prior engagement. I sat in front the tube to watch my Braves come back and kick some booty.

It didn't happen.

It was a pitcher's duel and the Yanks pulled out a 1 to 0 win. Crushed, my only consolation was that the Braves bested the Yanks in New York and the Yankees bested the Braves in Atlanta. I figured with two games left in the series, both of which were in New York, logically, my Braves would pull out and win.

Game six had my favorite pitcher, Greg Maddux, take the mound for Atlanta. Again, I told my friends "no way" to playing and sat down to watch the game. My little brother, who is taller than me now (funny how that is), decided to compete against me and my team. He was rooting for those Yankees.

When the Yankees pulled out the win 3 to 2, my little boy heart was crushed. But, I knew my Braves would be back and win again. Only one problem. They didn't. But the Yankees did. I was not happy. My brother was.

Maybe that's another reason why I gained a soft spot for the Red Sox. I wanted the Yankees to fail for destroying my Braves in six games in 1996. Didn't happen. After the 1990s, for a variety of reasons, I was not able to follow the postseason like I religiously had in the past. But I heard what happened in 2004 (I was in Taiwan at the time) between the Red Sox and the Yankees.

When the Red Sox came from three games behind in the 2004 ALCS to steal the series from the Yankees, my older, yet still youthful heart, leapt with joy.

Finally, someone beat those blasted Yankees.