The start of autumn implies a few things for New Yorkers. Typically it involves the leaves changing colors, Sunday kick-offs and, for 15 of the last 16 years, a second season for the New York Yankees. But with the ALCS underway and many fans anticipating another championship run, I have come to the realization that winning just doesn’t have the impact it once did.

Perhaps it was the idyllic notions that I created for myself during my childhood, but it seems that I can never quite reach the same levels of excitement that I did for the Torre-run Yanks of yesteryears. Teixeira, Rodriguez and Cano can’t match up to Tino, Bernie and O’Neill.

I personally think it has something to do with winning. Specifically, it’s diminishing returns.

When victory is too consistent, it is no longer a scarce good. It is an expected commodity, with its value consistently depreciating as it is brought in. As spontaneity diffuses, we seem to presuppose winning, as opposed to valuing it.

As a contrast, when winning is scarce, its value appreciates. The sensation one experiences from bearing witness to many years of losing and then finally winning is far greater than reaching one’s expectations of success. Ask any Mets fan.

Victory, much like any emotion, exists within a dualistic framework. It exists on a continuum where one must lack the sensation in order to seek its rewards, just as one must suffer in order to truly experience pleasure.

A basic Buddhist standpoint seems to underline this. Without the experience of suffering, one is empty and only temporarily satisfied by an unfruitful happiness: that of winning.

Further alluding to my apathy, the mentality of winning at all costs has caused the decadent transition from a ‘ball club’ to the baseball ‘corporation.’ In modern times, no player is unattainable, seeing that any player with potential talent is sought after as just another acquisition.

Player loyalties are practically non-existent and players will dispatch themselves to any team that will write them a large check. This idea was unheard of for the majority of the 20th century, when many players would spend their entire career with one team. Think of Johnny Damon ‘ he killed the Yankees’ pennant aspiration in 2004, yet he became a Yankee savior in 2009. Go figure.

Rivalries are merely nostalgic entities that seem to have lost their luster. Sure, teams play each other 18 or so times a year, but with the players’ hearts out of it, it doesn’t seem to mean what it once did. I just can’t equate Alex Rodriguez brawling with Jason Varitek to Thurman Munson throwing punches at Carlton Fiske.

Moreover, ticket prices certainly haven’t helped these sentiments. With costs of tickets, parking, transportation, peanuts and cracker jacks, I could have obtained valuable real estate in most developing countries around the world.

ESPN and YES Network, don’t think you’re off the hook. Absurd television contracts cause playoff games to start close to 8:30 p.m., which then end in the wee hours of the night and ruin it for young kids. This is corporatism at its best.

I fully acknowledge that the glorification of my past is largely to blame, but I’d like to see baseball return to its roots and reverse itself ‘ back to a game for the fans, not just a game for its owners.

Yeah, I’ll be watching, but with the same vigor as I did during the 1990s or last year? Probably not.