I don’t how much more this old ticker of mine can take.

For now, I am learning to take deep breaths and tell myself it is only the American League playoffs and the Red Sox are still alive.

And don’t go pinching yourself, either. It hurts and might even leave a mark.

It’s true. Boston has wormed its way into the American League Championship Series. It’s like watching the Patriots long and winding drive to the Super Bowl, although the guys in red also have a long way to go before they kiss off all that nonsense about a curse.

I’ve tried to take my mind off tonight’s Game 1 against those damn Yankees by playing toy guns with my son in the backyard. There is nothing like a make-believe game of army men to soothe those anxiety attacks over a team that has left us hopeful and slaphappy all at the same time.

It’s been this way all season. I wrote these guys off when Oakland snatched a two-game lead and Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz took a leave of absence from the batter’s box.

The Red Sox are a hitting machine, and when their bats go silent, they go hungry. And boy, did Manny pick the wrong time to go on sabbatical. Glad he got back in the swing of things with his three-run homer Monday night.

Just when you think the Sox are signing off for the year, Beantown’s finest come back and drive us all to drink. Hey, bring out the Canadian Club and make me a strong one.

Let’s face it, gang, the thrilling Game 5 in Oakland had all of us reaching for the oxygen or our medication. I might have taken a whole bottle if it wasn’t for those people-proof safety caps.

I am still having trouble coming down from the Red Sox’s 4-3 victory over the tenacious Athletics.

Why can’t these guys win 34-0? Please, no more one-run victories, guys.

I thought about seeing the shrink for a session on stress management. Anything to get me through this next series with the dreaded Yanks.

Monday night’s melodrama took it all out of us. When Derek Lowe was summoned to the mound to put a cork in Oakland’s feisty offense in the last inning, I wanted to borrow somebody’s rosary beads. Not that I thought they had a prayer, especially when the A’s loaded the bases with two outs.

Silence filled the newsroom as our Agate Guy (and yes, we do call him Agate Guy even though he has a real name) didn’t take his eyes off a TV that sits above my desk. I hid behind my computer screen as a small crowd watched. I just couldn’t look. I have been a witness to many of these dreadful endings for the Sox.

It was like watching that naughty, mechanical shark in “Jaws” jump out of the water and try to bite off police chief Martin Brody’s head as he was dishing out fish guts from the bow of the boat. You know it’s coming, but it still scares the living daylights out of you.

Nobody needs that kind of suspense in their life. And when Lowe threw a third strike to catch Terrence Long looking for the final out, we all yelped in unison.

And now the Sox face the most successful franchise in baseball history for the American League title and, dare we say, a shot at the World Series.

I can’t look, but you know I will be peeking.

Tony Blasi is a staff editor and can be reached at [email protected].