Now that the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees both inexplicably survived the last six months and made the playoffs by the skin of George Steinbrenner’s heart, could we maybe, just maybe, dismiss all this discussion about small-market teams being eaten alive by big-market teams?

It’s preposterous. This baseball season should have proven, once and for all, that money in the hands of owners and general managers with boundless budgets is no more advantageous than a fork in the hands of a supermodel.

The Yankees didn’t share, um, I mean win the American League East title because of charts, graphs and dollar signs. They won by virtue of the six-point type in the transactions column on the agate page. Same goes for the Sox.

New York lives to host Anaheim despite paying Jaret Wright and Carl Pavano more money than the gross national product of Burma. Boston earned an October flight to Chicago despite extrovert Curt Schilling’s ankle and clubhouse troubles and introvert Keith Foulke’s knee and head issues.

Let’s get a few things straight.

Patron saint of rotisserie geeks Billy “Moneyball” Beane, the Oakland Athletics’ GM, could have consulted Bill James or Miss Cleo and plucked Aaron Small or Shawn Chacon off baseball’s recycling bin, but he didn’t.

Minnesota or Cleveland could have taken a stab at Tony Graffanino, Alex Cora or Roberto Petagine, but they didn’t.

Kansas City and Tampa Bay had ample opportunity to draft Jonathan Papelbon or Craig Hansen or make a bid for Chien-Ming Wang, but they didn’t.

Any other team in Major League Baseball would be doomed for 72-90 if confronted with the injuries and failures that have befallen the Big Two.

Seriously, Red Sox fans, back in April did you anticipate:

Schilling appearing mortal? Foulke being unable to locate his 86 mph “heater” to save his life? Alan Embree emerging as Mr. Walk-Off? Mark Bellhorn deciding he never met a pitch within six feet of the strike zone he didn’t like? Trot Nixon looking more like a platoon player every day? Edgar Renteria playing defense like Nomar? Kevin Millar hitting nine home runs? Wade Miller and Matt Mantei looking like the “before” photos in a Tommy John Surgery pamphlet?

Don’t laugh, people of the Pinstripers. Were you expecting:

Wright, Pavano and Kevin Brown to go 13-18 with an ERA approaching six? Having any earthly need for Bellhorn, Embree or Al Leiter? Jorge Posada and Bernie Williams to turn 42 overnight? One of your saviors to be a guy who went 2-16 with the Colorado Rockies the last two years? A stopgap who never started more than three games in a season with five previous big-league teams to emerge as a double-digit winner and become your newest folk hero?

I didn’t think so.

The Yankees will hang their eighth consecutive AL East banner exclusively on the brilliance of Joe Torre and the thrift store dealings of embattled GM Brian Cashman.

Torre might be the only manager on the planet who wouldn’t have lost that clubhouse in mid-May. A less courageous organization (read: Baltimore) would have released Jason Giambi when he was hitting .180 rather than carry his baggage and wait for him to hit 32 home runs. And let’s face it, there wasn’t a Triple-A team in America who had a reason to trot out Small and Chacon every fifth day.

Everything those guys touched throughout the summer turned from trash to treasure.

Also, I may slap the next person who criticizes Terry Francona in my presence for his “handling of the bullpen.” What bullpen? Like everything else at his disposal, Francona’s relief corps bears no resemblance to the one he enjoyed back in March at Fort Myers. If the season were 175 games, we would have been subjected to seeing the umpteenth coming of Mike Stanton. What, Tony Fossas and Tom Burgmeier had a prior commitment?

Francona was brilliant in the aftermath of some organizational moves that weren’t. And Theo Epstein, like Cashman, atoned with a flurry of July and August on-the-fly changes that reaffirmed his impending greatness.

Truthfully, the Red Sox and Yankees shouldn’t be in the playoffs, but they are. And yes, if you’re a Royals or Tigers fan, it should infuriate you, but not for the socialist and baseball purist reasons you usually hear.

Don’t hate the players, hate the game. The big, bad metropolitan teams beat you with guys you could have picked up for a song and a dance. Deal with that.

Kalle Oakes is a staff writer. His e-mail is [email protected].