There’s no real way to sugar coat this. I’m just going to say it and get everything out in the open.

I have no problem with the New York Yankees.

I should hate the Yankees with every fiber of my being. Yet somehow I can’t. As a Minnesota Twins fan, the Yankees should be public enemy No. 1. But they’re not. And I don’t know why.

The Twins are the David to the Yankees’ Goliath. Except in this case David never wins. As a fan of a team with a $50 million payroll, I should hate the organization that can spend as much on one player as the Twins do on its entire major league roster.

I’ve tried to hate the Yankees. But I can’t.

It doesn’t help matters that the team I hate most in baseball — the Boston Red Sox — are the Yankees’ chief rival and division opponent. I’ve tried to dislike both. It hasn’t worked yet.

I really don’t know why I hate the Sox so much either. Maybe it’s because I see former Sox pitcher Pedro Martinez as a thug. Or because Manny Ramirez gives about 40 percent every game.

I have always, and will always be a Twins fan. Yet I grew up surrounded by the Yankees.

My grandfather became hooked on the Bronx Bombers during their glory years, back in the days of Gehrig and Ruth. He recalls sitting in grade school and listening to baseball on the radio, hearing some of the Yankee’s greatest postseason moments over the air waves.

He stayed a fan through Mantle, Berra and DiMaggio, cheering for his pinstriped heroes.

As a kid, I remember hearing stories of the Yankees, and even though I didn’t realize it, somehow Yankee blood got into my veins. So here I sit today, loving something I should hate.

It doesn’t help matters that New York keeps buying some of my favorite players.

Rewind the tape three years, and when I checked the box scores each night I would look to see how Alex Rodriguez, Gary Sheffield and Randy Johnson had performed.

Now all three are wearing pinstripes.

Look farther around the diamond. Derek Jeter will go down as one of the game’s greatest shortstops. Jeter comes to the park and gives 100 percent each day, regardless of whether it’s the seventh game of the World Series or an April game against the White Sox.

Bernie Williams and Jorge Posada follow in Jeter’s footsteps. They bring their hard hats each game, go about their business and don’t look for individual glory.

Those are three of the greatest gentlemen in all of baseball, perfect ambassadors for their sport.

Baseball’s reputation is on shaky footing, and those three Yankee veterans show what is still good in their sport. They play for the love of the game, and they play to win.

As wrong as it may sound, when the Yankees reach the postseason for the 11th consecutive season, I won’t be disappointed.