When you live in New York City for any period of time, albeit one brief summer’s stay, you… When you live in New York City for any period of time, albeit one brief summer’s stay, you begin to turn on your hometown.

Good ‘ole Pittsburgh, in my case.

If it weren’t for my family, friends and 23 little credits to sweep up before next spring, I think I’d be gone for good. Neither Pittsburgh’s avenues nor the skyscrapers stretch much.

Downtown’s always dead. The city I say I love looks pretty weak. It all seems to turn that miserable, familiar shade of gray.

Especially now that it’s mid-summer – the time every year when the Pittsburgh sun shines everywhere but a small plot of land on the North Shore between Federal Street and Mazeroski Way.

July — the darkest, coldest month inside PNC Park.

I’m a Pirates fan. I know the deal.

We all do. Trick us before the All-Star break that this team might (might!) be able to win. And when that year’s Midsummer Classic is through, tank it. The ballpark’s whole finest-in-the-land gimmick is old by now, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by the way John Van Benschoten’s head just snapped around to check out the skyline, because that’s where his last pitch is going.

Watching winning (or even competitive) baseball through the summer, if you’ve never experienced it, and that’s to say that you haven’t been to a game anywhere outside of Pittsburgh from July on since 1993, is like eating ice cream compared to dog crap. The fans are into the game. Hey, they’re there for the game, not to tailgate into the fifth inning and then leave in the seventh to go to the bar.

So for me this summer, Pittsburgh might not look so bad were it not for the Yankees and that game against the hated Red Sox on July 5. Three friends and I got tickets. The stadium was packed. The rivals were bitter. The fans were obnoxious, and I loved it. The Yankees won, 2-1, when Mariano Rivera struck out Julio Lugo with the bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth.

It wasn’t just that game, though. It’s the entire culture surrounding a winning team chuck full o’ stars in the Big Apple.

The Yankees are exciting. The Pirates are dull. Alex Rodriguez? Steamy gossip surrounding him and Madonna. Derek Jeter? Dating whatever ridiculously hot actress or singer he hasn’t yet. The Pirates’ latest gossip? Hahahahahaha!

The Yankees continue to carry the winning tradition – they’ve now won four straight (as of Monday) since the All-Star break and are in the thick of the American League playoff race – and the history. Losers of 5-of-6 as of Monday and steaming ahead to a record 16th-straight season of failure, the Pirates have a winning tradition that is history.

As for PNC Park? Looks can only go so far. The finest ballpark in the United States houses its antithesis, as far as ball clubs go, and the 19,360 that show up on an average night are a testament as to why.

The Penguins drew nearly as many fans this past season, and PNC Park’s capacity is more than double that of Mellon Arena. More than 52,000 come to see the Yankees on a nightly basis in The House That Ruth Built, while PNC Park remains the House That McClatchy Built.

Oh, and the three highest-attended Pirates games this year were, take a guess, when the Yankees were in town.

That Yankees series, even though broken up by rain, had the most excitement since the All-Star Game in 2006. This year’s All-Star Game was, not by chance, held in Yankee Stadium in its 86th and final year. The aura surrounding the game and the electric Home Run Derby was dubbed nothing short of magical. It was a celebration of baseball’s most historically dominant team and the men who made it that way.

Now remember when the same All-Star Game left Pittsburgh two years ago. Many people saw the city for the first time since steel and discovered it’s no longer cloaked in smog. It was a great week in every measure for Pittsburgh. Yet an underlying theme, after the stars had left, was how Pittsburgh deserves a winning baseball team and why the Pirates can’t deliver.

The why gets lost after so many years. It’s hard to believe in something when you’ve never known anything other than the opposite.

This summer I lived the opposite. And it’s going to be tough to give it up.

At least until football season.