The ball hadn’t yet landed in the Texas night before the anti-Aaron Judge musings hit social media. Poor grammar and bad spelling aside, a loose translation of the bloviating would be “nice work, Aaron, but you’re still 11 behind Barry Bonds.”

Some responded rather venomously, unaware this was more amusing than bemusing, if for no other reason than the premise was not anti-Judge. It was anti-Yankee. Put it this way: If Judge blasted No. 62 wearing the uniform of the Arizona Diamondbacks, half of the trolls wouldn’t know Barry Bonds from Barry Goldwater, thus making their anti-Yankee agenda hold less water than a shot glass.

Besides, it’s a fairly hilarious presumption, how in your distaste for the Pinstripes, you would overlook how Bonds’ head swelled to the size of a passenger’s side air bag, but because he “never failed a test” somehow did any of it legitimately. If that’s the hill you choose to die on, well, free country. But you may want the number of Byles Memorial Home for the services.

Barry Bonds vs. Aaron Judge is an insult to Aaron Judge, who just lived out the new American allegory – 24/7 news coverage until everyone is pretty well sick of it – and managed to maintain daily doses of dignity that should have all of us taking notes.

The story isn’t the homers as much as the way Judge has been a beacon for how decorum may be on life support, but isn’t dead yet. Judge didn’t welcome the media spotlight, but understood it came with the meal, like fries with the Big Mac. His grace ought to be the most noteworthy tentacle to all this, particularly when weighed against Bonds’ petulance in 2001. Bonds acted like his every questioner just stole his car.

All the youngins out there might have learned a lesson here: If you wonder how to act in a certain situation, just look at whatever Aaron Judge happens to the doing at the time.

And then there is Judge’s on-field decorum, which perhaps offends the segment of the population that spends more time dreaming up ways to celebrate than honing their craft. You’ll note that Judge’s reaction to home run No. 62 wasn’t a bat flip/pimp job, but simply bowing his head down and running around the bases.

It didn’t merely show some respect for the other team, but offered the subtle message that, well, I’ve done this before and I intend to do it again.

It’s not a perilous leap to suggest that others would have admired their work, flipped the bat, gyrated, stared and then taken more time to run around the bases than your basic trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles generally requires.

I know, I know. Calmly running around the bases is boring and only what old people espouse. I am guilty. And damn proud of it.

The anti-Yankee sentiment is hardly new. Heck, Derek Jeter’s decency, five rings and 3,465 hits weren’t enough to quell the dullards from suggesting he was “average” defensively. I’m guessing those five Gold Gloves he won didn’t come from the Easter Bunny. But then, it’s the same hill to die on.

Judge, of similar comportment to The Captain, gets the same treatment. Not because of his demeanor or his accomplishments, but because of the laundry he wears.

We all have our favorite teams and players. We all hate watch the teams and players we can’t stand. And anti-Yankee rhetoric is easy to understand and half the fun of sports anyway. But let me suggest that you can blather around the water cooler or bellow on social media till you hyperventilate. It’s really not what you spew to others. It’s what you tell yourself.

And if you allow your hatred of a piece of laundry to muddle your appreciation for a guy who made baseball history and never called attention to himself once, your reward ought to be a transatlantic flight seated next to Barry Bonds himself. Bet that’ll be a hoot.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro