Howard Cosell famously referred to sports once as the “toy department,” suggesting that sports, like toys, are about fun and a respite from all those other times life, you know, spreads fertilizer on us.

But is there anyone else out there who finds sports sinking into the morass, thus forcing us to lose our sunny dispositions?

Take the other night, for example. I should have been singing showtunes. This is what I call the most wonderful time of the year. Playoff races percolating in baseball and the arrival of football — sweet, sweet football — as The Day’s Ned Griffen likes to say.

And then in one text — poof — I became a snarling malcontent who momentarily pondered divorcing himself from the Yankees and becoming a free agent baseball fan.

Why, you ask?

The text contained a photo of the football uniforms Notre Dame is going to wear for its Nov. 17 game at Yankee Stadium against Syracuse.

Pinstripes.

Notre Dame in pinstripes.

As Kurtz says at the end of “Heart of Darkness,” “The Horror! The Horror!”

Pinstripes across the sleeves, pants, gloves, shoes and helmet decal. The front of the jerseys read “Notre Dame” in the same cursive script the Yankees use, as well as using block numbers that also mirror Yankee uniforms.

The most iconic uniform in the world has officially been compromised. (Insert sobbing emoji here).

OK. So I accepted Notre Dame’s shamelessness long ago. If the University of Sanctimony thought it could make a buck by wearing canary yellow, its lads would come out dressed as SpongeBob.

Or maybe it’s the irony that has me chafed. Think about it: Notre Dame has worn every color except magenta over the years, while the Yankees salute the dignity of basics: pinstripes at home and grays on the road.

Bad enough we have to see that stuff. But what of our poor ears? Yankee Stadium has been an audio athenaeum over the years with the best of everything: iconic organist Eddie Layton, legendary anthem singer Robert Merrill, the elegant enunciating of Bob Sheppard and the sounds of Sinatra punctuating every win. And now? Cue the inane Notre Dame Victory March. Francis Albert will be looking down singing, “I’ll never smile again.”

Worst of all: The Stadium will be overrun by the dopey Subway Alumni, all those blubbering Notre Dame fans who never went to school there and couldn’t spell Knute Rockne if you spotted them “Knute” and “Rock.” I mean, I can deal with actual Notre Dame alums. It’s their school. But the other yahoos? Put them all on a bus to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.

Suppose, too, you are a Red Sox fan who also likes Notre Dame. How do you feel about rooting for a team wearing pinstripes? Seems to me, Notre Dame does just fine with the blue shirts and gold pants/helmets, which is a classic look. But noooooo. Where there’s a money grab, Notre Dame will take a stab.

I’ve never made it a secret that my contempt for South Bend U came in direct proportion to my rejection letter in the mail. I read it calmly one day about 30 years ago, walked upstairs, took every piece of Notre Dame garb I had and threw it on the front lawn. My dad got home from work and said, “what is all that (expletive) on the front lawn for?” I explained. He said to go pick up all the (expletive). I did. And threw it away.

So now I aspire to jokes like this:

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get as far away from Notre Dame as possible.

What do marijuana and Notre Dame have in common? They both get smoked in a bowl.

And, yes, the crowning moment of my life came when my BC Eagles cost Notre Dame a national championship in 1993.

To think, though, that my contempt had been tempered a bit in recent years until the text photo of Notre Dame in pinstripes. I suppose I’ll forgive the Yankees one day. But just in case: Anybody out there got a Red Sox hat they’re not using?

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro