MLB

Fans’ wait finally over

Grown men cried when the Yankees won it all for the first time in nine years. Flash bulbs popped, beers were spilled, hugs were exchanged, conga lines formed in Babe Ruth Plaza, and Marian Bolaji, security person manning the first-base escalator, high-fived each and every person after they came down.

But behind the bleachers, Brennan Roe, 30, of Queens, had eyes almost as red as the Phillies uniforms or the blood spilled by Derek Jeter the night he ran head first into the third-base stands for a Red Sox pop foul, or from veins that were opened up in 2004 and probably weren’t closed again until last night.

“I have seen him cry three times in 10 years,” said Roe’s wife Tara. “The first time was when Scott Brosius hit that home run in Game 4 in 2001, the second was on our wedding day and now tonight.”

Taps would run dry on River Avenue, throughout the city, no sooner than Roe’s eyes.

“We’ve had [partial] season tickets since 2001, the year after the last year we won,” he said. “I used to sit in the bleachers. That’s why I wanted to be down here for the final out.

“I was here when we blew it to the Red Sox, when the Angels beat us, when the Marlins beat us. I have waited for this for a long time.”

After nine years, what was another 40 minutes for the fans from the premium seats who gathered above the dugout for the first Yankee to appear. Phil Coke shook his champagne bottle and managed to hit outstretched tongues dry for nine years.

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BOX SCORE

There were 50,315 stories in a stadium naked with emotion last night. Game 6 tickets had rain checks, but all fear was checked, too, from that one-in-a-Ben Francisco-against-Mariano-Rivera chance that the job didn’t get done. These people were so excited to be there, many admitted to being happy when the Yankees lost Game 5.

“Next to the birth of my two kids, this would be the biggest thrill of my life,” said Toddy Meady, of Middlebury, Conn., former Royals farmhand and Yankees fan out of the closet since Kansas City let him go in 2003. “Thinking about it on the train from Manhattan, I got chills.”

He had a lot of company having little to do with game-time temperatures in the forties.

“He hasn’t slept since Saturday,” said Estelle Frank, pointing to her chiropractor-husband Robert of East Islip.

“Really, I was up at 2 this morning, had the tickets around my neck since 2:30 this afternoon,” he said. “Bought them Saturday for $500 apiece.”

If Pedro Martinez had walked into his office yesterday, unable to straighten up, begging for help, what would the chiropractor have done?

“I would have treated him,” he said after a suitable pause.

“Wouldn’t take his insurance, though. Certainly wouldn’t charge any Yankees.”

Much like Hideki Matusi had his bad knees treated free of charge by a house filled with faith healers. It occurred to Ken Scarlatelli that the last time he was at a game with so much riding was Game 7 in . . . gulp, 2004.

That’s just a bad memory now, no longer the brand of a team that had kept adding talent while seeming to have lost its championship soul.

“I don’t think this is quite like ’96,” said Tom Gavin, between high fives at the back of the bleachers. “But it’s been plenty long enough.”

jay.greenberg@nypost.com