Mike Celizic

George M. Steinbrenner III did not attend the World Series. The news was reported but received little comment as his Yankees celebrated their 27th championship, and the first since 2000.

His players, though, were unanimous in what they said about him: They love their ailing owner, and this one was for “Mr. Steinbrenner,” who, they will have us believe, is the greatest owner who ever lived.

It is an astonishing transformation. The man who was once the most reviled — and celebrated — owner in sports is a man as much beloved in his absence as he was detested in his constant presence.

Time, it would appear, really does heal all wounds. The same magic that made Ted Williams an honored old curmudgeon and George Foreman a beloved pitchman has turned Steinbrenner into a cuddly codger.

It should make you feel good. If there is hope for Steinbrenner, there is hope for everyone. Who knows, the day might come where Donald Trump is celebrated for his humble empathy and David Hasselhof for his calm sobriety.

Folks who were around a generation ago, when Steinbrenner’s Bronx Zoo was restoring the Yankees to the pinnacle of baseball, thought The Boss would be an avuncular hero a day after the United States became energy independent.

Back in the day when Steinbrenner was the most engaged — and least reasonable — owner in sports, you never heard his players talking about how much they loved him. They might say they respected him for his fierce desire to win and his unfailing willingness to throw large wads at cash at them, but love never entered the conversation.

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Those were the days when Billy Martin got fired as manager for remarking of his star player, Reggie Jackson, and his owner, “One’s a born liar, and the other’s convicted.”

Ouch.

In those days, Steinbrenner was known as The Boss, The Mad Shipbuilder, George III, Gen. Von Steingrabber, Mount St. Steinbrenner and other epithets that weren’t nearly as complimentary. He was erratic, mercurial, often mean-spirited, petty, tyrannical. The tabloids loved him. So did the fans. But not his players and not most of the people who worked for him. In those days, Steinbrenner once fired an office worker for getting a lunch order wrong. He went through press secretaries like Octomom goes through diapers.

Steinbrenner would call reporters to deliver vicious indictments of player and managers — then ask that he be referred to as an anonymous source. Whenever the team hit a bump, it was guaranteed that Steinbrenner would migrate from his owner’s box to the nearby press box, where he’d stand in the back, just in case any writers wanted to jot down a few observations he had about his team.

"His favorite line is, ‘I will never have a heart attack. I give them,’ ” former Yankees general manager Bob Watson told ESPN Classic for a biography of Steinbrenner.

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By the mid-1980s, covering the Yankees had changed from the most coveted assignment in sports to the journalistic equivalent of the Bataan Death March. Writers couldn’t afford to be away from the team for a minute, lest they miss the latest eruption of Mount St. Steinbrenner.