Let me state right up front that I’m not wild about the Angels. Why?

* Their manager whines a lot.

* The name “Scioscia” is too hard to spell with any consistency and leaves me puzzled.

* The team is forever associated with “small ball,” as if they invented the hit-and-run, the bunt and the stolen base. In reality, it’s just that they have some smallish players.

But not tonight. This time the Yanks were the 7-4 victors, and laughter rang out all over the Empire.

AJ was shaky out of the gate, giving up a triple to Figgy (not to be confused with the fruit) and a solo shot to Napoli (not to be confused with the city of Naples or the Italian dessert beloved by Phil Rizzuto). Then he got it together and shut down the red-shirted ones.

(There’s so much red when we play the Angels that my eyes burn.)

What I especially loved about this game was the Yankees’ offense. For the third night in a row, we kept battling back. Down 3-2 in the fourth, Jeter came up with one of his clutch, inside-out singles to right.

Bobby Abreu, whose RBIs I miss but whose immobility in right field I don’t, bobbled the ball, allowing Swisher and Pena to score and put the Yankees ahead.

But it was in the eighth when we really spanked the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

Cano lined one to right that Abreu might have caught if he’d actually bent over. Posada’s ground-rule double came next, followed by Swisher’s intentional walk (good one, Soscia or Sosha or whatever it is), followed by Melky’s single.

(Poor Gardner. He’s so screwed right now.)

When Pena’s double scored Posada and Swisher, that was it for the Halos. Coke and Mo finished them off and that was that. We beat them. We pitched well and Posada nailed a couple of base runners and the hits came in bunches.

But, of course, it was the Magic Pen that was ultimately responsible for the Yankees’ latest reversal of fortune. I rewarded it after the game by showering it with diamond rings and nestling it in Yankees satin. Nothing’s too good for the Magic Pen at this point. Nothing.