If things had gone according to plan for the Yankees -- three up and three down in the bottom of the ninth on Sunday -- New York City would have hosted its fourth straight victory parade on Wednesday afternoon.

But just because the Yankees didn't win, that doesn't mean they don't deserve a parade.

So at the appointed hour -- call it noonish -- we donned our Yankee caps and took up our homemade "Yankees Rule! They're Still Champs!" sign and headed to Columbus Circle, the scheduled starting point for this year's parade.

Now when we say "we" what we mean is "I," since only one of us cared enough to march. In fact, no one cared. Down Broadway from 59th to 51st streets, not one Yankee fan showed any sign of solidarity as we passed, our cardboard banner held high.

In fact, we couldn't find any Yankee fans at all. For the past month, a plague of Yankee caps has dotted the sidewalks like, well, pigeon droppings. But now, not even three days later -- none of 'em. We saw a Pirates cap, two Mets caps, and even an Expos cap -- but the closest thing to a Yankees lid was a hot-dog vendor's red ski hat with a white NY on the front.

"Hey, are you a Yankee fan?" we asked.

"No," he said.

Clearly, we were working the wrong side of the street. So we crossed it, at 50th, and what a difference! Not only was the sun shining, but there, lo and behold, a sidewalk peddler was hawking a picture of the 2001 AL Champion Yankees.

At last, some merchandise for the adoring throngs who probably would have come out to cheer for their beloved Yanks.

Our enthusiasm was short-lived, as a pedestrian walked up and inquired how much an adjacent photo cost -- a portrait of Ichiro Suzuki.

As we approached 45th Street, a sizeable gaggle of young girls stood expectantly behind police barricades outside the Viacom Building, home of MTV Studios. "Hoping to catch a glimpse of Derek Jeter?" we inquired of one, who appeared to be in a wedding veil.

"Is he gonna be on?" she asked back.

"On what?" we wondered.

"TRL!" she said, mercifully leaving off the "duh."

Dejected, we crossed back toward the tapering island of concrete that separates southbound Seventh Avenue from east-creeping Broadway, only to get yelled at by a traffic cop. "Wait for the light," she said, even though no cars were coming.

As if, we thought to ourself. This ain't Phoenix.

We finally arrived at 42nd and Broadway, the heart of Times Square, and the spot at which our victory rally was to have taken place. Nobody there -- at least nobody who's anybody. We checked the big ticker that barks out the news in scrolling light, hoping for some hint of Yankee support, some recognition of the joy that might have been.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, or maybe from across the street, a man in a Yankee cap crosses towards us. We hold up our sign and give a thumbs-up.

"Way to go, Yankee fan!" we say, and rotate our palm for a high five.

He doesn't even smile.

Back up on the ticker, the scroll heralds the news: "Mike Bloomberg Elected Mayor of New York City."

Mike Bloomberg, from Massachusetts.

Mike Bloomberg, a Red Sox fan.

The party's over.

E-mail Brendan O'Connor at brendan.oconnor@espnmag.com.