Mike Celizic

If Braveheart were playing for the Yankees in 2008 instead of the underdog Scottish Nationalists in 1305, he’d have climbed on a table in the Yankees clubhouse and delivered a line that would resonate through time: “You can take my life, but you can’t take my Reese's peanut butter cups!”

Alas, there is no William Wallace on the Yankees and no plans for Mel Gibson to play the brave rebel who leads the team against manager Joe Girardi, who has imposed a reign of health food on his team.

No candy in the clubhouse, Girardi has decreed. And no ice cream.

It’s not just at Yankee Stadium, either. By Girardi’s orders, stadiums the Yankees will visit this year have been asked not to provide M&Ms, Dove bars, or any other sweet succulence to his Yankees.

Instead, Girardi wants granola, nuts and dried fruits for his players to snack on. My guess is there won’t even be salt on the nuts. It makes you wonder why he doesn’t go all the way and ban apple pie and motherhood.

I understand his motivation — promoting healthy choices in all things. But no chocolate? No nougat and caramel? No Heath bars? Not even a roll of LifeSavers? Heck, you can buy a candy bar in a hospital gift shop, but you can’t have one in the Yankees clubhouse. Have we all gone mad?

Girardi came to the Yankees with a reputation as something of an extremist, but this is ridiculous. We’re talking about grown men here. We’re talking about a freaking Reese's peanut butter cup. It wasn’t that long ago — within the past 20 years — that baseball clubhouses were among the last refuges from a world that was becoming obsessed with inflicting “healthy” living on everyone — by law if necessary.

Other sports have locker rooms where players come to change into and out of their game gear. Baseball has clubhouses where players come to live. They’re guy places, athletic frat houses for boys who refuse to grow up, places replete with big-screen, hi-def TVs, leather couches, game tables, card games.

Once upon a time, players arriving for work could load up on free chewing and spit tobacco to get the nicotine that kept their engines running. Next to the tobacco was a rack of gum and candy. Coffee urns dispensed a brew so strong you felt you could slice it and eat it in a sandwich. Out of sight from the public but no less readily available were amphetamines — “greenies” — for those who needed to kick-start their games.

When their work was done, the tired heroes foraged through a postgame buffet that included at least three items from the all-important grease food group. Coolers harbored all manner of soda pop and enough beer in the players’ favorite brands — Free and Free Lite — to get a fraternity house through rush week.

It wasn’t something that the American Heart Association (or your mom) was going to endorse, but when you threw in the magazine collection — heavy on hunting, cars and women who had forgotten to bring their clothing to their photo shoots – it wasn’t surprising that ballplayers liked to get to the park early and stay later than absolutely necessary. Clubhouse life was as good as it got.

And then the health police started getting involved.

The first thing to go was free tobacco for reasons that should be obvious. Then teams started to get more healthy choices in the buffets. In some clubhouses the beer also disappeared.

There were good reasons for all of the decisions. Tobacco can kill you, and so can excesses of grease. And if a player were to get drunk in the clubhouse and then get in an accident, the team could face heavy liability. The amphetamines left when baseball finally got around to banning them.

But there’s got to be a limit to this.

It’s not as if modern ballplayers are Babe Ruth wannabes who train on hot dogs, beer, cigars and babes. (Well, maybe the babes, but not the other things.) These guys work out year-round and many have nutritionists and trainers at their beck and call. Like most modern athletes, they’re supplement addicts, wolfing down amino acids and vitamins and ginseng and anything else they think might give them an edge.

Sure, you’ve got your C.C. Sabathias carrying on the weighty tradition of David Wells and other noted gourmands, but for the most part, these guys are as healthy and fit as anyone could ever want to be. A Dove bar or a bag of M&Ms is not going to hurt them, and it just might make them feel better — and therefore perform better.

Chocolate can, in fact, be very good for you. Dark chocolate is full of anti-oxidants and contains a chemical that elevates your mood. This is well-known at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Harry Potter and his posse frequently were ordered to eat lots of chocolate to help them heal after a busy day battling Dementors.

Chocolate isn’t junk food. Some would argue it’s the best food nature ever contributed to our diet, a food loaded with anti-oxidants and imbued with a mood-elevating substance called theobromine, from which comes cacao’s scientific name — theobroma, the “food of the gods.” Was ever any product of nature more aptly named?

And Girardi has banned it.

Say it ain’t so, Joe.

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