BLOOD MONEY TALKS IN GOLF, OUR CITY ACHES FOR ANOTHER TITLE TEAM & CHEERS TO OUR PAL TOM ...

Once more, we need the great quote from the late, great George Young on the subject of all these golfers who took blood money from the Saudis:

“When they say it’s not about the money, it’s always about the money.”

The other day Graeme McDowell said that what the Saudi government did to Jamal Khashoggi was “reprehensible.”

Then McDowell added, “But we are proud to help Saudi if they want to use golf to get to where they want to be ...” Sorry.

There’s no buts, butthead. You’re helping provide cover for a murderous regime.

No ifs, ands or buts about it.

By the way?

Of course, the Saudis hired George W. Bush’s old flack for weapons of mass destruction, Ari Fleischer, to moderate that first press conference for them in London.

Fleischer would run into a burning building if he thought somebody had dropped some money inside.

Maybe Phil Mickelson, who got paid the most blood money, thinks this won’t stick to him.

It will.

Him winning the PGA at 50 seems like it happened 50 years ago.

My pal Stanton wonders what Ranger fans know about living with James Dolan that might give Knicks fans some hope.

Quin Snyder should already be on the Knicks radar.

Who drew up the Mets’ recent schedule, the rest of the National League East?

Man, if you haven’t read the fiction of Jordan Harper, starting with “She Rode Shotgun,” you ought to.

The roar from the Rangers over the past month just shows you how much this city is aching for another title. In anything.

Tom Biersdorfer’s last day at the Daily News was Friday.

The good news is that he’s staying in the business, at a time when the business needs all the good editors it can get.

But it’s bad news for us, because Tom is one of the best and smartest and caring desk guys with whom I ever worked, in all my years at this paper.

Newsday is as lucky to get him as we are unlucky to lose him.

I was reminded the other night, before I went to see the amazing Hugh Jackman and the equally amazing Sutton Foster in “The Music Man” (one of the great Broadway nights I’ve ever experienced), how happy I am that Gallagher’s is still right there on W. 52nd.

When we were finished with dinner, Dean Poll, who now owns the joint, took us upstairs to the function room where I feel as if I attended a hundred boxing press conferences in the old days.

They’ve moved the bar from its original location.

But, truly, the room looked the same to me, full of magic and memories, the walls lined with Bill Gallo cartoons and Ron Galella black-and-white photographs.

And the very best part, at least for me?

As we were walking back downstairs, on our way around the corner to the theater, there was a picture of the young

Pete Hamill.

Again: One more Gallagher’s memory.

The place, which has only been around since 1927, is still full of them.

They’re a side order with the steaks.