Game Seven is dead. Long live Game One.
Ohmigod, it’s so good to have one of these  to pore over again. Three new Mets (lifetime count: 802). Four not yet overworked relievers (to paraphrase Madeline Albright, what’s the point of having this superb bullpen that you’re always talking about if we can’t use it?). Four double plays (Valentin’s middle name must be Flynn). Three RBI for the once and again No. 2 hitter (Lo Duca doesn’t look a ballplayer but he sure does play like one). Two ribeyes for Cleanup Daddy Delgado (who needs Spring Training?). And 291 for the Met we call Glavo (without a second thought).
One and oh. One and oh and it’s all good. A fabulous throw from Beltran (or Bel-TRAH!n as Jon Miller reinvented him). A sliding catch from allegedly ancient Alou (I’ve got to turn the sound down on ESPN next time). Even two hits from the allegedly decrepit Shawn Green. So far, so crepit.
Listening to Mets Extra beforehand, I heard nothing but roars and cheers which led to nothing but bile and disgust. But then 8:10 or thereabouts rolled around and I didn’t care about the 2006 Cardinals anymore. The 2007 Cardinals I will care about for two more games and not again ’til June. The 2007 Mets have my attention. They don’t suck. Not yet anyway.
The long night of winter is over. Nothing sucks.