In some parallel universe, Billy Wagner also jogged in from the bullpen for the 8th inning and retired the side in order. But in that parallel universe, the other eight defensive position were occupied by something other than surplus Buffalo Bisons, and we were thinking about October instead of about April.

I'd like to live in that universe. But I don't, and so I can't escape the unhappy truth that for all that I was thrilled to see Billy return, that return is merely a footnote in a dismal season. And tonight was a microcosm of that: a sticky, vile evening in which Johan Santana looked merely competent, the bats weren't even that, and the Mets' lackluster play on the field was overshadowed by yet another kerfuffle off of it.

Gary Sheffield has played far better defense than anybody could have expected (which is to say he's been slightly below average), generated more fear at the plate than anyone could have expected (which is to say he's been just fine), and been a model citizen in the clubhouse. I understand why he's angry to be serving out the rest of his sentence on this zombie team, and truth be told, I'm kind of on his side — not because I enjoy the bellyaching of self-absorbed millionaires, but because Sheffield's continuing presence is another reason to wonder if the Mets' baseball-operations people spend their days doing Whip-Its and defacing pictures of Adam Rubin.

With the season beyond repair, why on earth would you pull Sheffield back from waivers instead of working out a deal with the Giants? (Update: see below.) Now that it's too late to get something back for him, why not release him? Either way, put Nick Evans in left for an audition, while keeping Greg's warning about September mirages firmly in mind. (As for a contract extension, ha ha ha. Sorry, Gary. Though honestly, I'm surprised Sheffield didn't get one, given Omar Minaya's love of giving 41-year-olds multiyear deals.)

Yes, Billy Wagner came back, adding another chapter to a story that's a testament to his character and toughness. That's to be saluted and celebrated. But the Mets lost, as they will continue to do with numbing regularity for the next five weeks before the merciful end. In some parallel universe, Billy is the missing piece of the juggernaut, arriving just in time to join a celebratory crushing of the faint hopes of the hated Phillies. In this universe, the best reward we can think of is that Billy might get to go somewhere else while we finish going nowhere.

Update: Next-day story (via Metsblog) claims Sheffield never asked for a contract extension, Omar didn't make a deal because he wouldn't get enough back, and the Giants were blocking a trade, not trying to make one.

AMAZIN' TUESDAY returns to Two Boots Tavern August 25 at 7:00 PM. Join Greg Prince, Dana Brand, Caryn Rose and me for a fun night of reading, eating, drinking and all things Mets baseball (Mets baseball optional). Full details here.

Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Keep in touch and join the discussion on Facebook.

I'm all for the myths and carrots that keep us going as fans in discouraging years. We deserve ideals and distractions after giving our all to a team that has given us far less than planned, projected or promised. We're the ones who invest our hopes and dreams and keep investing despite no sight of tangible payoff. Give us at least the spare change of change, right?

When the Mets have a 2009, and it's overstocked with Everyone Must Go veterans, the inclination is to approach September by calling for kids. Bring up who isn't here, bring 'em up so we can have something to anticipate. Let's at least give them a look so we can see what they can do!

Sure, why not? I'm as tired as anybody of seeing everybody we've already seen, almost none of whom has accomplished anything but get run over by stiffer, healthier competition in other uniforms. As evidenced by my five-pitch love affair with Andy Green, I'm all for testing the untested.

But let's not kid ourselves about kids. We're almost assuredly not going to see or learn anything that indicates anything about the future. It's a myth to believe someone's gonna come up here and give a clear indication about a potential role for 2010, that someone will distinguish himself and help management make clearheaded decisions about the roster realignment that lies ahead.

Nothing of a sort has happened here in ages.

Two current Mets put this reality into perspective for me, one by way of a sizzling Diamondback. When the Mets visited Arizona, we were dazzled by Trent Oeltjen, the Aussie who lashed every pitch he saw from Phoenix to Sydney. On the night he went 4-for-4 and landed on first next to a sullen, slumping Daniel Murphy, Gary and Ron noted the difference in their demeanors. Here was a kid who couldn't stop hitting or smiling standing next to a kid who could do neither.

One year earlier, I realized, that was Daniel Murphy standing on first, barely containing his glee. Jerry Manuel stuck him in the lineup and he hit. Then he hit some more. He was a sensation along the lines of Michael Phelps, except Daniel Murphy was going to win a gold medal every day for the rest of his life. After thirty big league at-bats, he was hitting .467, and we could pencil him into play…what was his position again? Didn't matter. He was Daniel Murphy. He had arrived.

Some modestly encouraging momentary sightings notwithstanding, he's been pretty much lost ever since.

We can't blame Daniel Murphy for not maintaining that .467 average (even golden boy Phelps has slumped in 2009), but Murph looms primarily as a cautionary tale against taking seriously what you see from youngsters who debut and impress in August and September. He wasn't the first, he won't be the last. The Mets, however, tend to put a lot of stock into what little good news they get out of callups this time of year. They saw a few dozen great at-bats out of Daniel Murphy, a few dozen more pretty good ones and he was on his way to being their regular leftfielder. How did that work out?

The Grand Central Parkway's jammed with broken heroes on a first-chance power drive: Mike Vail, Gregg Jefferies, Victor Diaz. They showed up late one season and they were penciled in as sure things early for next season. How did those work out? This is not to pick on phenoms for picking on phenoms' sake. If baseball were so easy, you could just dump a satchel of rookie cards on the field and watch them increase in value (if they did that anymore). But that's the point: It's not that easy. We saw spectacular things out of Vail in 1975 and Jefferies in 1988 and Diaz in 2004 and, for that matter, Murphy in 2008. Their respective 1976s, 1989s, 2005s and 2009s reminds us this time of year can be a mirage.

One of Murphy's current teammates, meanwhile, reminds us that the youngsters we're dying to see weren't being hidden away in Triple-A just to deprive us of their talents. Four Septembers ago, this blog was hankering for a sneak preview of Anderson Hernandez. Second base was a particularly black hole in 2005 — Kaz Matsui to Miguel Cairo to Marlon Anderson with a dash of Jose Offerman. What would be the harm of bringing up the kid Hernandez?

None. None at all. He came up. He flashed some leather. He didn't hit until his very last at-bat, the last hit the Mets collected as a team in 2005. Their second-to-last hit was recorded by Mike Jacobs, the Mets' late-season installation at first base, which had long since gone abandoned by the likes of Doug Mientkiewicz. I recall getting a little tingle in mid-September when we sent out our first all-1980s-born infield: Jacobs, Hernandez, Reyes, Wright. We were seeing the future develop right before our eyes.

Then we weren't. For better or worse (I'd say better), Mike Jacobs was traded for Carlos Delgado. Anderson Hernandez inherited second base in 2006 when Kaz made himself characteristically unavailable, but then Anderson — still fielding beautifully, still barely hitting — went out with a bad back and his starting days were over. Jose Valentin, the last great good surprise to happen to the Mets, took over second and Hernandez's best days were behind him. He was yo-yo'd a bit between New York and New Orleans in '07, he became a National in '08 and now he's a stopgap Met.

Could we know that in September 2005? No. Should we have worried about that? Not really. But can we suspect that every time we holler that we need to see fresh meat on the Shea/Citi grill that it's probably not going to come out well done? We can, but why ruin the surprise?

Who was the last Met to come up this time of year, make a positive impression and follow it up with a quality full first year and contribute to the Met cause over a tangible stretch of time? Maybe it's Murphy, though you could debate how much quality can be inferred from an OPS under .700 and seven homers at a so-called power position.

If we don't say it's Murphy, then we're at a loss. In the last few seasons there haven't been many opportunities for youngsters to break through on a contending team, but there's been no hint of help besides Murphy, Jacobs and Hernandez, at least among position players.

Pitchingwise, we got a taste of Jon Niese and Bobby Parnell last September, but not enough to definitively whet many appetites, though you have to credit Parnell for being a survivor to this point. In 2007, there were Willie Collazo and Carlos Muñiz, whom I still confuse for Carlos Muñiz and Willie Collazo. In 2006, there was Philip Humber, before he was thrown to the wolves (or at least the Nationals). In 2005, there was Tim Hamulack, not really a youngster, but not much of a pitcher either, as it would turn out.

Joe Hietpas had one legendary half-inning at the tailest end of 2004 (if you're not picky about what becomes a semi-legend most). Craig Brazell had his moment in the sun, finishing what Victor Diaz started in spoiling the Cubs' Wild Card run, but nothing more. Jeff Keppinger got an injury-assisted audition but had to go elsewhere to become a successful journeyman. And Heath Bell had yet to pitch his way into anybody's heart.

Earlier in this decade, there were Prentice Redman and Jason Anderson and Danny Garcia and Orber Moreno and Matt Watson, all of whom failed to last into later this decade. There was Mike Glavine, too, but not really. If the Class of August/September 2003 didn't do it for you, it wasn't because their predecessors from latter 2002 set the bar impossibly high: Raul Gonzalez, Esix Snead (his Brazellian moment as a walkoff wonder notwithstanding), Jason Middlebrook, Pat Strange and the first incarnation of Pedro Feliciano failed to change the paradigm. A whisper of Jason Phillips in 2001 was notable mostly for the Shea scoreboard operator celebrating his first major league hit by crediting it to Vance Wilson. Phillips would keep it on the down low for a while from there.

The last September Met to make an impression and stick for something resembling the long term before Murphy was Timo Perez. Perez had his stops and starts in the fall of 2000 (ahem) but he revved up long enough not only to star in two postseason series but to more or less secure an unassailable roster spot in 2001 — through mid-July anyway. It's more than could be said for Jerrod Riggan or Jorge Velandia.

No, the 2000s haven't been distinguished by their late-season callups. I don't know how different that makes these past ten years from any other period in Mets history. Occasionally you see something and it's not a mirage. Hubie Brooks hit .309 in September 1980 and, despite Joe Torre's recalcitrance, won the third base job in 1981 and registered a .307 average. Mookie Wilson struggled a bit alongside Hubie (.248), but he showed enough to stick from the day he came up. Dave Magadan's heroic cameo in 1986 (.444 in ten games, most notably three hits in the division clincher) earned him face time in 1987 — .318 behind Keith Hernandez and Howard Johnson. So there are some success stories where calling up young Mets late in the year is concerned.

It's just that they're very old.

Should that stop us from clamoring for new blood? Not at all. Clamor away. Scan the Buffalo and Binghamton rosters and choose your cause. Declare the Mets are not making the most of September unless they give some kid you've never seen but have heard good things about a shot. It's not like he can let you down any more than anybody who's already here has.

AMAZIN' TUESDAY returns to Two Boots Tavern August 25 at 7:00 PM. Join Jason Fry, Dana Brand, Caryn Rose and me for a fun night of reading, eating, drinking and all things Mets baseball (Mets baseball optional). Full details here.

Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Keep in touch and join the discussion on Facebook.

Last night Emily and I were out with friends and after dinner we all stopped into a bar somewhere in the West Village, picking our watering hole based on the fact that we could see a little lighted square of Mets game up there above the heads of the bartender and the patrons.

On the way to our table I peered at the TV and registered that there was a 4 next to the ATL, it was the fifth inning, and the Mets' score was an ominous-looking round number. Goddamn it, I muttered, then looked more closely, thinking something was off about that 0. Why, it wasn't a zero at all — it was a big, beautiful 8. The Mets had scored eight runs in the fourth and were on their way. Woo-hoo!

Tonight Emily and Joshua and I were out in Dumbo celebrating Joshua's last week of camp and the fact that after eating three years of my life, Star Wars: The Essential Atlas is finally in stores. (Yes, I am a dork of all trades.) We got home around eight and I flipped on the TV in our bedroom. There was a sweat-soaked Bobby Parnell, looking like he'd been hit by a truck. I registered that there was a 9 next to the ATL, it was the third inning, and the Mets' score was an ominous-looking round number. Fool me once, I thought, then looked more closely, hoping something was off about that 0.

Why, it certainly was a zero. The Braves had scored eight runs in the third and boy, were they ever on their way.

Perhaps the lumps taken by Parnell will add up to a learning experience: With garbage time come early, he ought to get as long a look as possible in the rotation, even though that will mean some more poundings like tonight's. And speaking of garbage time, let me ask again: Where the hell is Nick Evans? What is the possible use of getting a longer look at Gary Sheffield, Jeremy Reed and Cory Sullivan?

Perhaps Luis Castillo's latest gaffe will convince the Mets that he should be sent packing, prompting them to look for a team dumb enough to be impressed by .310 worth of little slap hits and whatever veteran experience Luis offers when he can be bothered to cover second base. (Excuse me, some other team dumb enough to be impressed by slap hits and the quality of being fucking old.) Only $14.1 million and 769 days left to go — give yourself a hand, Omar!

Perhaps there will be more games from the circling-the-bowl phase of 2009 that leave you noting some poetry of the box score. For instance, after Parnell crawled away from the wreckage, Tim Redding, Nelson Figueroa and Sean Green combined for an elegant proof of the Pythagorean Theorem of Suck: 2 IP and 2 ER for Figueroa, 3 IP and 3 ER for Redding, 1 IP and 1 ER for Green. Way to go, fellas!

Perhaps … you know what, I can't grasp for any more straws. Perhaps this season will hurry up and end. It's horrible to want that, but then tonight was pretty horrible, too.

AMAZIN' TUESDAY returns to Two Boots Tavern August 25 at 7:00 PM. Join the two of us, Dana Brand and Caryn Rose for a fun night of reading, eating, drinking and all things Mets baseball (Mets baseball optional). Full details here.

Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Keep in touch and join the discussion on Facebook.

Sunday night, while waiting for the season premiere of Mad Men, I tuned into the rain-delayed start of the ESPN game, Phillies at Braves. A ball took a weird hop over Adam LaRoche's head in the top of the first and I reflexively cheered because it meant trouble for the Braves. When I realized the ball was struck by Shane Victorino and thus benefited the Phillies, I reflexively booed. A moment later, a Chase Utley liner was converted into a double play. I cheered the unfortunate turn of events for Philadelphia. I booed the help it gave Atlanta.

Maybe Don Draper — á la the “Maidenform” episode — could have devised a campaign to sell me on spending another 8½ innings choosing between two evils (“Chipper and Chase — Two Sides of the Same Vermin”), but otherwise, continuing to watch this game was going to give me Schadenfreude whiplash.

The Braves finished hosting the Phillies and now we have them both on our dance card this week. Atlanta arrived at Citi Field first and I can report with confidence that I still hate them, every bit as much as I hated them in the heyday of those nifty “Rocker Sucks Cox” t-shirts and every bit as much as I came to hate the Phillies in 2007 and 2008 and, if memory serves from when we were still sort of in it this year, 2009. The Phillie hatred has been more applicable at the end of this decade but the Brave hatred is classic, stylish, sleek…it's the 1962 Coupe de Ville Don buys in “The Gold Violin“. You can't beat a classic.

But you can sure stick it to the Braves. You can stick it to them all night every night. Failing that, you can stick it to them like the Mets did in the fourth inning Tuesday night. Oh, it was classic, all right. It brought back some fine half-innings from a not always so fine rivalry.

Let's stroll Memory Lane — I hear they just extended it!

September 29, 1999, Bottom of the Fourth

Trailing 2-1 in one of the most “must” games they've ever played, the Mets start nicking Greg Maddux. Darryl Hamilton singles. Roger Cedeño (when we still deemed Roger sterling) singles. Rey Ordoñez singles infield-style, loading the bases. Al Leiter, who presumably couldn't hit Maddux if he were playing Strat-O-Matic, bloops a single to center, tying the game. Future Hall of Famer Rickey Henderson tucks one through the right side, scoring two more. Edgardo Alfonzo — Fonzie, to you — coolly slips one to left. Leiter is held at third. Henderson's on second. Fonzie's on first. John Olerud then slams Maddux's jukebox for four runs. Aaaayyyy! The Mets are ahead 8-2 on seven consecutive base hits. One more single (Mike Piazza's) eliminates Maddux. Robin Ventura singles off Kevin McGlinchy for not the last time in 1999 to make it 7 runs on 9 hits. The Mets live another night and then some.

June 30, 2000, Bottom of the Eighth

Oh, you know this one by heart (you voted it Shea's eighth-greatest moment), but what's the fun of doing a greatest hits medley without brushing off the favorites? Here we very enthusiastically go again: Mets down 8-1 and all but out of it on what is about to be the most explosive Fireworks Night in human history. Derek Bell sounds the alarm with a single off Don Wengert. Fonzie flies out. Piazza singles Bell to third and moves to second on a bad throw by Rafael Furcal, who can't make enough bad throws for my taste. Ventura grounds out to second, scoring Bell, sending Mike to third. So we're within six with one on and two out. Todd Zeile singles home Piazza to get us within five. Jay Payton singles Zeile to second. Wengert disappears and Kerry Ligtenberg materializes. He is not in control of the situation, however: a walk to Benny Agbayani to load the bases; a walk to Mark Johnson to bring us within four; a walk to Melvin Mora to bring us within three. Exit Ligtenberg, enter Mulholland. Mulholland drives the Mets within two by walking Bell. All that was prelude for this, the chorus: On two consecutive swings, Fonzie singles home two, Piazza homers home three and the Mets lead 11-8. That's 10 runs on 6 hits, one error and, what, about a million walks? They all look line drives in the boxscore and they always will.

April 6, 2002, Top of the Ninth

This one's more of a rarity. Maybe it sounds familiar, maybe it's new to you. I think you'll like it, though. Let me cue it up and…listen to this: It's 2-2 at Terrible Turner when Brave closer John Smoltz enters to face Jay Payton. Jay triples. Rey singles, again in the infield, so on first it's Rey and on third it's Jay, but you doesn't have to call me Johnson. Joe McEwing strikes out, but Cedeño singles home Payton and Robbie Alomar, during that brief period when he was considered a Met boon, singles home Ordoñez. The Mets have a 4-2 lead. Not enough, right? Fine. Smoltz balks, moving Roger to third, Roberto to second. He strikes out Mark Johnson (who you does have to call Johnson). But Vance Wilson doubles the two R's home to make it 6-2. Fonzie, always in the middle of these things, draws an intentional walk. The immortal McKay Christensen singles to load the bases. Smoltz, struggling but left to fend for himself, walks Payton to make it 7-2 Mets. Bobby Cox finally notices what's transpiring and replaces Smoltz with Aaron Small. Small makes Ordoñez (a bases-clearing double) and McEwing (a two-base hit that sends Rey-Rey home) both look pretty big. There'd be a wild pitch and two more walks, but Mark Johnson, more Saluga than slugger at this point, would leave the bases loaded by striking out looking, limiting us to an 11-2 lead. Still, a pretty good half-inning's work for the Mets: 9 runs, 8 hits and a sense that 2002 would be our year. (Two out of three ain't bad.)

July 29, 2006, Top of the Sixth

We stay in Atlanta to observe the passing of an era. The score is tied at three, and Tim Hudson's getting by, retiring Julio Franco to start the inning. But he walks David Wright, gives up a line drive single to Cliff Floyd, wild pitches them forward a base apiece and is forced to intentionally walk Jose Valentin. Now the fun starts: Endy Chavez singles home Wright and Floyd, taking second on the throw; Orlando Hernandez singles home Valentin and Chavez, taking second on the throw. Yup, El Duque's on second. Jose Reyes's deep fly ball doesn't move the needle, but that's OK. Hudson, like Maddux in '99 and Smoltz in '00, remains moundbound despite the nine miles of bad road he has paved. After walking Paul Lo Duca, however, Cox removes him in favor of Chad Paronto. Chad Paronto proves not the answer once Carlos Beltran plus bat adds up to a three-run bomb that puts the Mets ahead 10-3. Franco tries to keep the wheel spinning with a single to center, but a third out inevitably follows. The Mets spark up 7 runs on 5 hits while Atlanta burns.

August 18, 2009, Bottom of the Fourth

Philadelphia's regrettable ascendancy likely means this half-inning, unlike the previous four recounted, involves no eventual division winner. The Mets are done for, but the Braves cling to Wild Card hopes. Their cling gathers static, however, when the Mets, behind 4-0, loosen up and begin to play some Citi Field pinball. The guest of dishonor this time is Derek Lowe, who we allegedly wanted instead of Oliver Perez last winter. Funny how the alternative no longer seems desirable to the reality, even if the reality is Oliver Perez. Let's see now: Angel Pagan singles to short. Luis Castillo singles to right. Gary Sheffield, going the other way for a change, doubles to right, driving them both home. Daniel Murphy moves Sheff to third on a grounder to second. Jeff Francoeur goes deep to right with a double (the Citi Field version of going deep) to score Sheffield. Fernando Tatis singles to score the former Brave who has seen the light by becoming a reasonably hot-hitting Met. Omir Santos singles Tatis to third. Anderson Hernandez, here mostly for his ability to breathe and not fall down, singles Tatis home and moves Santos to second. Somewhere in there, the Mets take the lead. Ollie fails at bunting the two runners over, but succeeds at singling. The bases are loaded for Angel Pagan, who raps into what would have been a double play had Angel not been flying toward first. Perez is out at second but Angel's safe, Hernandez is on third and Santos scores. Angel keeps the inning interesting by stealing second. Then Castillo makes the inning downright fascinating when he drives both baserunners home with another single. Sheffield doubles the usual way, to left, but a little too hard to score Luis. We'll have to settle for 8 runs on a club record 10 hits en route to a 9-4 victory.

If you're scoring at home, that's 41 runs on 36 hits across five classic half-innings. That's scoring even Don Draper would envy.

AMAZIN' TUESDAY returns to Two Boots Tavern August 25 at 7:00 PM. Join Jason Fry, Dana Brand, Caryn Rose and me for a fun night of reading, eating, drinking and all things Mets baseball (Mets baseball optional). Full details here.

Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Keep in touch and join the discussion on Facebook.

And if your interests veer to a galaxy long ago and far away, then for the love of Han Solo, let somebody who has literally charted the route show you the way there.

UPDATE: THIRD AMAZIN' TUESDAY IS SEPTEMBER 15, 7:00 PM, WITH GREG PRINCE, JON SPRINGER, JEFF PEARLMAN AND JOHN COPPINGER, TWO BOOTS TAVERN. CURRENT INFO HERE.

So you've given up on the season. That doesn't mean Tuesdays will be any less Amazin' when you take part in the next AMAZIN' TUESDAY.

One week from tomorrow night — August 25 at 7:00 PM while the Mets begin to pay the Marlins back for all the mishegas they caused us the last two Septembers — comes the second of three AMAZIN' TUESDAYS. If you were at the first one — or the legendary METSTOCK festival that inspired it — you'll definitely want to be a part of this. If you haven't made the scene before, then by all means, do a Bob Barker and…Come On Down!

To refresh your memory (no doubt besotted by losses and injuries since last month), Two Boots Tavern owner Phil Hartman invites all Mets fans to his place on the Lower East Side for a monthly gathering that features a unique lineup of “literary readings, game watching, consciousness raising, pizza eating, Rheingold drinking, cocktail shaking, Yankee baiting, memorabilia gawking and seven steps support as needed.”

Like we couldn't all use a drink right about now.

Your hosts for the evening: The two bloggers who bring you Faith and Fear in Flushing: Greg Prince (that's me) and Jason Fry (you know him, too). We'll be reading aloud, sharing trade secrets, showing off some rare Metsiana and happily greeting one and all. Joining us will be two of our distinguished blolleagues: Dana Brand, author of the newly released The Last Days of Shea and Caryn Rose, she who puts the “grr” in Metsgrrl. We're thrilled to share the stage with two such fine writers and we think you'll enjoy all they bring to the Two Boots table.

Pizza, alcohol, Phil's incredible sense of decor, the Mets game on a panoply of hi-def screens and a stream of stories from a quartet of Mets fans who remain Mets fans despite the continuation of 2009. Quite honestly, if you don't attend AMAZIN' TUESDAY, we're going to have to list you as questionable.

Another Amazin' Tuesday is slated for September 15, but don't tempt mathematical elimination. See you next week.

Two Boots Tavern is at 384 Grand St., between Norfolk and Suffolk. You can take the F to Delancey; the J, M or Z to Essex; or the B or D to Grand. Phone: 212/228-8685. For my fellow Long Islanders, Two Boots is plenty accessible via the F train, which you pick up a block from Penn Station on 34th; e-mail me if you have transportation concerns.

If the Mets win in a forest and I don't hear the Giants fall, did it still happen?

Sure it did. But the Mets winning in a walkoff usually creates a great big resonant sound in my Sunday as long as I'm near a TV or a radio carrying the broadcast. And I was — I was inches from the clock radio whose alarm I presumably semi-consciously shut off prior to gametime, which then left me undisturbed for more than the next two hours and forty-six minutes. When I at last opened my eyes and saw the time, I thought that unless Steve Trachsel was pitching, Ed Sudol was umpiring or the forecast for rain-free skies was 100% wrong, I was spit out of luck.

Indeed, I flicked on my radio at the unappointed hour to hear tell of a strong Mike Pelfrey start, a decisive Daniel Murphy ninth-inning single and — tell me I'm not dreaming — a Luis Castillo blast to the second deck. It had all happened in the past tense. The Mets weren't winning. The Mets had won…had.

It had happened without me.

How strange. Not strange missing a Mets game. Even your faithful correspondent is occasionally (OK, rarely) otherwise engaged for a day here or a few hours there, but I wasn't out of town this time and I wasn't on assignment. I was just snoozing the Sunday afternoon away, a hazard of being a chronic night owl in a lark's world and using Sunday to “catch up” on the sleep I don't get the preceding six days of any given week. This has been known to happen in the offseason, with a 1 o'clock kickoff the victim, but so what? That's football. I can sleep through football and not miss a minute of it. But a Mets game? I slept through a Mets game? Not just nodded off during a dreary Mets game but completely napped all nine innings of what turned out to be, reportedly, a fine Mets game?

Oh dear. When I came to, I felt like the guest alcoholic character in some preachy videotaped sitcom's Very Special Episode, the one whose drinking is all in good fun in the first act Until Someone Gets Hurt in the second act (cue commercial). Except I almost never drink and nobody got hurt; I just like to be awake when everybody else isn't, sometimes not fully appreciating that biology insists I can't also be awake when everybody else is because everybody has to sleep sometime. Yet to sleep through an entire Mets win because my innate nocturnal nature sometimes gets the best of my daytime initiative, as if the nighttime version of me is Joel Piñeiro and the daylight version of me is the Mets lineup trying to hit Joel Piñeiro…

To drowsily if soberly paraphrase Bob Welch, 1:10 comes early.

You're likely not terribly concerned with what hours I keep, but we all hope David Wright is up and about without difficulty whenever he chooses. Post-concussion syndrome sounds bad and, after the Ryan Church experience, it's probably exactly that. No good came from the Mets' handling of Church's head while he was here but maybe it now represents a precautionary tale that will inform the Mets' attitude toward Wright's recovery. That is to say, leave him on the Disabled List — no matter how overpopulated it seems — as long as it takes. Don't let David stagger his way into the starting lineup because he says he's ready (and one assumes he fancies himself ready to rock right now). Hand him a remote control and tell him to enjoy watching his teammates from home.

And if he somehow misses nine consecutive innings, that's fine. It hasn't exactly been the kind of season that keeps one bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for 162 games.

Word from those awake and watching the Giants' telecast is the Faith and Fear shirt was picked up by enemy cameras and its content discussed. Let the world know what San Franciscans have just found about, and order your apparently full set of retired numbers here.