This post has been updated to reflect that it was indeed Patterson, not Freel, who tried to bat after Ross. Original post is in strikethrough below that, lest anyone think I'm pulling a fast one.

When a team bats out of order, my first instinct is to grin at the novelty of it. My second instinct is to hide behind the couch. Because this is the string theory of baseball rules — I bet Bobby Valentine and Jayson Stark understand it, but beyond them you can count the number of people on Earth who do on the fingers of that one hand you let get a little too close to the combine that unfortunate summer on the farm.

Oh, and the late Leonard Koppett understood it, too. Which is why, when a team bats out of order, I go for Koppett's The New Thinking Fan's Guide to Baseball (earlier editions are without the New). Starting on page 364 you'll find the only sane explanation of how this works that I've ever read.

The key point, as set down by Koppett: The correct batter, at any moment, is the one listed immediately after the last who completed a legal turn at bat. That's it. No exceptions.

Two secondary but critical points: “Legal” has nothing to with what number “hole” was supposed to bat. And once the team in the field pitches to a hitter, throws to a base, etc., anything done before becomes legal. It gets a bit crazy, but the spirit of the thing is that an out-of-order penalty begins and ends with a single batter, instead of having penalties stack up and result in a cascade of outs.

So. Jeff Keppinger made the final out of the 8th (K'd by Joe Smith in a confrontation that I hope sends Jorge Sosa to Never-Never Land once a roster move must be made). After Keppinger the correct hitter was Corey Patterson, occupying the spot initially occupied by Paul Bako, then kept warm by Jared Burton (a contender for the Spiezio Award for dopey-looking facial hair) and Jeremy Affeldt before it became his. Patterson's job, as far as the rules are concerned, was to hit after Keppinger. David Ross had entered the game along with Burton in the bottom of the 6th. His job was to hit after Burton — who, through substitutions, became Affeldt and then Patterson. So the correct bottom of the order for the Reds evolved from Keppinger/Bako/Cueto (beginning of the game) to Keppinger/Bako/Bray (bottom of the 5th), then Keppinger/Burton/Ross (bottom of the 6th), then Keppinger/Affeldt/Ross (bottom of the 7th), then Keppinger/Patterson/Ross (bottom of the 8th). Confusing, but the screwup was Ross's — he should have known that whomever he followed in the batting order, it wasn't Keppinger.

So here's the rub. When Ross flied out in the spot that rightly belonged to Patterson, it didn't mean anything immediately. (In fact, the umpire isn't allowed to point out that a team has hit out of order. And if the Reds had realized their mistake during Ross's at-bat, they could have sent Patterson up to inherit the count without penalty.) When the Mets protested before throwing a pitch to Patterson, Patterson was out and Ross was the correct hitter again (Patterson having completed a legal turn at-bat, admittedly of a decidedly odd nature), again with one out in the ninth. (Oh, and Ross's flyout? Never happened — it's the Armin Tanzarian of at-bats.)

Where it gets goofy is that it was Patterson, not Ryan Freel, who tried to bat after Ross — meaning the Reds were probably never going to figure out what had gone wrong. And that's where the Mets missed an opportunity — not to automatically record a second out (that's not possible), but to effectively invoke one if needed. It's a subtle distinction, but an important one.

If Feliciano had then thrown a pitch to Patterson, Ross's at-bat would have been legalized — there'd have been one out in the ninth, on the now-official flyout. If the Reds had merely skipped over Patterson and Freel was at the plate, that would have been the end of it. But Patterson was at the plate in the spot that belonged to Freel. If Willie had protested after a pitch to Patterson, as he seemed to think he should have after the game, he would have gained nothing — Ross's out would have stood and Freel would have been sent up to hit, inheriting Patterson's count. (In fact, I'd rather face Ross, Ross and Freel than Ross, Freel and Votto.)

So what it seems Willie should have done — and it's not fair to criticize him for not doing so, since this is so insane — is note the Reds' mistake and keep quiet. He would have had a free out to play with until the Reds figured out what had happened, which they probably wouldn't have done.

Ross has made the first out, hitting when Patterson was supposed to hit. One way or another — a Ross flyout or a Patterson putout by catcher — you've got that out and it's not going away. Once you pitch to Patterson, the Ross AB is legalized and the flyout stands. If Patterson then completed the at-bat and reached base, the Mets could have brought the mistake to the ump's attention, Freel would have been called out (he's supposed to hit after the now-legal Ross) and the Mets would have faced Votto with two away and everything settled.

If Patterson had completed the AB and made an out, the Mets could have stayed quiet and faced Freel with two away. Once a pitch was thrown to Freel, Patterson's AB would have been legalized — which would mean Freel was improperly hitting in Ross's spot. If Freel had made an out, the game would have been over and maybe nobody would have noticed.

OK, but there's one wrinkle left. If Freel had reached base, the Mets could have appealed before a pitch to Votto. Ross would have been called out (again, he hits after Patterson) and the game would have ended on a batting out-of-order appeal, with Ross somehow making two outs (flyout and putout by catcher for batting out of order) in an inning that only saw three official ABs. In which case we would have never stopped talking about this game. Ever.

(And if I've got that wrong, I promise there will be no further update. Because I'm already losing my mind about this one.)

Oh, and by the way: I've said some hard things about Willie Randolph in the last week, but let's compare him to Dusty Baker. The Reds have committed to three years of paying a manager who can't even get his players to bat in the correct order. Be strong, Cincinnati — 2010 is coming, but not quickly enough.

Old post below, when I gave the Reds too much credit and thought Freel was trying to hit after Ross:

When a team bats out of order, my first instinct is to grin at the novelty of it. My second instinct is to hide behind the couch. Because this is the string theory of baseball rules — I bet Bobby Valentine and Jayson Stark understand it, but beyond them you can count the number of people on Earth who do on the fingers of that one hand you let get a little too close to the combine that unfortunate summer on the farm.

Oh, and the late Leonard Koppett understood it, too. Which is why, when a team bats out of order, I go for Koppett's The New Thinking Fan's Guide to Baseball (earlier editions are without the New). Starting on page 364 you'll find the only sane explanation of how this works that I've ever read.

The key point, as set down by Koppett: The correct batter, at any moment, is the one listed immediately after the last who completed a legal turn at bat. That's it. No exceptions.

Two secondary but critical points: “Legal” has nothing to with what number “hole” was supposed to bat. And once the team in the field pitches to a hitter, throws to a base, etc., anything done before becomes legal.

So. Jeff Keppinger made the final out of the 8th (K'd by Joe Smith in a confrontation that I hope sends Jorge Sosa to Never-Never Land once a roster move must be made). After Keppinger the correct hitter was Corey Patterson, occupying the spot initially occupied by Paul Bako, then kept warm by Jared Burton (a contender for the Spiezio Award for dopey-looking facial hair) and Jeremy Affeldt before it became his. Patterson's job, as far as the rules are concerned, was to hit after Keppinger. David Ross had entered the game along with Burton in the bottom of the 6th. His job was to hit after Burton — who, through substitutions, became Affeldt and then Patterson. So the correct bottom of the order for the Reds evolved from Keppinger/Bako/Cueto (beginning of the game) to Keppinger/Bako/Bray (bottom of the 5th), then Keppinger/Burton/Ross (bottom of the 6th), then Keppinger/Affeldt/Ross (bottom of the 7th), then Keppinger/Patterson/Ross (bottom of the 8th). What I gather happened to the Reds was that when David Weathers and Patterson came in in the 8th, they got confused about who was hitting sixth and who was hitting eighth. How the answer became “neither of us” is one for those two gentlemen and Dusty Baker to explain. Ross, for his part, should have known that whomever he followed in the batting order, it wasn't Keppinger.

So here's the rub. When Ross flied out in the spot that rightly belonged to Patterson, it didn't mean anything immediately. (In fact, the umpire isn't allowed to point out that a team has hit out of order. And if the Reds had realized their mistake during Ross's at-bat, they could have sent Patterson up to inherit the count without penalty.) If Feliciano had then thrown a pitch to Ryan Freel, Ross's at-bat would have been legalized — one out in the ninth, Freel up. When Willie protested before that point, Patterson was out and Ross was the correct hitter again (Patterson having completed a legal turn at-bat, admittedly of a decidedly odd nature), again with one out in the ninth. (Oh, and Ross's flyout? Never happened — it's the Armin Tanzarian of at-bats.)

If I followed the top of the ninth properly and am interpreting Koppett correctly (and if I'm not on either score, my fault), there was no advantage to waiting for something else to happen. Ross's at-bat would have been legal once a pitch was thrown to Freel, and the Reds would only have faced rules jeopardy if someone other than Joey Votto had followed Freel. (Which is by no means impossible, considering the above.) In fact, the Mets got the best situation possible: You'd rather face Ross, Ross and Freel (what happened) than Patterson, Ross and Freel (what should have happened) or Ross, Freel and Votto (what would have happened if Willie had made no protest).

The key to the rule is that out-of-order penalties begin and end with a single batter, instead of stacking up and resulting in a cascade of outs. Which, considering how long it took to sort out this afternoon's mess, is a blessing — if Willie had come out after a first pitch to Freel, in hopes of somehow getting two outs, the Mets and Reds and the umpires might still be out there.

Oh, and by the way: I've said some hard things about Willie Randolph in the last week, but let's compare him to Dusty Baker. The Reds have committed to three years of paying a manager who can't even get his players to bat in the correct order. Be strong, Cincinnati — 2010 is coming, but not quickly enough.

The more Gary and Keith patted Mike Pelfrey on the back and/or the head tonight — and the more their sentiments were echoed by Willie's commendation of Pelfrey's “baby steps” in the postgame gaggle — the more I recalled Dana Carvey doing his impression of the first George Bush, specifically when the 41st president would praise Dan Quayle for “still gaining acceptance” as his perpetually underdone VP.

It wouldn't be prudent to pick on Pelfrey, for he authored the 2008 Mets equivalent of a masterpiece in the night half of the Saturday doubleheader: six innings, 106 pitches, two runs. It was encouraging that he squirmed out of trouble in the first (on the radio, Wayne and Eddie noted Ramon Castro darted to the mound to talk him through his troubles, an area where Raul Casanova hadn't been asserting himself) and that he settled into an effective enough groove against a hot-hitting lineup that sure knows how to work counts. This loss was not Pelfrey's by any means. The win, despite the unraveling that sucked the competitive air out of the eighth and ninth, was all Arroyo's. He mastered the Mets, and not for the first time.

Pelfrey, though…is it impatient to note that Mike Pelfrey just started his 23rd Major League game and we're still supposed to be beside ourselves with joy that he made it through six innings and pitched well enough to win? Perhaps if all 23 starts had come in the same rookie year — last Met rookie to start 30 games in one season was Jae Seo in 2003; before him, Doc and Darling in 1984 — I could recognize genuine progress. Even if we accept that this is not just the third season in which he's pitched in the bigs, but the third season in which he's pitched in the pros, it still seems like slow going, especially considering the next time he throws six or more innings in two consecutive starts uninterrupted by a minor league stint will be his first. Every start seems to be a fresh one for Pelfrey. He's learning to pitch with his tongue out. Or in. Or with a mouthpiece. Or without. Or to Schneider. Or to Casanova. Or to Castro. Or with something resembling confidence. And aren't college pitchers supposed to come along quickly?

I admit I'm historically spoiled when it comes to fastballing righties and accelerated learning curves. Tom Seaver did a one-year hitch in Jacksonville and then, at 22, turned into the Franchise. Dwight Gooden was barely two years out of Hillsborough High when he was making National Leaguers look like sophomores at Chamberlain, Plant and King. It took Jae Seo a while, but Jae Seo wasn't the Mets' No. 1 draft pick, Jae Seo wasn't the third pitcher chosen overall and Jae Seo wasn't 6'-7″. Jae Seo wasn't supposed to be the first homegrown Met ace since…geez, when did the last homegrown ace actually sprout here?

Does it matter? Santana from Minnesota is obviously the man and Maine from Baltimore was kidnapped young and Pedro, citizen of the world, will maybe be Pedroesque from June on, though you'd be nuts to count on it. If Pelfrey can keep giving the Mets six competent innings, and if the Mets don't face Bronson Arroyo too often, won't that be enough? Even with the bullpen working three innings almost every night — sure would be sweet if Ollie could limit their load Sunday — won't that be reasonable to accept at this stage of the kid's career?

It is only 23 starts and he is only 24.

For all I know my son may grow up to be president, a beloved philanthropist, or a Hollywood star. But as I told Greg a couple of weeks ago, in a tone of voice a bit less guilty than it probably should have been, I don't think I could be prouder of him than I've been when he knows 2-2 is a neutral count, or that that ball up the gap was a two-run double, or other foundation blocks of baseball knowledge. Being a dad is pretty great most all the time, but it's particularly fun when I get to pass along some lessons about the game I love.

And it's even better when baseball cooperates.

Today was one of those typical weekend days when baseball was the counterpart to a flurry of household activities — by the middle innings of Game 1, we had three TVs on and two radios playing. (Remember the ad a couple of years back with that guy watching soccer on TVs everywhere in the house? Obviously the ad was pointing out how smart and prepared that guy was. Right?) Joshua had cheered on Santana faithfully, and Emily had pointed out that Johan (typically pronounced “Yo-ho” by Joshua) didn't have his best stuff, but sometimes you learned more about a pitcher then than you did when all his pitches were working — witness Johan today vs., say, Oliver Perez recently. (In our house, fathers have no monopoly on baseball lessons.)

In the bottom of the 6th, Joshua thought the game pretty well in hand with the Mets up 6-3, runners on second and third and one out with Jose Reyes at the plate. I pointed out this was the time that good teams really bear down — that a three-run lead in the 6th can get pecked away to a one-run lead in the 8th before you know it, leaving you a bad relief outing away from disaster. Joshua was a bit puzzled when Mom and Dad weren't thrilled to see Reyes draw a walk. Luis Castillo, we explained, doesn't have enough power to be a reliable source of sacrifice flies (in fact, in 1,431 big-league games he has a ludicrous 17 of them), meaning if he didn't get the job done, the Mets could easily be turned aside on a double play or needing a hit to get that extra run. Good teams convert here, was the lesson. They tack on runs instead of giving their opponents a chance to get back into the game.

Joshua knows a 2-1 pitch is a hitter's count — and we all watched Castillo get a meatball on 2-1 and foul it back, causing consternation in the Bernstein-Fry household. The kid found that a bit unfair. That was the best pitch he was likely to see, we explained — and sure enough, Mike Lincoln fanned him on a called third strike. Which left it to David Wright, searching for a two-out hit. Lincoln went to 3-0 on Wright, and I counseled Joshua (by now paying pretty good attention for a five-year-old) that Wright should be selective, that he had three good pitches to work with and no need to be overanxious. Lincoln's next pitch was a strike, but one on the inside edge of the plate, which David would have rolled out to the shortstop if he'd offered at. Nicely done. Lincoln's next pitch was a ball, forcing in a run. Good at-bat for Wright.

But here came the real lesson: Beltran up to the plate. Bases loaded, two out. Now, I told Joshua, Beltran should look for a strike on that first pitch, and hit it hard if it proved to his liking. I know most all of us know this, but remember the kid is five — it's a bit puzzling how one hitter should be selective but the next hitter should be aggressive. Lincoln went to 2-1 on Castillo and walked in a run against Wright, I explained. He's going to want to get ahead of Beltran really badly — so badly that he may well be too concerned with throwing a strike, and not concerned enough with making a good pitch.

Well, you know the rest. Beltran nailed Lincoln's first pitch for a bases-clearing triple. 10-3 Mets, and for a moment Joshua was persuaded that his father wasn't, in fact, a complete idiot.

Someday it won't be that big a deal that Johan Santana won a home start for the New York Mets. Today it kind of was.

The matter was never in much doubt, but Johan stretched Shea's patience just the tiniest bit there in the sixth as he couldn't quite close the Reds out for the longest time. How long? Thirty-four pitches long. Felt longer.

Who's counting? Well, I just did, with ESPN's help. I only noticed because Johan has yet to lay down one of those Santana masterpieces like the one he dropped off at Shea as a visitor last June (of which we saw the highlights every single day throughout the winter) and, somehow, had not earned a victory here as a Met. I also noticed because as the end of his day approached, the Mets' conclusion was nowhere in sight. In the afternoon portion of a day-night doubleheader, you love that you've got your ace going in the opener. You'd love it more if he could give you seven, eight or — dare we ask for it? — nine innings.

Johan gritted his teeth and got through six. A win is a win (we say that a lot lately) for the team and for the pitcher, but on a minimum 18-inning day, with Mike Pelfrey starting and doing who knows what in a few hours, it would have been swell…sweller…had Santana breezed through the Reds.

So he didn't. So it took ten pitches to strike out David Ross and six more to fan Corey Patterson. By then nobody thought Johan was coming back for the seventh. By then it was an achievement to save the bullpen in the sixth. And he did. And he won. So good for Johan.

Very good for Carlos Beltran in Game One, too. Perhaps Carlos B. has earned enough equity with the ticketed insta-critics so that he has escaped the sort of unconstructive feedback that has fallen on the heads of several of his teammates. Maybe the fans who are quick to boo Delgado and Heilman (and Schoeneweis and Castillo) remember Carlos Beltran was as big a get in 2005 as Johan Santana is in 2008 and are cutting him the slack now that they didn't then. Maybe they remember that the Carlos Beltran of 2006 was MVP-caliber and the 2007 version rode himself hard to the very end. But Carlos Beltran was batting .218 coming into today's first game. Carlos Beltran was having as bad a season as Carlos Delgado.

He's not having a bad season anymore. He looks a great deal like the original zillion-dollar signee and he's playing like he's determined to stay on everybody's good side. A dozen points have been added to his average since this morning and five steaks have been tossed onto his RBI pile. Everybody hit, but Beltran belted. Made a real nice catch as well. Beltran, like Santana, never had a Shea honeymoon, but he's having a pretty placid marriage. May he and Johan continue to make themselves at home.

8: Sunday, September 14 vs Braves

Welcome back to the Countdown Like It Oughta Be. Today's removal of the number 8 is brought to you by Queens Bruised Produce. When you need a soft cantaloupe, an overripe tomato or a brown banana, discover Queens Bruised Produce. It is with QBP's compliments that ushers are passing out gift bags of not-so-fresh fruit and vegetables to every row in every section.

Ladies and gentlemen, today marks the final scheduled visit to Shea Stadium by the Atlanta Braves, the other half of the longest and most fiercely held rivalry ever played out in this ballpark. The Mets and Braves came together in the shotgun marriage of realignment in 1994 and for a decade, the phrase “Braves at Mets” has indicated the National League East's version of Family Feud is about to reignite. Welcome the same people over to your house so many times a year across so many years and you begin to think you're related to them…and what's that they say about how you can't choose your relatives?

Whether it was a grand slam single, a ten-run inning or something as beautifully mundane as the return of baseball to a city that had no idea how much it wished to take seriously something as allegedly insignificant as a game, intense competition between the New York Mets and the Atlanta Braves has left its mark on this site. The Braves have been tough foes, but unforgettable ones as well. You will not be able to remember Shea Stadium without thinking of them sooner or later. It is in that spirit we acknowledge the role they have played in the history of Shea.

To remove number 8 from the right field wall — a peeling, once again, brought to you by Queens Bruised Produce…everybody get a bag? — we have on hand the following Brave icons:

Today's home plate umpire, Angel Hernandez.

Folks, may I remind you the contents of your bags of spoiled produce are to be used at your personal discretion.

The hitting coach of the Atlanta Braves, a former National League MVP and the clutch-hitting third baseman on the 1987 St. Louis Cardinals, Terry Pendleton.

Really, you don't have to open those bags right now…unless you choose to.

Three-time National League Manager of the Year honoree, skipper of the Braves throughout their divisional dynasty, Bobby Cox.

You will see that the fruits and vegetables provided by Queens Bruised Produce aren't really what you'd call edible.

The mastermind of those great Braves pitching staffs for so many years, now rocking his Saturdays away as a Fox baseball analyst, Leo Mazzone.

Though bruised produce is not suitable for framing, it may be suitable for flinging.

The 1996 National League Cy Young award winner and quite possibly the best starter-closer the senior circuit has ever seen, he made his first Major League appearance right here in 1988, beating the Mets handily, and continues to battle your team successfully to this day, John Smoltz.

May we remind you that in the scheme of things, one forfeit is only one game against the backdrop of what feels like a lifetime's frustration.

One of the hardest-throwing, plainest-speaking lefty relievers to trot to the Shea Stadium mound — and a staunch advocate of diversity in public transportation ridership — welcome back the latter-day Georgia Peach, John Rocker.

Attention all Shea Stadium security personnel: you are dismissed for the day. Repeat: all Shea Stadium security personnel may abandon their posts.

And finally, leading these Atlanta Braves legends to their date with Shea destiny, two lifelong members of the Brave organization, recognized by Mets fans everywhere for their contributions to this rivalry — they'd be devastated if you forgot them now — the outstanding switch-hitter whose son bears a name near and dear to us all, Larry Wayne Chipper Jones, and the southpaw 300-game winner…

Ladies and gentlemen, today's game has been cancelled because of a water main break attributed to hell freezing over. The New York Mets thank you for attending, please be sure to forcefully empty your bags of bruised produce as you exit.

Number 9 was revealed here.

Off-day today, and I know the two of you probably have some things to discuss. Is Ramon Castro ready to come back? Who goes if Matt Wise returns? (I vote Sosa, though that's not why I'm writing to you.) How are Pedro and El Duque doing? There are probably a bunch of things to do with Citi Field, too. Busy day, in other words. So I hate to intrude.

But I think you need to get moving on one other thing today: finding a manager to replace Willie Randolph.

It's an unhappy business, using even a small public platform like this one to campaign for a man to be separated from his work. It gives me no joy; in fact, it makes me slightly sick to my stomach. But as a lifelong Met fan who's seen so many seasons come and go, I feel it's come to this: Willie has to be fired, and sooner rather than later. I say it reluctantly and unhappily, because I think he's a good man who's doing the best he can. But I say it nonetheless.

No, I'm not mollified by that 12-1 pounding inflicted on the Dodgers, by a 3-3 road trip against pretty good competition, or by the fact that for all the Mets' sputtering, they're two good days from first place. Nor am I held back by the fact that just 20% of the 2008 season is in the books.

One stat says it all, and it's this: 71-71. That's the Mets' record since last Memorial Day.

Fred and Jeff, if you think the Mets are truly a .500 team, then Willie's probably no better or worse than anybody else who could manage this team, and you ought to keep him around. But if you think this roster you're paying $137 million ought to be better than .500, then it's high time to try and figure out what's gone wrong. There are ups and downs to any season, hot streaks and cold streaks, most all of them statistical fluctuations you can make go away by shifting your start points and end points. 71-71, though, is different. That's 142 games, the better part of a full season. It's signal, not noise.

I think Willie did a pretty good job with the Mets in 2005 and 2006. He was calm and disciplined, even-keeled in good times and bad. He served ably as a lightning rod for a young David Wright, keeping the media from putting too much pressure on his shoulders. He got results from a young Jose Reyes by teaching him to be aggressive within the strike zone. He did a lot right, and in 2006 he presided over one of your franchise's finest seasons, a glorious ride finally undone by injuries within a single line drive of the World Series.

But 2007 was an unqualified disaster, one of our most bitterly disappointing years — and the price is still being paid in the boos that rain down from the stands at the slightest provocation. I didn't think that was enough for Willie to lose his job — it's always struck me as unfair that we're counseled to be patient with young players learning on the job, yet expect managers to arrive fully formed, able to execute game strategy and manage a roster over a marathon season and police the lives of 25 rich, sheltered young men. Willie gave every indication that he would be different in 2008, that this time if he saw complacency in his clubhouse he would step in and put things right instead of waiting for his veterans to do it. He appeared to have learned a hard lesson, and to be ready to apply that lesson. Given that, it seemed like basic fairness to let him continue.

But things are no different. The 2008 Mets look very much like the post-Memorial Day 2007 Mets — they play far too many listless games in which they look like they're punching the clock, and all too often they turn in a true stinker marred by inexcusable mental mistakes. And Willie keeps saying the same things he said in 2007 — that they need to get a little rhythm, that his players are veterans who know how to win, that he has faith in them. The Mets have been in the same rhythm for nearly a calendar year, and it's a bad one. Too many of their veterans have forgotten how to win, or show little evidence that they care. His faith in them, while admirable, is misplaced.

Most damaging of all is that we're hearing the same excuses we heard in 2007 — that the Mets will be fine once El Duque or Pedro or Moises Alou returns to shore up the rotation or add punch to the lineup and brighten up the clubhouse. This has bred a dreadful passivity in the Mets, who have far too much young talent to wait around for old, fragile players to change the team's fortunes. (Not to mention that it's a poor strategy to rely on the aged and the infirm for anything.)

Does Willie deserve more time — say, enough for a full 162-game sample since last Memorial Day? Not if you have trouble imagining — as I do — that the Mets can pull off the kind of hot streak they'd need to make their record respectable. If the Mets go 15-5 over their next 20, they'd be 86-76 over their last 162 games. Beyond the fact that 86-76 isn't playoff material, do either of you really believe this team will go 15-5? If you don't, then it seems to me that waiting will just give Willie's replacement a steeper hill to climb.

What does the new manager need to do? For starters, engage his players more — and do so publicly. He should encourage David Wright to stop his endearing but self-defeating insistence on not raising his voice because he's only 25. Wright is already the best position player on this team and will be its captain within a couple of years — his voice should be heard in the clubhouse, and not just in the game stories of the reporters to whom he's invariably kind. He should look for a new way to arrest Jose Reyes' depressing regression from electric player who has some frustrating days to frustrating player who has some electric days. He should encourage Carlos Beltran to come further out of his shell, whether it's encouraging Reyes to dance or telling Jimmy Rollins off. He should make sure Billy Wagner's isn't the only voice that sounds tired of losing.

A possibility I keep returning to is Larry Bowa, no shrinking violet but also a guy who's been a mentor to young players (Robinson Cano sure seems to miss him) and shouldn't be blamed for being tuned out by a cancerous Phillies clubhouse that Patton would have had trouble motivating. Would the Mets tire of Bowa's high-strung ways? Undoubtedly, and perhaps fairly quickly. But he's the opposite of Willie, and for a time that 180-degree change in demeanor would register with a team that needs a good shake-up. One of the unhappy truths of baseball is that nearly every manager eventually stops being effective in leading his team — it's as if players naturally build up an immunity to his ways and his style, and need the antidote to those ways and that style. RIght now the Mets need a high-energy, aggressive type — whether it's Bowa or Wally Backman or Bobby Valentine or some name you have in mind that fits the bill.

It's not fair that too many of the current Mets have quit playing for Willie, and yet he's the one to take the fall. But that's an old unfairness in baseball. I wish it were otherwise, but Willie's time has passed. You need to ask him to step aside, before the 2008 Mets' time is gone as well.

Respectfully submitted,

Jason

Friday Update: Dan Graziano of the Star-Ledger is thinking along similar lines, though he and I differ on what kind of manager is needed. Added bonuses: He has some excellent psychological insights into Willie and why he's the way he is, and of course an actual from-the-clubhouse view.

One of the unfortunate tics that accompanies blogging a baseball season is the daily desire to detect patterns, trends and leading indicators of what a given game means. So what does winning a 12-1 romp portend for the 2008 New York Mets?

Damned if I know, damned if I care.

We just kicked the rear end of a Penny so convincingly that an imprint of the Lincoln Memorial should be on the soles of our shoes. We just slipped a mickey into Joe Torre's green tea. We just won 12-1.

What does it mean for the 2008 Mets? It means that for one day, they rule, they totally rule. Clinically speaking, you can't win 12-1 and not rule. You can't win 12-1 and be subject to any serious questioning of your immediate future. Your immediate future belongs to another day. Relax, you just won 12-1. What does it say about the Mets' future? It says the present is perfect. Tonight, live in the present.

Who contributed? Everybody. Everybody contributed. John Maine contributed, coming within two outs of a complete game, falling three baserunners shy of a shutout. Last I checked, pitching 8-1/3 innings and allowing eleven fewer runs than your team scored counts for a win. So he didn't go the distance and he didn't get the shutout. He won. John Maine's the player of the game.

As is every single New York Met who played. Somebody grab a baseball and slice it eleven ways. Hell, cut it into 25 portions. How do we know somebody who didn't pitch or play didn't say something encouraging that made all or some of the difference? It's a good night to hand out benefits of the doubt as well. You've got nothing but players of the game when you win 12-1.

Which we just did. Feels good to know that, if nothing else.

The Church mostly giveth. The Church, as it turns out, occasionally taketh away.

Ryan Church is this team's OVP, its Only Valuable Player. OK, Wright, too, but David is mostly good this season, not stupendous. Nobody's stupendous on the Mets, not David Wright, not Johan Santana, not nobody. But Ryan Church has been as close as it gets.

Yet he's imperfect. Ain't we all, but he can be glaringly if well-meaningly so, no more than on Tuesday night when his imperfections outweighed his wonderfulness just enough to nudge matters in the wrong direction. Church's goodness was embodied by his first-inning home run and can generally be found in his refusal not so much to lose but to let the game get the best of him. At heart, he's one of those cartoon kittens who runs and runs, unaware that some bigger cat is sticking his paw out, thus halting the kitten's forward progress even as his feet keep moving. That's the indefatigable part of Ryan Church with which we've all become smitten. Church strikes me as someone who's figured out New York, who's figured out that the last thing you can look like here is you're not trying. Ryan Church is always trying.

But sometimes he tries a little too hard. Never mind, for now, the fly ball he didn't catch and didn't know was trickling away still in play while Blake DeWitt's total bases counter clicked uncomfortably from 5 to 6. Go back several hours from the bottom of the fifth to the top of the second, the frame when the Mets were positioned to get their laugher on.

Pagan made it to first when Kuroda couldn't handle his bunt. Schneider…well, it doesn't take a genius to recognize Brian Schneider is all-hit, no field (no jukebox has ever contained as many singles as Brian Schneider's bat). Luis Castillo momentarily freed himself from Jace Purgatory — the dark and humid place where players my partner decides he doesn't like are condemned to linger for years — with a rare base hit that scored Angel. Figgy bunted and was Paganically gifted by Kuroda, loading the bases for Reyes who delivered Schneider with a hit single of his own.

What a setup! Nobody out, everybody on, our hottest hitter up, our best player behind him. A three-run lead about to…

…stay at three.

Churchy (as I've been calling him through the TV) so wanted to make New York happy — or perhaps keep New York off his back — that he couldn't resist lunging at ball three. Perhaps he was thinking Kuroda would throw away yet a third ball hit practically right to him, but no. The easiest 1-2-3 double play you'll ever see ensued. Wright, enduring a night at the plate as bad as the night in the field he was enjoying was good, struck out. The tide had inexorably turned. As in that inning when Jair Jurrjens was walking Mets like crazy yet was never knocked out, the other team was about to survive what little fight the Mets had in them.

We've noticed mostly the good in Ryan Church because he's been mostly good. But he is prone to overanxiousness at the worst times. There was a game early in the season (against Atlanta I want to say, though 2008 is rapidly devolving into a blur of missed opportunities) when Ryan couldn't help himself and swung at an offering that was dirtbound. A Met rally went to its premature reward.

Hard to get on Church for stuff like that, even as it lurks beneath the surface of a .314 batting average and an .887 OPS. He has been the human rally by his own self for more than a month. He has been the offense on too many nights. And he doesn't let walls get in the way of his instincts even if his sense of where he and the ball were simultaneously didn't work out in Dodger Stadium. Only a collapse-scarred curmudgeon would note that if we are going to give a few underperforming Mets the benefit of the doubt that they won't be .219 or .216 hitters the whole summer long, it's quite possible that Ryan Church won't be all-world all year.

But while he is, he makes watching the Mets…what's that thing that provides a sensation that isn't painful or disturbing?…a joy.