As Saturday morning is traditionally Schoolhouse Rock time, 61 is a magic number — our magic number. Any combination of Mets wins and somebody else's losses adding up to 61 makes us division champs.

The Phillies have the fewest losses in the East among teams that aren't us, so they're the still the bottom half of this magic coupling. But I see they're no longer in second place. They're a percentage point (actually one one-thousandth of a percentage point…decimals never get their due in a pennant race) behind our old frienemies the Atlanta Braves. Each of them trails us by 13 games. The Marlins are 14 back, with the same number of losses as the Braves, but two fewer wins.

In any event, 61 is a magic number.

Let's not kid ourselves: There is no division derby anymore. We've been saying that here for a solid month and the big picture is still solid. We're enjoying our largest lead of the season as we speak and it's in no practical danger of being obliterated.

Those years when legendary chokers were blowing monumental margins have generally been a bit misstated. Take your 1978 Boston Red Sox, often reported as having given up a 14-game lead. While, yes, they did lead the Yankees by that much, it's not like it was a 14-game shadow over the field. At their apogee, the Red Sox were nine games up on the second-place Brewers; the Yankees were five behind the Brewers in fourth place. Think of it as Milwaukee blowing a five-game lead for second, and then Boston blowing a 7-1/2-game lead to the Yankees, which is where that team was in relation to the Red Sox when it passed Milwaukee.

Does that make sense? It always has to me because Boston never commanded its world by 14 games. If they had, then you'd be talking an otherworldly collapse, like that of the '51 Dodgers, whose lead with 48 games remaining in its season, was 13 games over the second-place Giants. (We're up 13 with 72 to play, which theoretically gives our opponents more time to catch us, but also gives us more time to further distance ourselves from them.) The difference between those Giants and today's NL East pretenders is that the Giants, even before their historic 37-7 roll, were a good team. They were eight games over .500.

This is important. The great comeback teams, like the '51 Giants, have to come back from somewhere plausible. Likewise, the '69 Mets, even when stuck in third place, down 10 to the Cubs on August 13, were eleven games over. The '78 Yankees, at their 14-games-back nadir on July 19, still sported a winning record: 48-42. The Braves and Phillies are each eight games under .500.

It's highly unlikely we'll be the '64 Phillies (up 6-1/2 with 12 to play) or the '95 Angels (ahead by six with 16 to go) because those teams didn't have 13-games lead at this stage of their seasons. That's the beauty of a comfortable cushion over subpar opponents like those in our rearview mirror.

Need another example? Look back only one year to the 2005 White Sox. They nearly blew a monster lead in the AL Central…nearly. Chicago led Cleveland by 15 on August 1. The Indians whittled that down to 1-1/2 on September 22. Good thing, then, that Chicago had built as large a lead as it did because the Tribe wasn't able to decrease it any further. They had a good scare, but the White Sox overcame it — and a sluggish 17-22 stretch — to gear up for a postseason pretty much unmatched in recent years for its combination of dominance (11-1) and drama.

That's worth mentioning since the Sox' blah final lap supposedly doomed them for October. I actually heard a ninny radio host on an obscure sports station the other day insist that the Mets have to pillage their way to 100 wins to set themselves up for a championship run, 'cause 99 isn't going to do it. 99 wins is exactly what the White Sox wound up with in 2005…but who remembers that? It was so long ago.

One month ago today, the Mets finished their never-to-be forgotten 9-1 stampede through Los Angeles, Arizona and Philadelphia. We came home 19 over and 8-1/2 up. Today we are 18 over and 13 up. We're fine.

But we knew that. What we don't know — I sure as heck don't — is who we're against.

Right now, the only two rivals that really matter are the day's opponent and the injury bug, and not necessarily in that order. The perennial pitfalls and pratfalls of Wrigley Field notwithstanding, we have a good chance of handling the Cubs for the next two days. Bumps and bruises, however, continue to linger. Reyes needn't rush. Beltran can take a day or two. Delgado probably ought to do the same. Floyd? Stop attracting baseballs. Pedro? Come back soon, only to prove that you can.

I assume nothing, but let's assume we hew to the statistical models laid out above and let's assume the Goodyear Blimp doesn't emergency-land on David Wright's head. Who, then, are we against?

The standings are no guide. When the All-Star break arrived, the Dodgers loomed as our first-round opponent. Two days since the break ended, the Reds have taken over the Wild Card. Are we to make a choice between these two? Should we be cheering for some lesser-known, less-tested quantity like the Rockies to surge into the best second-place record in the league? Do we want to avoid travel outside our time zone and pull for Cincy? Is it important that Houston lose so we don't fall into the Bermuda Triangle of Oswalt, Pettitte and Clemens? Are we haunted by Bill Hall and Carlos Lee and bats like theirs or would Milwaukee make relatively easy pickin's?

Come to think of it, should we not worry who the opponent in 2-1/2 months will be and instead turn our attention to maintaining a bulge over the Central-topping Cardinals so we secure intraleague home-field advantage? We're up 3-1/2 on resurgent St. Louis and 5-1/2 ahead of San Diego, first in the West.

Not that we ever control anything on the chess board save for our own moves, but play at this level, there's no ordinary venue. It's surely different from our 2005 stance of simply wishing ill on everybody ahead of us — one team's very like another when your head's down over your pieces, brother — and it's a far and happy cry from those non-contending years where we might pull for some team on a whim because it won't matter to us way down where we reside. All we can do, I suppose, is BTO this thing: Take care of business every day.

But there are other games going on and I do pay attention to them even if I don't know what to do with them.

Last night, I took in the end of the Phillies-Giants game. San Francisco had come from behind and led by two in the ninth. Well, good, I thought. We can extend our lead over Philadelphia. But is Philadelphia really a concern anymore? I couldn't root for Philadelphia, but should I be concerned that the Giants, still very much a factor in the Wild Card scrum (a half-game back), might be a pain come October? And who's closing for San Francisco but Armando Benitez? Do I have the luxury of nursing an ancient grudge where he's concerned? I decided I didn't. The Giants held on. Yea, I guess.

One more West Coast game remained and it was a doozy. The Braves and Padres traded proverbial punches all night. An early check had Atlanta up by four. San Diego stormed back, taking a one-run edge into the ninth. Hating the Braves and never trusting them, even double-digits out and divisionally dead in the ground, I don't want them winning a single contest the rest of the way. But, Hell's Bells, look who's coming in to attempt the save for the Petco Pooches…the biggest All-Star dog of them all, Trevor Hoffman!

For a dozen years, I've sailed through life not thinking about Trevor Hoffman much and all, and when I have, it's been vaguely positive. Since Tuesday night, he's Public Enemy No. 2 for costing us his league's champion home-field in the World Series. So I'm looking at the always-hated Braves and the suddenly hated Hoffman and I don't know who I like less. Aesthetics aside, I don't know what it means for us. Are the Padres, with Peavy and Young and Piazza and potential 11 o'clock starts, a team we want no part of up the road? Can the Braves, their lineup still damp with all the names that make your stomach churn, possibly right themselves into a Wild Card? And do you want to see Turner Field in October?

As has been the case many times a night this summer, there was plenty to root against, but nobody to root for. Thus, I just sat back. I got a kick out of Hoffman blowing yet another save, turning San Diego's 9-8 lead into a 9-11 deficit. But then I delighted in Jorge Sosa proving incompetent per usual for the Braves in the bottom of the ninth. You can never not Atlanta-bash. The Padres evened the score at 11 — Cameron struck out with the winning run on second — and the game went to the tenth. The Braves chalked up another run (Hoffman was long gone) and led 12-11 going to the bottom of the tenth when Bobby Cox did something I don't think I'd ever seen. Up one, facing runners on first and third and nobody out, he had the Braves align for a double play…conceding the tying run in extra innings. I scoffed and the Pads tied, but it worked! The Braves pounded the next San Diego reliever in the eleventh and wound up with a nutsy 15-12 win, saved by Mets turncoat Tyler Yates.

One hopes it's just one game and they go back to scuffling and are never heard from again. Yet there they are, the Braves, who have relieved as badly as FEMA after Katrina, eighth among non-division leaders in the NL, but “only” 5-1/2 behind Cincinnati in the Wild Card race in the middle of July. Improbably but not impossibly, Atlanta is one of eleven National League teams we could face in either the first or second round of the playoffs.

So who are we rooting against? For now, everybody but us.

And I don't say that to taunt them — the juice has slowly gone out of our once-great rivalry since they left the NL East, and the Bartman Etc. collapse was crueler than anything I'd wish on the fans of any baseball team. OK, 29 baseball teams.

As a lifelong Met fan, I know bad. I know raw-and-too-young bad, tired-and-too-old bad, put-together-wrong bad, hatred-in-the-clubhouse bad, too-far-to-go bad, and lots of other varieties of the disease. But the Cubs look like something worse: They look like no-longer-give-a-rat's-ass bad. They played today like it was getaway day in late September, like they were simultaneously sleepwalking and underwater. While we were moving runners and taking out second basemen and doing all the not-in-the-box-score things that get games won, they were swinging at anything and everything that came near the batter's box.

The jaw-droppingest exhibition of badness today? It was the bottom of the 5th. A monsoon imminent, game not official yet, Steve Trachsel on the mound, and what did the Cubs do? They went out on six pitches. Six! And then, as if on cue, it started to pour. OK, maybe they knew the forecast was for a brief shower, but c'mon. Hope for strange weather. Make the notoriously finicky Trachsel fight through the 5th in heavy rain so he comes back flustered or the bullpen has to expend innings. Do things fucking right, for fuck's sake.

That made it official for me: The Cubs had long since proven they can't do anything. But in that inning they showed they also can't do nothing.

And you know the worst part? I actually felt sorry for Greg Maddux. That's probably because his location isn't what it was and without it he's not just hittable but poundable and it's always ugly to see a great player coming unraveled. But I think it was also because he was so utterly alone out there.

Here's what Maddux said after the game: “I love playing in Chicago, no question. I understand there are choices that have to be made. The city and the organization have been great to me. But whatever happens, happens. Either way, I'm good with it.”

And here's what the voice in his head was screaming: “GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HELLHOLE! FUCK! I MEAN, FUCK! DID YOU SEE THAT FUCKING SHIT? I'VE GOT 311 WINS AND THEY ALMOST RENAMED THE CY YOUNG AWARD AFTER ME AND NOW I'M THE FUCKING FEATURED ATTRACTION AT FUCKING AMATEUR NIGHT IN CLOWN COLLEGE! I'LL GO TO DETROIT! I'LL GO TO TEXAS! I'LL GO TO SAN DIEGO! I'LL GO CLUTCHING THE SKID OF A FUCKING HELICOPTER LIFTING OFF THE ROOF OF THE TRIBUNE BUILDING UNDER FUCKING ENEMY FIRE! JUST GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

P.S.: Amused myself tonight by watching Pelfrey's debut on TiVo. Boy did he look raw. And the Gene Simmons tongue thing is very, very strange. I hope somebody told him he might be a 10-year veteran before he sees 17 runs worth of support again. Seeing Henry Owens was a bonus. I knew he had ungodly numbers, but that motion is pretty otherworldly, too: He looks like a man who's being attacked by bees.

My favorite moment of the whole thing, though, was this exchange between Keith and Gary:

Keith (musingly): I wonder where we'll be in 50 years?

Gary (immediately): Dead.

At last at last at last.

The All-Star break is over and the Mets are returning. Though it feels like they never went away, between my co-blogger's tireless efforts (thanks for making Maine feel a bit less far away), the adventures of David Wright and Carlos Beltran and Paul Lo Duca in Pittsburgh, Wright on Letterman and Beltran, Wright, Lo Duca, Carlos Delgado and Jose Reyes making the cover of Sports Illustrated. The article, by the nigh-peerless Tom Verducci, is good clubhouse gouge (of the universally positive sort), and the cover photo is irresistable, with Delgado's million-watt smile alongside Lo Duca's obvious, gleeful insanity. It's even better than the Best Infield Ever cover as far as making you want to run around with it held over your head grinning before finding a game, because you can't look at it without wanting to see your team play this instant.

Anyway, a last tidbit before Flashback Friday and a return to box scores and recaps: A kind soul sent me an Excel spreadsheet sent out by Met PR types listing the players (most of them) and various fun/dull/odd/inane facts about them as a get-to-know-you crib sheet. And what can we glean from it?

* The Mets are dog people: The pet parade includes 26 dogs (Slider, Dixie, Muddy, Scoots, Crushy, Rocky, Little Rocky, Gucci, Cookie, Lucky, Otis, Oliver, Jax, Rin, Sara, Homer, Toy, Zion, Napoleon, Lobo, Coco, Rookie and Lady Bug, plus various canines not named), with not a single cat admitted to. The only Mets to duck the dog trend? Steve Trachsel has fish. Victor Zambrano has horses. And Heath Bell has a hamster named Blossom. That zany Heath Bell. We'll hear more from him.

* The Mets are focused: Chad Bradford, Juan Padilla, Trachsel, Billy Wagner, Zambrano, Lo Duca, Julio Franco and Beltran all offered bat/ball/glove in various combinations as their favorite childhood toys. Philip Humber's favorite magazine is Men's Health. Matt Lindstrom, Jeff Keppinger and Jose Valentin favor SI. Mitch Wylie opts for Baseball America. Anderson Hernandez goes for ESPN The Magazine. Ramon Castro's favorite TV show is “SportsCenter.”

* The Mets are musically diverse: Willie Randolph goes for Miles Davis. Chad Bradford likes Hank Williams Jr. Tom Glavine likes James Taylor, which I was happier not knowing. Bell opts for Linkin Park and Audioslave. Aaron Heilman opts for Pearl Jam, as does Wright (who also name-checks the Red Hot Chili Peppers). Humber goes for Lynyrd Skynyrd. Trachsel's favorite band is the Killers; Wagner likes Kenny Chesney. Keppinger's pick? Tom Petty. Chris Woodward picks Creed. Cliff Floyd and Victor Diaz like Jay-Z, with Victor also favoring Kanye West; Delgado and Beltran like Marc Anthony. The most-popular pick? The reggaeton duo Wisin Y Yandel.

* The Mets are cartoonally not so diverse: Willie Randolph's favorite cartoon character is the Roadrunner, perhaps foreshadowing problems with Heilman, who picked Wile E. Coyote. Trachsel and Lo Duca like Underdog, which makes me like Lo Duca more and find Trachsel slightly more annoying. Chad Bradford picked Spongebob. David Wright picked Bugs Bunny, as did Xavier Nady. Chris Woodward, perhaps inevitably, picked Woody Woodpecker. But the runaway favorite (Valentin, Beltran, Diaz, Floyd, Redman) is Tom & Jerry.

* Now and then the Mets will surprise you: Heath Bell loves to bake and sold gingerbread houses to make money in high school. Yes, really. Zambrano's hobby is going to horse shows. Anderson Hernandez likes to sing and play the congas. Floyd's favorite childhood toy was a Green Machine. Tike Redman's was Voltron — and he likes to draw. Bradford's first job was on a cricket farm. Wagner says the best thing about New York is “New Yorkers' bluntness.” (Or at least he thought so in April.) Kaz Matsui thought there should be a mercy rule added to the game, but then defined mercy as 29-1. (We defined it as “sent to Colorado for a utility guy.”) Cliff Floyd wants the NL to adopt the DH, which I will now erase from my memory and refuse to admit happened. Glavine's favorite show is “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” Wagner likes “Dancing With the Stars.” Lo Duca likes to watch “House and Garden.”

* A few Mets will consistently surprise you: Aaron Heilman speaks a little German, would like to meet the Dalai Lama (and the Pope), reads Scientific American and Popular Science, and likes to watch the Discovery Channel. (So did Matsui.) Steve Trachsel's oenophile tendencies are well-known, and we just found out he likes the Killers, but he also likes to make pecan-crusted pork chops, play Scrabble and watch “Two and a Half Men.” While it's hard to get around the Creed thing, Chris Woodward says his favorite book is The Lord of the Rings and he'd like to meet Bill Clinton, which in your average major-league clubhouse is just slightly less surprising than wanting to meet Noam Chomsky.

* The Mets have/had their secrets: Asked what most people don't know about them, most Mets kept quiet. But Glavine admitted his shyness drives people away, Randolph said he's “a little bit nuts,” Duaner Sanchez copped to being “a sensitive guy” and Floyd said “I'm just a cool guy.” Jose Reyes? He admitted that “I tend to know everything,” while Wright subtly insulted himself by offering that “I'm fairly intelligent.” (I hadn't assumed he wasn't.) Oh, and Lo Duca said he's actually 5'7″ instead of 5'10″. While not an answer to this particular question, Victor Diaz said one of his hobbies is “relaxing.”

* The Mets are practical: Asked what they'd take to a deserted island, Sanchez, Zambrano, Nady and Valentin opted for water. Heilman settled on matches. Juan Padilla picked a cellphone. Delgado skirted the rules by picking a cellphone and food. Julio Franco would bring prayers. Bradford opted for the Bible. Glavine, Beltran and Lo Duca would bring their wives, Bell and Ramon Castro their families, and Floyd his kids. Victor Diaz would bring “a girl.” Endy Chavez would bring “a good girl.” If you wondered why Endy's starting over Victor, wonder no more.

* Except when they're not: Willie Randolph would bring Haagen Dazs to that deserted island. Trachsel would bring his best bottle of wine. Woodward would show up with his golf clubs. Wright would bring “my puppy.” And Billy Wagner would bring “Copenhagen.” If that refers to the European city and not dip, put Billy in the practical category with my apologies.

* The Mets are playing ball today: And that's the best fact of all.

Everything I needed to know I learned on the backs of my baseball cards…

• Tom established himself as one of baseball's premier pitchers as he led the Mets to their amazing pennant and World Series triumphs.

• Won first game the Mets ever defeated Sandy Koufax, led I.L. in ERA in 1967, and also set strikeout record at 15.

• Paced club in Hits, Doubles, Walks & Stolen Bases last season.

• Won 2 games vs. Orioles in the World Series.

• His handling of Mets staff was a vital contribution to the championship effort.

• A strong hitter, Don has slugged 15 homers in the NL.

• Holds degree in engineering.

• The 54 consecutive errorless games Bud played, 1970, tied major league mark for shortstops.

• Donn was 2nd on the Mets in Homers & Batting in 1970 and set a new club mark for RBI's.

• Acquired by the Mets during September, Dean got his first taste of NL competition.

• In 3 years of Bronx Federation League competition, Ken hit .385, .365 & .425 with 36 homers.

• Co-holder of Mets' club mark with 23 consecutive scoreless innings, August, 1969, Jim is a veteran of Little League ball.

• Ray played baseball & basketball in high school & helped pitch team to undefeated season & prep title in 1958.

• Especially tough in clutch, he hits ball where it's pitched.

• The Dominican League's Rookie of the Year for 1967-68 season, Ted is fine utility man for Mets.

• On Sept. 7th he had distinction of becoming 34th centerfielder in Mets' history.

• The Mets' 7th pick in June, 1968 draft, Charlie was born within walking distance of Shea Stadium.

• Had 8 CG's in 1971.

• An able backup receiver behind Jerry Grote, Duffy hit dramatic 2-run Homer vs. Cubs in 10th inning, 6-23-70, to give Mets 5-game series sweep.

• Possessed with excellent speed, Don's defensive ability is 2nd to none.

• He & Tug McGraw give Mets fine righty-lefty bullpen duo.

• With newly-acquired Jim Fregosi slated to play 3rd base, they'll be contenders all the way.

• John was an all-state high school star in baseball, football and basketball.

• He was groomed for stardom the moment he became a pro, Jon had a remarkable high school career which included 8 no-hitters en route to a 22-1 record.

• A valuable man to have on a ballclub, Bill plays five positions.

• Ken was injured for a portion of 1972, he returned to action in the later part of the season and was one of the Mets' hottest hitters in September.

• Phil played semipro ball in the Kentucky-Indiana Collegiate League before signing with the Tribe.

• Hit 2 homers for Mets against Astros, August 21, 1972, to celebrate his 33rd birthday.

• One of Ron's hobbies is dancing.

• Ed was elected to his High School Hall of Fame.

• Tied record by going 6-for-6 in game vs. Giants, July 6, 1970.

• Harry likes to play handball.

• Rusty is a gourmet cook.

• Twice fanned 10 batters in one game for Braves, vs. Cubs in 1970 & vs. Phillies in 1971.

• George likes marshmallow milk shakes.

And the things I continue to learn…

• One of David's agents is former Mets infielder Keith Miller.

• In a 10-game stretch in May 2005, he legged out seven triples!

• Victor was the first Mets rookie ever with 10 RBI in April.

• Steve likes to start hitters off with a big, slow curveball.

• Aaron used April 15 to file a 1-hitter versus the Marlins at Shea. Only Luis Castillo's fourth inning infield single was exempt from the righty's masterful form.

Sometimes a player does something when you're young and you make that player your go-to example for that thing. It doesn't matter that generation after generation passes and the people to whom you're offering him up as an example have no idea about whom you're talking. Doesn't matter to you, anyway. He represents the personification of your point. You're going to use him.

That's me and Del Unser and the National League All-Star team. When selection time rolls around every July and a Met I find deserving gets passed over, I have one thought:

This is just like when Walter Alston screwed Del Unser out of the All-Star Game in 1975.

I should have business cards printed up that say that. I don't know if Del Unser was as bothered by his slight then as I continue to be now. I don't know if Del Unser had anything planned for those three days 31 years ago beyond golfing and grilling. I don't know if anybody else in the universe thought Del Unser was a dead, solid lock for the All-Stars in 1975.

I did. I couldn't get over him not being picked.

Couldn't?

Can't.

I've done a little checking to see if at 12 I was running special insight the non-outraged media was missing or if Alston, a Hall of Fame manager in the 21st year of a 23-season Dodger tenure, maybe had an edge on me in terms of perception.

I seriously doubt it.

Del Unser blew out of the gates in 1975 like you wouldn't believe. Originally penciled in as the lefty half of Yogi Berra's centerfield platoon, Del left righty Gene Clines eating his dust. April belonged to Del. He hit .349 (Clines? .077).

Though he cooled off in May, it was presumably the result of an unexpected increase in playing time. Maybe if somebody had told Unser that Clines would be such a washout he would have been better prepared by the Mets' training staff. Del's May of 1975 was superior, anyway: a .305 average.

June showed a dip, but by now Del was playing every single game; cut him some slack. With Clines offering no help, Del played in 31 games in the 30-day month and batted .259. Not as impressive, but after the June 29 doubleheader against his old club, the Phillies, Del Unser was batting a robust .300. Whatever Tug McGraw was doing in Philadelphia (5-3, 8 saves), Del Unser was making the trade that had the two switch cities look at least like a draw.

At least.

In 1975, we weren't far removed from the days the revered Tommie Agee roamed centerfield at Shea Stadium. A defensive wiz named Don Hahn had been there the year before. The great Willie Mays played some center for the Mets in 1972 and '73. And the Mets' very first All-Star was another future Hall of Famer, Richie Ashburn. Yet, with all those luminaries in their annals, who — according to the 1976 New York Mets OFFICIAL Yearbook — furnished the Mets with their “most reliable centerfield patrol in history and steady stickwork”?

Del Unser. That's who.

Usually he led off. Sometimes he batted third. You never knew where you'd find him, but you knew that once you did, you were in for a treat. He was, after the fourteenth season of the franchise's operation, declared the best ever at his position by a trusted and reputable source. This was the OFFICIAL yearbook, mind you, not some counterfeit knockoff sold in the parking lot.

You could trust the 1976 yearbook. On the same page where Unser's credentials are codified, there is an ad urging the reader to “eat a pretzel at Shea…it'll make for a nicer day.” I've eaten many pretzels at Shea and doing so has never actually ruined my day, so there ya go.

Against this backdrop, Walter Alston had to start making decisions. The Cincinnati Reds were running away from the Los Angeles Dodgers in the NL West (back when geography made absolute sense). Alston certainly had no pennant race on which to concentrate, so he could put all his energies into selecting All-Star reserves and pitchers for the National League, a responsibility he earned when his team won the flag in 1974. His main task, as I saw it, was choosing outfielders who would accompany Del Unser to Milwaukee on July 15.

He didn't have to worry about Lou Brock. The fans, blinded by 118 steals the year before, elected him instead of Del Unser. He didn't have to find space for Pete Rose, a perennial vote-getter. Even though Rose had already switched to third base, the ballot had him in the outfield, giving him an unfair advantage over Del Unser. And if Alston was tempted to placate his own Jimmy Wynn — great '74, rough '75 — he needn't bother. Wynn won the third spot rather than Del Unser. It's true: America overlooked Del Unser, but America had overwhelmingly re-elected Richard Nixon three years earlier and regretted it immediately. Whaddaya want from America?

So Brock, Rose and Wynn were the monosyllabic starters. When it was time to get serious, Walter Alston, who had managed Duke Snider and presumably knew centerfield quality when he saw it, could insert Del as a pinch-hitter for starting pitcher Jerry Reuss and then double-switch Tom Seaver onto the mound. Seaver could bat ninth the rest of the way and the National League, with Tom Terrific protecting the lead created by Del Delightful's pinch-homer, could continue its streak of absolute All-Star dominance without breaking a sweat. If Walter Alston had been as wise as his résumé indicated — six pennants, four world championships — it would be a no-brainer. I could see it and I was 12.

Here is who Walter Alston took as his National League All-Star outfield reserves:

Greg Luzinski

Bobby Murcer

Al Oliver

Reggie Smith

Not Del Unser

No, you read that right. Walter Alston, in his last All-Star managerial appearance, made a mockery of the proceedings and forever sullied his own record by choosing four relatively empty uniforms. He had to take a Giant, so he took Bobby Murcer even though Murcer hated being a Giant. Oliver of the Pirates and Smith of the Cardinals came from teams that were represented by starters, so that was misguided. He took Greg Luzinski despite also taking McGraw, another Phillie. This made no sense because the trade of Tug McGraw, Don Hahn and Dave Schneck for Del Unser, John Stearns and Mac Scarce (who was wisely flipped for Tom Hall early in the season) was a wash. If McGraw was an All-Star, surely Unser was.

Surely.

Walter Alston, though he managed forever, wasn't really considered that much of a genius by his players. He is blamed by several Dodgers for blowing the 1962 pennant to the Giants. The final game of that year's best-of-three overtime playoff has been termed “the worst game of his managerial career”. His own GM, Buzzie Bavasi, castigated him, as recorded in David Plaut's 1994 book Chasing October:

Of all the games we ever played, this was the one we should have won…he shoulda brought in Koufax, he shoulda brought in Drysdale. You've gotta go with your best.

Yes, Buzzie, you do gotta go with your best. With the 1962 pennant on the line, he went with Stan Williams and he got beat. With the 1975 All-Star Game in the balance, Alston just as inexplicably picked the likes of Luzinski, Murcer, Oliver and Smith instead of Del Unser. The four of them went a collective 2-for-6 with no homers; Del alone had already hit four homers prior to the break…any one of them would have saved the NL a lot of grief. Without Unser, the County Stadium affair went unsettled into the ninth inning. So short of outfielders did Alston find himself that he inserted Expo rookie catcher Gary Carter in left for defense in the ninth. I know Kid played a little outfield in his time, but who would you rather depend on for reliable patrol out there?

Del Unser. That's who.

Alston got away with this one thanks to Jon Matlack's solid seventh and eighth innings. Matlack earned the win and shared the MVP with Bill Madlock, no doubt a typographical error. The National League extended its All-Star winning streak to four straight, twelve of thirteen despite the glaring omission on the NL roster.

The joy the Senior Circuit felt was obviously aberrational to the event. The All-Star Game should be fun, right? Well, I'm looking at the National League team picture that the Mets graciously published in their 1976 yearbook and I swear almost everybody on the squad looks glum. Most of the players are staring away knowing this could likely be the year the American League gets even. Even Tug seems downcast as if he knows something unfair is afoot. The only smiles are generated by Walter Alston (clueless), Steve Garvey (figures) and a trainer (he's thinking he'll have a light night because the National League probably isn't going to try very hard).

Perhaps Del Unser used his time away to work on his other swing. According to the Mets yearbook, he was an “excellent golfer,” one who had teamed with pro football star Leroy Kelly to win the 1973 American Airlines tournament. Maybe he made a few business calls; he was a real estate broker during the offseason. He understood the three most important things are location, location, location. He probably knew his location that week should have been in Milwaukee, Milwaukee, Milwaukee.

Del Unser likely used his days off to prepare himself for the second half of the 1975 baseball season. Pro baseball player that he was, Del entered the break batting .299 and raised his mark to .301 in the first game thereafter. Too bad it wasn't against the Dodgers. Later in July, he took out his latent frustration on Reggie Smith's Cardinals, collecting four hits off Ron Reed and John Denny in an 11-6 Met triumph.

Though Del was stoic and finished within six points of .300, there was an undeniable tear in the fabric of the New York Mets after Walter Alston's big mistake. Before the calendar turned its back on 1975, Yogi Berra would be fired, Casey Stengel and Joan Payson would pass away and Rusty Staub would be shipped to Detroit. A coincidence that four Mets icons would be gone from the Shea Stadium scene in the months following Del Unser's All-Star omission?

You can reach your own conclusions.

Del himself stuck around until just after the 1976 All-Star break when the team — which probably couldn't handle any more reminders of the sadness the Unser Snub symbolized — sent him and Wayne Garrett packing to Montreal for Pepe Mangual and Jim Dwyer.

Unser would never again be a full-time player. He wound up returning to Philadelphia in 1979 and served as a pinch-hitter deluxe on their 1980 world championship club, the only one the Phillies have ever had. By then, the Mets were deep into a rebuilding program, their only perennial All-Star John Stearns…the same John Stearns who was icing on the Del Unser trade cake in 1975.

This would be a sad story without a happy ending, so let's give it one.

Maybe I haven't convinced you of Del Unser's 1975 All-Star credentials. But I'm dealing in statistics. I'll leave it to someone who had a better view of what Del Unser meant to those Mets. His name is Charlie Hangley, “CharlieH” if you're a regular reader of our comments section. Charlie sent this in a little while ago, and I think he confirms everything that was stellar about Del Unser if you were a kid who loved the Mets in 1975:

Greg, I recently read your reminiscences of the 1975 campaign and your affinity for Del Unser. Got a Del Unser story for ya…

Just thought I'd share.