Jose Parra is going to have Tommy John surgery to repair damaged ligaments in his pitching elbow.

I know, no big deal: Despite having a fairly inoffensive cup of coffee for us back in '04, it wasn't likely Parra was going to find a spot on our club this year. And it's not like he's Philip Humber, whose Tommy John surgery came as a punch in the gut. He's a 33-year-old right-handed reliever with a 6.09 career ERA, a commodity that pretty much does grow on trees.

But, a moment's reflection before we hurtle on with the business of Port St. Lucie and 2006: He's a 33-year-old right-handed reliever with a 6.09 career ERA.

Read that from Jose Parra's perspective. When that description fits you, nobody's going to give you much of a look even without a year on the shelf. The man has all of 82 games in the big leagues in parts of five seasons with five teams. He got one bubble-gum card an age ago when he was young and might conceivably amount to something. He's gone to the Mexican League to get the pilot light on his career to flicker back on; last year he was an Orix Buffalo, and got sent home in June with damaged ligaments. (Apparently the rest cure didn't work.)

From spare part to injured spare part with his 35th birthday in sight. That's it for Jose Parra, even in this age of medical marvels. I hope he invested his money wisely.

OK, moment over. Back to Jorge Julio and Chad Bradford and Duaner Sanchez and Juan Padilla and Heath Bell and Royce Ring and Pedro Feliciano and everybody else still in the mix. But as we figure out whatever fate awaits them, it's worth remembering that even though the major-league minimum is a paycheck we'd love to collect, this is a tough business.

Toe? Toe? How are you, toe?

¿Cómo está, dedo?

It's hard to think of anything else, what with one tiny fraction of a pitcher playing the biggest role imaginable in a Met spring training since Doc Gooden's nose inhaled a repeat in 1987. This whole thing is beginning to sound like Trachsel's back a year ago and how it was going to require an extra day of rest, maybe two, and then he'd be throwing off a mound.

Say, why do pitchers throw “off” a mound? Not from a mound and not on a mound, but off a mound. That's a construction that dates back to Doc's days as well, specifically his rehab trail back from Smithers. I know what Pedro is (or isn't recovering) from is nothing like what Gooden contracted, but this whole toe business…well, let's just say it's mighty Dwight of him.

We need a distraction from our diversion. We need other stories, but we're not getting them (though, as you boldly forecast, Carlos Delgado is happy to be here. I suppose that's not so bad. Stories — real stories — in spring training tend to involve St. Lucie's law enforcement community and spare outfielders too impatient to find a loo. So there are no stories, but there are storylines.

Shoot, I recognize a malleable idea when I co-opt it.

Guy Whose Outstanding Work Last Year Suddenly Never Happened: Have you heard Juan Padilla's name enter the bullpen conversation at all? Wasn't this guy the New Reliable in the second half of last season? Did he do anything wrong at all? I seem to recall Bartolome Fortunato having the same fraternity Gaslight prank pulled on him in camp in '05. OK, so he got hurt, but he wasn't mentioned after a solid '04 just like Padilla isn't now. While we're diddling around with projects and rejects, I'm guessing the guy in the glasses has options left. That should be delightful (who among us wouldn't want options?), but it's really a predicament. Some dude who posts an 0.14 ERA or an .833 batting average in spring always seems to be getting screwed in favor of a John Hudek/Brian Rose type who just can't be lost to waivers. (Only here do we have not just John Hudek and Brian Rose, but John Hudek/Brian Rose types; seriously, sometimes I think we retain too much.)

Thing Most Everybody Else Is Clucking Over But I Can't Muster The Slightest Damn About: The World Baseball Classic is this year's steroids hearings. This has…what to do with the Mets? Yeah, I know, Pedro will get his shoe and trip over himself playing for the Dominican Republic trying to field a line drive off the bat of USA substitute third baseman David Wright…who will trip over himself on his way to first. It could happen. And lightning could strike Tom Glavine on the golf course (oh crap, now I've gone and done it). Putting aside the Pandora's Box aspect of baseball players playing baseball games and god knows what will occur next, what will all this prove? That guys with some sort of similar background thrown together for a couple of weeks can beat other guys with some other sort of similar background also thrown together for a couple of weeks? I'll still take my Metropolitan-Americans every time.

Mets Book I Have To Have As Soon As It Comes Out: Somebody wrote a book about the 2005 Mets? Really? 83 wins and a tie for third? Well, ya know what? Point me to the checkout counter. I've read an excerpt from Adam Rubin's upcoming Pedro, Carlos and Omar and am clearing space in my head to learn more Bad Stuff 'Bout The Mets. To make room, I'll try to forget trivia like how in 2004 the Mets were such laughingstocks they couldn't lure Henry Blanco or Craig Counsell to New York. Wait! That's what I learned from Rubin, the dependable Daily News beat writer, in his excerpt. He's got lots of fun minutia, to say nothing of a ton of bad memories from less than two years past, including the disastrous details that led to the Minayanizing of the Mets. Gads, I'd all but forgotten about Art Howe and had — no kidding — completely put out of my mind the way he was fired without being fired that September. It's like finding out last week's grocery list has been published by HarperCollins. But my appetite has been whetted. It's out in a week. Act now.

Petition Circulating In Order To Secure Mets Telecasts For All: I'd never heard of the Patriot Media cable company until recently, but you've heard the parable: First they came for Patriot Media and I did not speak out because I was not a Patriot Media subscriber… Well, Patriot Media, not unlike my very own Cablevision to whom I pay blood and Sopranos money every month, does not have a working arrangement yet with SportsNet New York, impending television home of the New York Mets. All who like to watch the Mets should sign on so all can watch Gary, Keith and Ronnie sign on next month.

Dirty Little Not-So-Secret I Feel Compelled To Disclose: I'm thisclose to being in SNY's pocket. They hosted me and four swell fellow fans with blogs and had us tape a segment for Mets Weekly, the successor to Fran Healy's scintillating New York Mets Inside Pitch (quite a legacy to live up to; it should take 'em about a second). It was a great deal of fun and I left imbued with confidence (if not cahn-fidence) that these people will put on a good show and be part of a fine network. That, besides the airing of Mets games, is why it needs to be on every cable system in the New York area and everywhere else for that matter. New York Mets, America's Team…New York Mets, World's Team…New York Mets, A Universal Point of Pride. Yeah, that's more like it. C'mon Snigh and Cablevision and Patriot Media and the rest of youse — get it together. (If you're wondering what it would take to get me all the way in their pocket, those SNY baseball caps look pretty snappy.)

Idiotic Exercise In Projecting By Idiots: On the heels of Eddie Coleman's report that nothing whatsoever was going on down south, the afternoon hosts of the Mets' flagship radio station gave three minutes of spontaneous thought to the Mets. Between them, they dithered over how many wins Pedro and Glavine would have to have for the Mets to have a good season. Then they dithered over how many starts they'd have to combine for. “65, 66,” said one. “62,” said the other, definitively. Yeah, that's the fortune cookie right there. Good job, boys. Come back after commercial break with your figure skating analysis. It's almost as useful.

Sad Sign For The National Pastime: USA Today Sports Weekly, which used to be known as USA Today Baseball Weekly until it added football coverage, now includes NASCAR stories. It's a sad sign for all of us, really, but coming in February, when you'd think baseball could handle its own newspaper, it's especially harsh. And NASCAR? It's just fumes, dust and a lot of crashes. I'll bet Rubin has plenty of that in his recounting of the Art Howe years.

Unprecedented Endorsement Of A Baseball Team Blog Outside The Family: Referring you to great new Mets-oriented blogs like Lone Star Met or Metphistopheles is something we do proudly and not infrequently so you the Met-oriented reader can benefit. This, however, could be a first — why don'tcha give a click to Cubs Curmudgeon? Yeah, I know, the Cubs, but it's well done, one of its two bloggers is a reader of ours and, it turns out, a co-worker-in-law of mine, twice removed. That is to say he is employed by the company that now owns the magazine for which I used to work but not for the same magazine, and I haven't worked there in some time, certainly not since the company he works for bought it. (Got that?) Or as another Cubs fan who stumbled upon us the other day remarked, “Shawon Dunston…87th best Met ever? I think that's hilarious.” Of course our pal Shawon made the list and a lasting impression for his role in securing one of the greatest postseason wins ever, an accomplishment with which Cubs fans under the age of a hundred and eight may be unfamiliar. (My, but that turned ugly quickly.)

Just-Discovered Startling Detail Regarding A Possible Met Who Wasn't A Met: I was in a discussion regarding the upcoming release of the 1986 World Series on DVD with a friend who suggested it would be a hoot-and-a-half if the '69 Fall Classic got the same lavish treatment. Absolutely, I agreed. He, in turn, wondered whether such a splendid set would include that footage of, oh you know, the bit in To Mets With Love when Ralph Kiner interviews a celebratory Jim Bibby. This stopped me cold. Jim Bibby? Jim Bibby the tall Mets farmhand who never played for the Mets, was traded to the Cardinals with Art Shamsky and others for Jim Beauchamp, Harry Parker and others and won 19 games and lost 19 games in the same season for the Rangers? That Jim Bibby? Henry Bibby's brother Jim Bibby? Yes, I was told, Jim Bibby was in a Mets uniform in the champagne-soaked, division-clinching clubhouse on September 24, 1969, identified by name, by Ralph. This strongly implies Jim Bibby is one of the non-Mets Mets, part of the Gerry Moses, Terrel Hansen, Mac Suzuki, Justin Speier cabal of guys placed on the active roster but never inserted into a game. Maybe he was the first. I haven't seen To Mets With Love in more than a quarter-century, and I can only hope the new network unearths it or that it shows up on a future DVD. What I do know is that in 1969, the Mets came from way behind to storm past the Cubs and win the East. But you already knew that.

Guy Who Should Stick To Managing And Nothing Else: Willie Randolph, regardless of batting order, facial hair policy or contempt for the ladies and gentlemen of the press. I caught a glimpse of yet another from-hunger Subway commercial in which he and Joe Torre are apparently lounging on some sort of Caribbean honeymoon while bickering over a sandwich. Get a room, you two. And give up the act. Vaudeville is dead. Every ad you film is another sale for Quiznos.

Wednesday's Featured Met About Whom All Must Write was Carlos Beltran, with a side of Bret Boone. (Thursday's will be Carlos Delgado, which ranks as the single least-far-out-on-a-limb prediction I'll make all year.) Meanwhile, the first week has provided another old story in a new bottle: Willie being Willie.

The first-day ritual for every player returning from trials and tribulations is that the player try to make sense of last year. The last week of February is the time for admitting things that couldn't be admitted last year, a confession that always begins with having had an offseason to reflect. Add in a columnist or two to echo this confession and you've got conventional wisdom — which swiftly hardens into the foundation for whatever will be accomplished in the new season.

Exhibit A: Carlos Beltran and 2005. Now Beltran admits plenty of things: He was pressing in New York, he and his wife couldn't settle down (they moved four times), and most important of all he hurt his leg badly at RFK in late April and should have gone on the DL instead of playing hobbled for months. Now (here comes the conventional wisdom, and the turning of the page to '06) he and his wife have settled into a house they've built on Long Island, he's more relaxed, his pal Delgado is here, and this time if he hurts himself he won't try to be a hero.

All according to the script, except Willie Randolph decided to ad lib: “All great players play with pain and play hurt. So you really can't look at it and go, 'Well, we should have maybe put him on the DL,' because I want players who want to go out there and scratch and claw and get the job done. I think it's great that he understood his responsibility.” (That's to Don Burke of the Star-Ledger.)

And earlier in the week we got another case of deja vu, this time over what the Mets' default starting lineup should be. Everybody from stat geeks to amateur psychologists seems to want Beltran to hit second (where he had such success in Kansas City and Houston) and Wright to hit third. Except Willie seems determined to hit Lo Duca second and Beltran third, with Wright in the fifth hole between Delgado and Floyd.

Willie isn't one for stats (more on that in a bit), and the case has been made that it's important to have the right-handed Wright breaking up the lefties Delgado and Floyd. But earlier this week Willie offered a counterargument that seemed stunning. He didn't argue for Beltran hitting third. Instead, he argued against Wright hitting third, intimating that he might not be ready to carry that load.

“I guess I'm a show-me guy,” he told Bob Klapisch. “I want to see that David can keep making the adjustments.”

Making the adjustments? The kid hit .306 and drove in 102 runs last year! You can just hear Met fans wondering if Willie will go back to musing about hitting Wright eighth.

I'm not a Randolph hater by any means. Sure, last year I moaned about everything from the lineup to the starting rotation to the bullpen to the bench at various points, wondering all the while how many misdeeds should really be laid at Omar Minaya's feet. But at the same time I didn't think Randolph got enough credit for proving a solid clubhouse manager, one who did a good job bringing the kids along, keeping the veterans motivated and playing hard and in general staying calm and keeping the team pulling in the same direction. But I confess there are things about the man that baffle me, and that apparently are going to keep on baffling me.

The least-baffling thing is that Willie's just not a stats guy. Much as I'd like to be a stats guy myself, I think this criticism is a bit overblown. Infuriatingly, I now can't find the blog post I'm thinking of, but some stalwart among our blog brethren (I think it was one of the Metsgeeks) crunched the numbers in the offseason to see how many wins Willie cost us by hitting Wright too low in the batting order and found it really didn't make much of a difference. I can appreciate the statistical case for Beltran/Wright/Delgado/Floyd, but I wonder if when wins and losses are tallied, the difference between that and Lo Duca/Beltran/Delgado/Wright/Floyd will really be worth getting worked up about. And anyway, I don't think it's Willie's allegiance to the latter lineup that gets people so mad — it's that he's so Flat Earth about it. Talk to him about splits (let alone OPS or VORP) and you half-expect to see his elbow pumping.

Which brings me to Willie and the beat reporters.

What is it about Willie and reporters, anyway? The man's Cheneyesque in his disregard for them — obviously not interested in letting them into his thinking, and apparently not above misleading them for his own purposes. As the season was dying last year I wrote that I thought I'd finally figured out what Willie was up to with Reyes and Wright. Reyes' continuing tenure in the leadoff spot and the idea that Wright might hit 8th were Met media firestorms last year, and I decided what Willie had been doing in both situations was distracting the press, making himself the story so he could teach Reyes better pitch selection and take the pressure off Wright, respectively. As it turned out, Reyes did have better at-bats in the second half (though thank goodness that hasn't stop the Mets from importing Julio Franco and Rickey Henderson for further tutoring), and Wright didn't need the coddling, though Willie didn't know that in March.

So is that what Willie's doing again? Maybe. If so, I suppose that's vaguely defensible (if awfully conservative) with Wright, who is just 23, after all. But it doesn't make any sense with Beltran — why stir things up about the leg and whether or not he should have let it heal when everybody else is trying to stop talking about it?

So now, with Willie saying odd things again, I wonder if the truth isn't simpler. Maybe Willie simply has no use for the whole circus of media and fans that surround a New York ballclub, doesn't care what their opinions are about him, and doesn't hesitate to send them off on any number of wild-goose chases so he can get about what he sees as his real business.

Which will be fine — if we win.

Julio Franco, who reported to camp with the 2006 Mets yesterday, is so old that when he heard the Mets would open against Washington, he dreaded the thought of facing Walter Johnson.

Julio Franco is so old that when he learned the Mets would be going to RFK, he said, “Count me out, I'm sticking with LBJ.”

Julio Franco is so old that his career predates those of more than half of the players on the 1986 Mets' World Series roster, the subject of this year's Old Timers festivities.

Julio Franco is so old that when he found out the Mets would be heading west on their next road trip, he told his teammates he'd meet them at Pennsylvania Station in plenty of time to board the Overnighter Limited to St. Louie…provided the horseless carriages are running without obstacle.

Julio Franco is so old that when asked his opinion of Wright, he replied, “Wilbur's a fine gent, but that scoundrel of a brother of his still owes me that sawbuck I loaned him for 'flying lessons.'”

Julio Franco is so old that on the day he signed his first professional contract, Ed Kranepool was the Mets' starting rightfielder, Bobby Valentine struck out as a pinch-hitter and Duffy Dyer singled off Jerry Koosman.

Julio Franco is so old that he picked the White Sox to repeat, provided that Buck Weaver and the boys are playing on the level.

Julio Franco is so old that he tested positive for both the clear and the cream…versions of liver-spot ointment.

Julio Franco is so old that he was a teammate of Willie Montañez, Del Unser, Ed Glynn, Pat Tabler, Junior Noboa, Don Schulze, Benny Ayala, Butch Benton, Brett Butler, Jay Bell, Kenny Rogers, Dave Gallagher, Jeff Kaiser, Bill Robinson, Charlie Hough, Vern Ruhle and the father of Gary Matthews, Jr., obviously not simultaneously, but all before 1990.

Julio Franco is so old that when he pops up to center, Fran Healy calls it an ear of corn.

Julio Franco is so old that he laughed at a reporter who said he was from MLB.com, telling him he should get with the times, give up that Morse code gibberish and “just pass your copy along to the Western Union man at our next stop.”

Julio Franco is so old that he played in 1982 with Tug McGraw who was managed in 1965 by Casey Stengel who was managed in 1921 by John McGraw who played in 1891.

Julio Franco is so old that when he was told the Mets were building a new Ebbets Field, he asked, “What's wrong with the current one?”

Julio Franco is so old that he predicts Barry Bonds will pass Babe Ruth's home run total “as soon as somebody breaks Ty Cobb's stolen base mark, Lou Gehrig's iron man streak or exceeds Jack Chesbro's 41 wins in a season — I'm telling you, fellows, the Bambino's record will never be surpassed!”

Julio Franco is so old that he was the Most Valuable Player of an All-Star Game that included Rickey Henderson, Bret Saberhagen, Lenny Dykstra, Robbie Alomar, Randy Myers, John Franco, Kevin Mitchell, Frank Viola, Darryl Strawberry, Bobby Bonilla and Shawon Dunston in a park that was in only its second full season of hosting night baseball.

Julio Franco is so old that when he got a glimpse of the Unisphere, he wanted to know what addled SOB decided to portray the world as round.

Julio Franco is so old that he advised Carlos Delgado to stand for “God Bless America” because doing otherwise will embolden Mussolini.

Julio Franco is so old that he wasn't the Most Valuable Player of an All-Star Game that included Vince Coleman, Howard Johnson, Willie Randolph, Tim Burke, Tony Fernandez and Nolan Ryan, but he did get a hit. And part of that game was announced by Dutch Reagan.

Julio Franco is so old that when he was invited to get his picture taken for a baseball card, he declined, insisting he didn't want to do anything that could be seen as promoting tobacco.

Julio Franco is so old that upon being assigned uniform No. 23, he raised a Guinness and exclaimed, “Numbers on our uniforms? Brilliant!”

Julio Franco is so old that he was once traded with Manny Trillo, whom Charlie Finley tried to finagle into the 1973 World Series at the expense of Mike Andrews, whose rookie year came with the 1967 “Impossible Dream” Red Sox, on whom one of his teammates was Elston Howard, who became the first African-American to play for the New York Yankees in 1955, when their starting shortstop was Phil Rizzuto, who came up in 1941, when the American League leader in saves was his teammate Johnny Murphy, who 28 years later would serve as general manager of the 1969 Miracle Mets, signing off on the promotion of strong-armed rookie righthander Gary Gentry, who would eventually be traded for Felix Millan, who was a key in driving the “You Gotta Believe” Mets into the 1973 World Series against the Oakland A's of Mike Andrews, whom Charlie Finley attempted to replace in midstream with Manny Trillo, who was once traded with Julio Franco, who reported to camp with the 2006 Mets yesterday.

That's how old Julio Franco is.

The above post was inspired by an offhand musing from the founder of what is still the most amazin' Mets site ever invented. Happy 7th Birthday to Mets By The Numbers.

Speaking of history, New York baseball has a tendency to repeat itself. Or so it says at Gotham Baseball.

A while back I earmarked this three-day weekend for taking the boy down to Virginia to see his grandparents. I noted it would be the first weekend of spring training, hesitated briefly, then booked the trip. Because, honestly, the first few days of every spring training are exactly alike, down to the beat writers mysteriously picking the same subjects for Day 1, Day 2, etc. No matter which paper you start with, flipping through it will tell you with great accuracy what today's big feature will be in every other paper: It's Mike Pelfrey Day! It's Diaz/Nady Day! Etc. And that's without even mentioning the latest on The Toe.

Ah, The Toe. We'll have that to, um, kick around all spring. I'm good for following your lead and writing assurances 100 times on the board. I'm also hoping it's all a big conspiracy to keep Pedro from expending innings we'll need later in the World Baseball Classic. The WBC will certainly be a new wrinkle — I'll be interested to see if I'm thrilled by it, or resent it as a disruption of the usual dull but comforting spring-training rhythms. An unwelcome undercurrent to Life in Port St. Lucie so far: The Nobody Misses Mike Piazza stories.

My favorite part of the first week of spring training? It's that there aren't players in camp so much as there are roles in camp, waiting for new players to fall into them. Names change; archetypes not so much. Time to check out last year's list and see who fits the bill this time around.

Guy Who's About to Burst Onto the Scene: Anderson Hernandez is getting groomed for this, though Xavier Nady might steal it from him. (Nady shouldn't count, but San Diego may as well be Kamchatka as far as most Met fans and writers are concerned.) There'll be the usual write-in vote for Pelfrey or Lastings Milledge before they get reassigned to minor-league camp.

Guy MIA Because of Visa Problems: Jorge Julio and Anderson Garcia are missing in action. Honestly, why does this happen every year? Is the holdup on our end or theirs? Do the players who are missing half-ass things and file paperwork in early February, proving you can get jaded about anything?

Journeyman Who Just Might Stick: Look for one of the situational lefties, since we've got about three camps' worth. Does Tike Redman count? Important thing to remember: In this case “stick” means “get put on waivers in mid-May.”

Minor Leaguer in Awe of It All: Given to Mike Pelfrey by default. Hopefully things go better for him than they did for Phil Humber.

Minor Leaguer With Interesting Story: Usually this goes to a backup catcher never to be heard from again, but the New York Post just filled this slot with Henry Owens, who has a bachelor's degree in biology, was headed for med school, and can hit 100 with arm action that makes the ball look like it's coming out of his Adam's apple. I stopped being cynical when I got to that last part.

Guy in the Best Shape of His Career: Last year it was Heath Bell, rollerblading dervish. This year? Nobody's offered admiration for a slimmed-down Victor Diaz, alas. I guess it would be nice if it were Jose Valentin or Jose Lima. Hey, Lima's wardrobe is certainly hitting on all cylinders….

Comeback Feel-Good Story: Darren Oliver would like it to be him. Ditto for Valentin or Lima. I guess Alay Soler wouldn't count. And what if Rickey picks up a bat?

Guy Enjoying His Last Go-Round: TBD. Sub “Enduring” for “Enjoying” and I'm afraid we have Kaz Matsui.

Guy Who's Just Happy to Be Here: This slot usually goes to some tortured soul who's overcome injuries, agita, a bad reputation, or some other albatross necklace to Take 'Em One Day at a Time. Lima? I'd like it to be Victor Zambrano, a.k.a. His Own Worst Enemy, but absent a frontal lobotomy that's unlikely.

Guy Who Works Harder Than Anybody: Last year David Wright and Carlos Beltran walked off with this one. This year it's already been handed to Billy Wagner.

Guy in New Surroundings: Wagner, with Paul Lo Duca as the understudy and Xavier Nady as a walk-on. Until Carlos Delgado arrives.

Guy Going Back to His Roots: Sometimes this one doesn't get cast — the difference between it and Guy Who's Just Happy to Be Here is GGBTHR goes to a veteran who takes a number north of 50 to remind him of what got him to The Show in the first place. If Bret Boone had any brains, he'd be trying to lock this one up. He'd also be in camp already.

Guy Who Doesn't Take It Too Seriously: This is the guy who shrugs off bad stats or minor hurts to say he'll be there when the bell rings, skip. Probably Cliff Floyd or Tom Glavine, though you'd like them to be lean and hungry.

Guy Who Knows He'll Be Elsewhere: Matsui. Poor Matsui. I keep clinging to the thought that he'll relax, hit eighth, succeed and wind up as well-liked in the stands as he seems to be in the clubhouse. But outlook not so good, sayeth the 8-ball.

Guy Swearing You'll See Him in July: Humber? Bartholome Fortunato? Being this guy guarantees you won't in fact be heard from.

Guy Who's Making This Team, Dammit: Oliver? Soler? Someone from the Lefties Anonymous group? This guy often gets screwed by a dog-and-cat trade made to get the roster down to 25.

That was last year's list. New ones for this year:

Guy Who's Buying a Suit Because He's Headed North: I'm betting on Anderson Hernandez.

Guy Under the Microscope: Aaron Heilman. The annual Locker Placement Kremlinology story (a perennial favorite of mine) noted Heilman had been assigned a locker in a row with Pedro, Glavine, Steve Trachsel and Victor. Here's hoping Aaron can handle it — and things go better for Beltran now that he's escaped this role.

Guy Who Is Just So Damn Selfless: One look at the photo of Lo Duca carrying in a box for young Henry Owens (uniform number: 68) and this one was cast.

Guy Who Doesn't Know Why the Hell He's Here, Either: Dae-Sung Koo. I mean, what on earth? It's like an outdoor version of Office Space. Still, better Mister Koo than Danny Graves, last seen being mistaken for a water buffalo on his tour of Vietnam.

Guy Who Would Like to Remind You He Is NOT, in Fact, Armando Benitez: Jorge Julio. Let's hope he's correct.

Guy Who Does Not Want to Hear Your Insensitive, Unfairly Sweeping Generalizations About Previous Experiences in This Vein: Yusaku Iriki.

Guy Who Already Went to New York for an MRI: Jose Parra. Ack. At least it wasn't Pelfrey. (Wood is being knocked.)

Ah, spring training. Where have you been all my winter?

The rites of spring are in full swing, everybody kind of having the same story, all our hopes being raised by the same scant evidence, all our lives being ruled by one particular toe.

I'm not going to worry about Pedro's little piggy. Can't do it. It's too big a stumbling block to our well-being. We can't devote a moment to batting orders or who's on second or why the WBC will come crashing down upon the Mets and no one else (as is widely assumed because that's what we as Mets fans do) if we don't take our ace's availability as a given.

Pedro Martinez will be fine.

Pedro Martinez will be fine.

(Excuse me while I chalk that 98 more times on a blackboard.)

Natch, Sunday's papers were peppered with big, young, strapping, impressive Mike Pelfrey looking big, young, strapping and impressive. From his arm to God's ear, or something like that. I have a murky recollection that Philip Humber's first session a year ago was dynamite. So was Tim Leary's. If the kid doesn't get hurt in his first six outings, it will be a victory. Hide him away somewhere in the minors and don't let us obsess on him too much. For now.

I saw a picture of Billy Wagner making his way to camp the other day with a bag from McDonald's. Man, I thought, how can these guys eat that stuff? They're athletes, they should know better. Then I read Billy Wagner left camp with a stomach virus. Never mind facial hair, Willie. Enforce a policy against Quarter Pounders.

My eyes didn't deceive me Saturday night during my six o'clock St. Lucie fliparound (when the local sportscasts suddenly become vital). I did see a Met wearing 42 and it wasn't Ron Hodges. Jose Lima first showed up in 99, which had been retired in honor of Turk Wendell — or common sense — then he slipped on his old Astro number, which was thought to have been worn last first by Butch Huskey and then Mo Vaughn. Should Lima be allowed to wear Jackie Robinson's sacred and otherwise out-of-circulation digits? Frankly, I'm more concerned that he's wearing a uniform that says Mets.

Other unavoidable rite of spring: En masse fussing over of mercenary-turned-Skank For Life who (gasp!) dons striped pins for the first time in our collective presence. This year it was Johnny Damon, getting his “we” and his “our” on, as in “we have a great team” and “our goal is to get to a World Series.” Quite a business, this baseball.

How ya think Pedro's toe is? Really?

Yes, Happy Anniversary, Blog Brother. So what's been keeping me up nights, other than Pedro's toe and the fact that our rotation's old and fretting that Willie might actually hit Lo Duca second? It's what anniversary gift to get you.

Finally I thought of the perfect thing and went down to the Baseball Store.

“I want to get a no-hitter for my friend and Blog Brother,” I said. “He's never seen one — well, not one that mattered.”

“No problem,” said the clerk. He typed for a moment, then looked puzzled.

“Did you say you're a Mets fan?” he asked. “Huh. Sorry, my computer system doesn't seem to have a SKU for METS NO-HITTER.”

“OK,” I said, not particularly surprised. “Wow. How about that big shiny World Championship over there on the wall?”

The clerk sized me up for a bit. I could tell he was wondering if this scruffy old bald guy could really pay for it. Then he typed some more.

“We're not stocking that right now,” he said. “That's just a floor model.”

“But you could get a new one, couldn't you?” I asked. “I know it would make my Blog Brother pretty happy.”

“There's a waiting list,” the clerk said, and when I looked dubious he pointed to his monitor. I took a peek.

“RED SOX? They just got one! WHITE SOX? They did too! What gives? YANKEES? They've got like millions of them, and they don't even really care anymore, the spoiled weasels. DEVIL RAYS? Yeah right, like that check will clear. CUBS? Well, OK, it's been a while, but they don't deserve one.”

“Do you want a spot on the waiting list or not?” the clerk said. “Sometimes things happen and people drop off of it.”

“I want one, but I need something more tangible. How about a new stadium?”

“We don't have those in yet,” the clerk said. “Check back in a couple of weeks.”

“You've been saying that for years,” I complained.

“Couple of weeks.”

And now I was stymied. I looked around the room. There was another bunch of new uniforms in garish, horrible colors, but I didn't think you'd like those. There were escalator repair kits, but a sign warned the installation was strictly DIY, which kind of frightened me. There was a CD of ballpark hits, but it was crap like “The Best” and “Lazy Mary” that I couldn't imagine anybody would want to hear more than they had to.

“Sir, there's a line,” said the clerk.

“What's the '162' package?” I asked.

“You get 162 games, plus a certain number of extra innings at the discretion of the Department of Fate,” the clerk said.

“Are they good games?” I asked, because I had friends in Detroit and Kansas City and Pittsburgh and other outposts who'd bought this plan and wound up enduring it more than enjoying it.

“We guarantee some very good ones and even a few unforgettable ones,” the clerk said.

“Like what?” I asked.

The clerk shook his head. “Further details only available upon purchase.”

“But they're not all good games, are they?” I asked. (I've been coming to this store for a fair number of years now, and I'm getting wise to its tricks.)

“Of course not,” the clerk said. “That's the way it goes.”

“Just 162?” I asked.

“There are March diagnostic tests that some people enjoy watching,” the clerk said. “And the Department of Fate may extend the subscription, certain conditions being met over the first 162.”

“Extend to what? I asked. “What are we talking? 163? 165? 167? 181?”

“Yes,” the clerk said, smiling mysteriously.

“I don't know,” I said. “I got this for my Blog Brother last year for us to watch and comment on, and there weren't any extra games and we barely won more than half of the basic package.”

“And did you enjoy it?” the clerk asked.

“Yes. Why, yes I did. I enjoyed the hell out of it, in fact. OK, I'm in. Sign me up. And while we're at it, put me on the World Championship waiting list, and put me down for a new stadium too. And I want to talk to the manager about that missing SKU.”

“Sure thing, sir. Enjoy your 162 package.”

“I will. I'm pretty sure Greg will too. In fact, I can't wait until we get to rip this thing open.”

“Welcome gentlemen to New York Mets spring training for pitchers and catchers. We have already checked in Lo Duca comma Paul, Castro comma Ramon and the many other catchers we are going to require so each of you pitchers can display to us what you are made of. Please form a line, single file, and step forward one at a time for your instructions. Start now…

“Last name?”

“Martinez.”

“First name?”

“Pedro.”

“All right, Martinez. Here's that shoe you wanted. Put it on and don't ever take it off. Start throwing and don't leave camp. You're a member of the New York Mets from this moment forward. This is your nationality, this is your flag. Don't hurt yourself and save your strength. We're gonna need you for the whole season, maybe longer. You're our man…next!

“Last name?”

“Glavine.”

“First name?”

“Tom.”

“Glavine, we're gonna need you to age as slowly as possible. Says here you did a good job of that the last few months of last season. See if you can keep it up. We'll do what we can to help you achieve your personal milestone, you do what you can to help the whole organization. Remember, if the team wins and you don't, it's still a win. Everybody here's trying for the same thing…next!

“Last name?”

“Zambrano.”

“First name?”

“Victor.”

“Zambrano, you can do some marvelous things and some not so marvelous things. We strongly recommend you concentrate on the former and forget about the latter. We like your talent. What we're not crazy about is the cut of your jib. Recut your jib this year. There are a lot of people counting on you. The sad part is there are going to be a lot of people counting on you to fail so they can feel better about themselves. Those are the people who didn't want you here in the first place, the people who it secretly pained to see you doing well for a while last year. Don't let them get to you. Do your best. And throw strikes…next!

“Last name?”

“Trachsel.”

“First name?”

“Steve.”

“Trachsel, you look familiar. Oh yeah, you've been here before. In fact, you've been here more than anybody else. You must've been doing something right to have lasted this long, though sometimes it's hard to remember. I'll tell you what I told Glavine, son. It's a team game. Don't sulk if things don't go well for you personally, we're all in this together. And take it easy on the back. We need you the whole year. Don't wanna have to go out and get another Ishii…next!

“Last name?”

“Heilman.”

“First name?”

“Aaron.”

“All right, Heilman. We're gonna send you over there with the starters. Think you can handle it? Your agent sure seemed to think so. Just keep doin' what you were doin' last year except more of it. This ain't no two good innings and out situation anymore. This is about length. Go stretch and good luck…next!

“Last name?”

“Lima.”

“First name?”

“Jose.”

“Lima…Lima…do we even have a file on you? Oh, here it is. What is this? Lima man, this thing is all over the place. You're good, you're bad, you're good, you're bad, you're an Astro, you're a Tiger, you're a Royal a couple of times, you're a Dodger, you're something called a Newark Bear. And you're a flake. A little personality is fine, Lima, but don't be a nut about it. See if you can be more like the Dodger you were than the Royal you've been. Maybe we can use you…next!

“Last name?”

“Iriki.”

“First name?”

“Yusaku.”

“Iriki, I don't know if you're going to understand a word I'm saying, but if you've got some funk, we like that sort of thing around here, provided it's good funk. You've got the power of the unknown going for you, not a bad thing for a pitcher. I won't lie to you, though. We haven't had much luck tapping the talent pool where you're from. May be a coincidence since we haven't had a lot of luck tapping a lot of talent pools. Go throw and maybe we'll come up with something…next!

“Last name?”

“Pelfrey.”

“First name?”

“Mike.”

“Pelfrey, it appears you're a blank slate. You won't be for long. A lot of folks who have never seen you and couldn't pick you out of a crowd are going to be pinning all kinds of hopes and dreams on you. I can hear the pencils sharpening. One wrong move by one of the older fellows and they're penciling you in. It's probably not going to be that easy. It rarely is. Listen carefully to the coaches here. Find out what they've told all the other prospects who have come before you and do the opposite. All of our other prospects suffered serious injuries listening to the coaches. Get advice from somewhere else. It has to be better. Have a good career, kid…next!

“Last name?”

“Bannister.”

“First name?”

“Brian.”

“Oh, a legacy. Hope your dad is well. You're not gonna make it here on your name, son. Just keep working hard and stay under the radar as long as you can. Get a little too well known, you'll either get hurt or get traded. Keep on pitching and you may get a chance…next!

“Last name?”

“Soler.”

“First name?”

“Alay.”

“Soler, you're overdue like a library book. Make sure your paperwork's in order before we worry about you pitching. I find it hard to believe you're actually here…next!

“Last name?”

“Maine.”

“First name?”

“John.”

“Maine, the main thing is you're a warm body. Your job is to become a hot body. Not like that sassy little number who ya got traded for — and ya know I'm not talkin' about her husband, heh-heh. Looks like you've got some stuff but you haven't really shown it. Well, here's your opportunity. You're young, Maine. Forget where you've been and show us where you're going. You may not figure in our plans right away, but our main, or should I say primary guys aren't getting any younger…next!

“Last name?”

“Julio.”

“First name?”

“Jorge.”

“Julio, you've got some problems besides having two first names. You've got experience but not much of it is good. Funny how everybody seems to know that about you. You've been compared to another guy who came here from Baltimore. Things didn't work out too good for him in the end, but I'll letcha in on a little secret. That fella pitched pretty well around here for a while before he imploded. What you've gotta do, Julio, is start fresh. When you hear 'New York,' remember you're on New York now. You're not pitching against some other outfit from New York anymore. We're gonna have your back here. I'll tell you what I told Zambrano: throw strikes and the rest'll take care of itself…next!

“Last name?”

“Bradford.”

“First name?”

“Chad.”

“Say, Bradford, you're that pitcher with the funny arm angle. I always get a kick out of that. I also read you're not too fond of big crowds. Well, we can use the arm angle but not the hangup about noise. People here like to hear themselves yell. But you've probably overcome a lot of that stuff. We don't necessarily have anybody to get lefties out, so if you can figure out a way to do that, you'll probably have yourself a role. I know how you bullpen guys like knowing your roles…next!

“Last name?”

“Schmoll.”

“First name?”

“Steve.”

“Another sidearmer, eh? Listen Schmoll, I'm not sure where you're gonna fit in around here, so you should probably try to make the most of spring training. You can open some eyes. This is no exhibition exercise where you're concerned. Every year we grab a couple of walk-ons and put 'em on the traveling squad. We had a fella last year, Roberto Hernandez, nobody thought they'd have much use for. He had himself a good year and got himself a nice contract in Pittsburgh. Maybe you've got something like that up your sidearmed sleeve…next!

“Last name?”

“Padilla.”

“First name?”

“Juan.”

“Padilla, I should just toss you a ball and say 'go get 'em' because you earned it. But things are never that simple in this camp. Look around here and you'll see we've brought in all kinds of competition for you. It's nothing personal, it's just business. Try and remember what helped you break through last year and just keep doing it. You'll be fine. But go see the eye doctor to make sure those specs are prescription…next!

“Last name?”

“Sanchez.”

“First name?”

“Duaner.”

“Sanchez, you've got a lot of promise. I like the way you filled in for that Gagne character in L.A. last year. I know a lot of people were upset we let go Seo to get you, but I wasn't one of them. You and I know what a difference the eighth inning can make in a ballgame. You've got filthy stuff, and though that sounds disgusting, we like filthy stuff. Stay focused and you'll be all right…next!

“Last name?”

“Bell.”

“First name?”

“Heath.”

“Bell, you're here again? Well, why wouldn't you be? Seems like we've seen you every year for about a decade but I guess it's only been a couple of years. Bell, you seem to have an unnatural number of supporters out there, folks who don't think you get enough of a shot to make it. I'm not sure I'm one of them, but spring is a good time to impress me and impress everybody. I know what you're thinking: 'I was great last spring and I didn't make the team.' Well, guess what, Bell? It's a new spring. Hasn't been the modern team that can't use another talented arm in relief. Careful with the rollerblades…next!

“Last name?

“Ring.”

“First name?”

“Royce.”

“First Bell, now Ring. What is this, some kind of gag? Apologies, Ring, if I've slurred you in any way. I see you're a lefty. Well, Ring, that's not a bad thing to be around here. You don't see many lefties, do ya? But Ring, you're gonna have learn some consistency. You had a clear field last season and you couldn't stick. We don't know what to expect from you anymore. But we didn't know what to expect from Heilman a year ago and now he's one of our big keys. Be a ring, Key. I mean a key, Ring. I mean…next!

“Last name?”

“Fortunato.”

“First name?”

“Bartolome.”

“Fortunato, says here you pitched pretty well for us in '04 but didn't throw a dadburn inning in '05. I'd prefer to think of you in '04 terms. Seems you made a pretty decent impression. But that was suddenly a long time ago. Work hard, kid, work hard. You never know…next!

“Last name?”

“Feliciano.”

“First name?”

“Pedro.”

“You again? Over there with the lefties…next!

“Last name?”

“Oliver.”

“First name?”

“Darren.”

“Oliver, you're not the Darren Oliver who's been around forever, are you? I guess you are. Good luck, old-timer…next!

“Last name?”

“Parra.”

“First name?”

“Jose.”

“You've been here before, you know the drill…next!

“Last name?”

“Santiago.”

“First name?”

“Jose.”

“You heard what I told Parra…next!

“Last name?”

“Koo.”

“First name?”

“Mister.”

“You're not pullin' that again, Koo. Frankly, I don't how you made it back here, but go grab a bat and make yourself useful…next!

“Last name?

“Perisho.”

“First name?”

“Matt.”

“Over there, lefty…next!

“Last name?”

“Gonzalez.”

“First name?”

“Jeremi.”

“Sigh, must be February…next!

“Last name?”

“Humber.”

“First name?”

“Philip.”

“You must have something in your contract, because otherwise you don't belong here, at least not yet…next!

“Last name?”

“Wagner.”

“First name?”

“Billy.”

“I see you're the last pitcher here, Wagner. I guess that's appropriate. You're the closer, so we're not going to need you until things get late, though they do have a tendency to get late early around here, so stay alert. I know you're going to represent our country in the World Baseball Classic and that's a very nice thing, but so help me if you strain one ligament, you're not going to hear the end of it. Obviously Wagner, you've been a pro's pro, a star's star in this man's league a mighty long time, so there isn't much I can tell you. I'd like to tell you nobody's expecting you to be perfect, but really, they are. You and I know you won't be. Just minimize the damage when you aren't and move on. You don't have to worry about following in the footsteps of the old closer. He didn't leave any footsteps behind. Watch those guys on your old team. There's a bunch of 'em our relievers never could get out in a tight spot. Otherwise, relax, have fun and did I mention throw strikes?”