Before the advent of Retrosheet, I mostly depended on my memory which is reasonably reliable. Once the Braves lost to the Phillies Wednesday night, the Mets opened up a three-game lead in the National League East — and I had no problem remembering the last time the Mets were in first place by this much.

It was October 2, 1988, the end of that season. We led the Pirates by 15 that day, and I was all but certain we hadn't held an upper hand even 20% as large over the field from then until April 12, 2006.

Just in case you were wondering why last night was different from all other nights, this was why. It may not be 40 years in the desert, but it's been far too long since we've passed over the divisional aggregate of the Braves, Phillies, Nationals and Marlins (and/or Cardinals, Cubs, Pirates and Expos for that matter) by so much.

Thanks to Retrosheet (and a handy stash of Mets media guides), I was able to confirm my memory. We've barely been in first place by ourselves at all over the past 17 seasons; a day here, two days there, the Braves everywhere. Since we don't hang out in the penthouse, we never seem to get comfortable enough to kick off our shoes and kick up our lead.

We really should. Maintaining a first-place margin that's unassailable from one night to the next is as sweet as I remember it being 18 years ago. Shoot, as a fan whose first sip of Metsoh ball soup was 1969, this is where I came in…I'm home.

Going into Pedro's cagey mastery of the Nationals, which continued our best start ever (shared with '84 and '85, which is okey-dokey company to keep), we held our first two-game lead since August 4, 1999. And that had been our biggest gap to the good since 1988.

So if this doesn't feel familiar to some of you youngsters, hope that it will soon. Hope — don't assume. To assume makes A Second-place-or-worSe team out of yoU and ME. On Wednesday, the marketing department thought it was actually doing somebody some good by sending out e-vites to “see the first-place Mets” while we were clinging to our flimsy two-game advantage. How we ever got it to three with kamikaze karma like that, I'll never know. You wanna sell tickets? Sit back, shut up and we'll find ya.

It'll be easy. We'll just look at the top of the standings and follow the Mets' lead.

“Happy baseball teams are all alike; every unhappy baseball team is unhappy in its own way.”

The noted baseball scribe Tolstoy wrote those words sometime back, long before the DH, and they're as true for bloggers now as they were for newspaper men with lots of agate to fill with minute analysis then. (Anna Karenina also has Vronsky's great disquisition to Levin to “hit 'em where they ain't,” but that's another post.)

But you know what? A lack of material isn't such a bad thing.

Pedro fits his pitching to whatever park he's in. Put him in a stadium where anything hit 20 feet up would land in a net for a home run and he'd conjure 23 or 24 ground balls. Put the fences 110 feet from home plate and he'd find 23 or 24 strikeouts. Put him in RFK with its deep fences emblazoned with vaguely accurate measurements and he'll let Nationals hit loud but harmless drives into gloves. And he'll demonstrate that where Jose Guillen is concerned, having a player waiting to be hit with a baseball replaces the need to actually hit him with one.

Anderson Hernandez hangs in on the double play better than most native second basemen. David Wright's glove has gotten a lot better, and his bat remains above reproach. Billy Wagner will find a way. Carlos Beltran healthy is a marvelous thing to watch.

There will be time for agonized appraisals of whatever bad things will befall us. There will be losing streaks and slumps and injuries and better teams to face and double plays not turned. For now, there aren't. If you're thinking this will not last, you're right — it won't. It can't. But that's no reason for poor-mouthing. Just enjoy.

Now we're really in an exclusive club, as in Best Six-Game Starts in Mets History.

1984: 5-1

2006: 5-1

Those '06-predecessors were good clubs. Darn good clubs. Wild Card clubs an era too early to cash in. Division-champ clubs if geography had been Warren Giles' strong suit back in the day. Division leaders they were, from time to time, in '84 and '85. Division leaders we are now and what we'll remain tomorrow and what we'll stay 'til the weekend, at the very least.

But this season is not about leasts.

This is about a staff surging from a much-needed injection of youth. Plus the kid hits.

This is about a lineup in which everybody's favorite No. 2 hitter is doing a pretty convincing impression of a No. 3 hitter; surprised the Secret Service didn't confiscate Beltran's bat given the shot he blasted in the ninth (or that Cheney didn't ask Carlos for pointers on shooting).

This is about an infield featuring, with staggering and delightful regularity, two of the most dynamic offensive players in the world on its left side. I don't think I'm exaggerating.

This is about a bullpen that's surviving quite nicely despite the worrisome inconsistency yips of its allegedly Sandmaniacal closer (the finger, gotta be the finger, it'll get better, it'll get better soon…it had better get better).

This is a team that beats whom it has to beat, namely whomever is on its schedule. I like that in my team.

And I really like this 5-1 club.

Who hit more home runs in New York City than anybody else? If you said “David Wright,” I admire your prescience. But to learn a little more about someone else with an even longer track record of success and belovedness, check out Gotham Baseball.

The air that we breathe got more rarefied yesterday as the second-greatest beginning to a Mets season got that much greater.

1973: 4-1

2006: 4-1

Prorating, we're up to 130-32. Mathematically, it's in the bag I tell'sya.

Boy, ain't life grand with a big start? It's so the opposite of a bad start, know what I mean? The sky hasn't fallen, the earth isn't quicksand, the spring has actually sprung — regardless of temperature. Can't account for the future (foolproof prorating aside), but it makes for a lovely present.

As do the Marlins. Boy, are they not ready for prime time — especially their tantrumic manager; a single season as bench coach, even if it's as Yankee bench coach, is not necessarily adequate preparation for running a team (Girardi '06 behaves like Bowa '87). Don't take this as Fish-taunting and fate-tempting. I've lived through enough ill-timed stumbles to supposedly undermanned teams from Miami to understand that anybody can give you fits on any given day. Marlins sting…just not that much right now.

I'll withhold any further analysis of the National League East for fear of riling up our sure-to-be snippy opponents tomorrow. Inside pitching won't be a lost art in D.C. this week. One wonders about who we're throwing out there. Will Bannister continue his awesome career? Will Pedro be loaded for Nat? And thereafter, does anyone remember Zambrano? He's gotta pitch sometime. Looked real good in Florida before sabotaging himself. Will Trachsel descend into Stevie Snit mode because Glavine stays on schedule and he has to go on seven days' rest? It's really too early for worrying about this sort of thing, but at 4-1, ya gotta have something to worry about.

The Mets fans of Connecticut actually do have a legitimate issue on their plates if not in front of their eyes. Their cable non-provider is keeping them in the dark, depriving them of the almost daily wonders of Gary's PBP and Keith's spot-on analysis and Bill Webb's direction, to say nothing of the Dean Martin Roast infomercial. Thanks to one diligent would-be viewer, there is a place to take their valid complaints.

Hang in there, NutMet State brethren. There's plenty left to see here.

No matter which team was your team today, you came back with a DWI — intoxicated by the performance of Dontrelle Willis or David Wright.

Yes, we finally beat the D-Train (8-1, 1.85, in case you missed it). Or, more properly, we no-decisioned him to irrelevance in the final accounting. Of course Dontrelle wasn't exactly starting with the man in the mirror after this one: He was as good as advertised, from the kinetic leg kick to the absurd movement on his pitches to the intensity he fairly radiates on the mound or in the dugout. He's even terrifying at the plate.

We finally broke through in the seventh thanks to some wonderful at-bats — Lo Duca's leadoff, 10-pitch gem that ended in a single (the offical pitch count on that one is 11, but I think one of them didn't count because Dontrelle got charged a ball for blowing on his hand), followed by a stubborn six-pitch at-bat ending in another single for Beltran. But let the record show that this was the inning in which the D-Train's cars unlatched themselves to go sailing off the tracks into ravines: Beltran's single trickled past Hanley Ramirez's glove and could have been a fielder's choice; Dan Uggla ugghed a double-play ball from Delgado into a de facto sacrifice; and against Wright Jeremy Hermida played what should have been a nice but not hosanna-worthy catch into a ghastly triple. (Ghastly for them, I mean.) Tough day at the office for Dontrelle, but he's going to have a few more of those as these under-the-limit Marlins grow into their fins.

Not to take anything away from the sublime Mr. Wright, please note. Keith and Gary say this virtually every at-bat, but it bears repeating in every medium and forum: Not since Edgardo Alfonzo has an 0-2 count meant so little. Wright looks like he can control an at-bat from any count. (Witness the final at-bat, in which Wright saw he could lift the first pitch to the outfield and so calmly ended things.) Is David Wright really 23? He hits like he's 33 and an eight-time All-Star.

One should beware of falling in love with teams that start off the season 4-1. (A year ago we were 0-5 and had our heads in the oven.) One should also beware of projecting from a week of playing rivals who can't seem to get out of their own way. But caveats noted, why shy from what's right in front of us? This looks like a very, very good baseball team.

Wright is Wright. Delgado is Delgado. Xavier Nady ain't this good, but I'll happily take half of his current output. Jose Reyes looks like a different player, taking walks and working better counts, but as importantly showing a much-improved sense of the strike zone that's given his aggression some focus. Glavine demonstrated once again today that his '05 second half was no mirage. Anderson Hernandez's defense is pinch-me good. Duaner Sanchez looks like he has terrific stuff and plenty of guts. And while Pedro and Billy Wagner have hit some bumps, they're at least present and accounted for.

Beyond that, it's the intangibles that have me pacing around at 6:30 or 12:30 wishing the next 40 minutes would have the decency to step aside. It's pitchers pitching inside, no matter what the Jose Guillens of the world think of it. It's Lo Duca gathering the infield and coolly handing out marching orders — no insult whatsoever to a recent much-beloved Hall of Fame catcher, but I don't remember seeing that in recent years. It's Hernandez and Reyes practically jumping up and down in the dugout because they're getting the chance to play more baseball, yippee! It's Beltran exuding confident determination ever since standing up to the fans, in his ultra-quiet way. (And, in a rare note of Shea sanity, since that moment there's been barely a boo.) Julio Franco isn't the only player of recent vintage hailed as a great clubhouse guy, but in his case he's provided ample evidence he's a great dugout guy and field guy, too. Not to mention that something tells me he'll outhit Ice Williams.

This team has a swagger and strut I haven't seen in a long time, and the way they go about their business gives you the definite impression you'd be a fool to quit on them. As evidenced by today: Come 7th-inning-stretch time, the D-Train had thrown a mere 67 pitches and held a 2-0 lead, and I found to my bemusement that I wasn't worried. Really? Dontrelle? Low pitch count? Insurance run on the board? Not worried?

Nope. Not in the least.

Those who expressed sentimentality over Shea's impending demise won a trip to sit inside its condemned walls for an hour this afternoon until postponement rendered the visit moot. Second prize was to sit there all day and all night.

Alas, rain, wind, generally glacial conditions and uncommon sense knocked off my first game at Shea for 2006 before it could materialize in earnest, though not before I spent $10 on a yearbook, $4 on a program, $5 on a slice of square high school cafeteria pizza, $4.50 on the worst French fries to ever bear the Nathan's imprimatur and $4.00 on a pretzel as cold as the weather itself.

Getting the bleep out of there before I caught the flu? Priceless.

It was supposed to be Kids Opening Day, which was appropriate because children who think they love the Mets better start learning right now what being a baseball fan entails. It ain't all sunshine, green grass and Guy Conti tossing you a souvenir. It's sitting outside on April afternoons disguised as January at dusk as much as it's anything. It'll still be that, incidentally, when Sheabbets Field opens in all its roofless grandeur. There'll be more places to take your money while you wait (and more of your money to take), but come 4/09 it will still be early and it will still be freezing and rain will still come down as wet as it did when Robert Moses decided to stick us all out in Queens.

The theme of the day was also appropriate in that I wrapped myself tight in an orange hoodie, anxiously eyeballed two unidentified Marlins loosening their fins down the left field line with a game of catch and wondered when I would get too old for sitting, shivering and hoping against hope that baseball would be played, no matter how steep the buckets that were coming down. Hasn't happened yet, so I guess it was Kids Opening Day for me, too.

Except they didn't hand me anything but a bill.

By jumping ugly (or Uggla) on the Florida Marlins early, late and often Friday night, the Mets secured their third win in their first four games.

You probably have no idea how rare that is. But thanks to Retrosheet, you're about to.

It's pretty rare.

2006 is the first season since 1998 that has started with at least a 3-1 record. If you had to think about that for a second, it figures. The eight-year drought is the longest since the first time the Mets broke out of the gate in .750 fashion.

That was 1971, only the second year in which the Mets won their first game. Successful launches weren't really a trademark around here, hence it took the Mets until their tenth season to score a 3-1. They beat that feat in 1973 (4-0), then didn't match it again 'til back-to-backing it in 1977-78. Next up: 1981 (twice; split season), followed by '82, '84, '85 (a gaudy 5-0, best ever), '87, '91, '94, '98 and now now.

Thirteen calendar years in 45 seasons. That's a little more than a quarter of the schedules commenced in high style…and 32 of them no better than .500, if that. Sounds like somebody owes us a few.

Does a good four-game start portend good things? Well, let's see…

1971: 83-79, T-3rd

1973: 82-79, 1st

1977: 64-98, 6th

1978: 66-96, 6th

1981(1): 17-34, 5th

1981(2): 24-28, 4th

1982: 65-97, 6th

1984: 90-72, 2nd

1985: 98-64, 2nd

1987: 92-70, 2nd

1991: 77-84, 5th

1994: 55-58, 3rd

1998: 88-74, 2nd

2006: 122-40, 1st*

*prorated

Our CBS News estimates based on exit polls aside, a 3-1 or better start hasn't guaranteed a title of any kind. In fact, five of our six postseason berths were secured after beginning 2-2. Only the '73 Mets took advantage of their opening burst to get to October. Amazingly, that was the club's highwater-mark for the year. They only climbed four games over .500 once more (12-8) and that includes their final W-L, which encompassed an unchampionlike 78-79 over the remaining 157. Amazingly amazing, indeed.

So four games do not a season make. But four games like those we've had to date make it good to be alive, don't they?

Aside from being Mets fans and dwelling on the shortcomings of Jorge Julio (because the fifth man in the bullpen should be your biggest worry), everything is beautiful. My shortstop's batting .368 and doing every damn thing right. My third baseman's a .500 hitter and never says anything wrong. The BallHawk in right is up to a teeth-chattering .563. Savior Nady will someday be in need of salvation (didn't Mientkiewicz soar early last year?), but by then, Floyd will have it together and Beltran will perfect his cap-tipping and Anderson Hernandez will add a second hit to his 2006 portfolio (collect 'em all).

T-E-A-M, folks. After four games, it's our four-letter word of choice.

Before we get to tonight's game, a few more words about the never-to-be-called-that Mets Ballpark. I know you and I pretty much agree on Shea at this point — it's crumbling, rusty, spills strange substances on you, the escalators don't work, the plumbing backs up, the batter's eye breaks between innings, fuses blow and knock TV networks off the air, key parts of home-run apples get lost, old children's parks molder behind the outfield fence…if something can go wrong at an old, ugly ballpark, it's probably going wrong at Shea this very instant. When those not fortunate enough to have enjoyed its charms ask me to describe Shea, I invariably say it's like a DMV with a ballgame in the middle of it.

So why are you offering valedictions while I'm offloading venom? I guess the difference is you can still find some sentiment for the old rattletrap, while I have none to spare. Mets memories? I have good ones by the bushelful, but for me they're bound up with the people (in player uniform and fan uniform), with precious little left over for the place. A parking lot? Sounds like a vast improvement.

Particularly considering where the people parking those cars will go. The new stadium is gorgeous, and not just because I've wanted me one of these for a long, long time. I've wanted one since I ascended a working, relatively speedy escalator and found a comfy seat in Camden Yards. Since I wandered Turner Field and found the concourses filled with monitors and the radio feed playing in the bathroom. Since Emily returned from a trip to Denver raving about Coors Field. Since I heard your hosannas for the Stadium Formerly Known as Pac Bell. Since I had to watch the Phillies — whose fans deserve nothing nice, whose old park had a freaking jail in it — get one. I never saw Ebbets Field, so I'm not going to get too choked up about the rotunda (that said, Fred Wilpon's emotional recollection of going there with his Dad was a nice moment), but I love that too. The wide concourses, the green seats, the lights, the nod to the bridges … I love it all.

And I want it now! Since I can't get that, I want to wallow in all the wonderfully silly stuff of a new ballpark coming to town. I want to see the pols holding silver shovels and making stupid baseball references. I want to see the new park rising beyond the bullpen, then watch long home runs bounce off of it in 2008, a la whatever they call Cincy's nice new ballpark. I want countdowns with old Met heroes unveiling each new lower number. I want to spend way too much money for bricks with my name and my wife's name and my kid's name. I'm ready. And if they let me at a sledgehammer, I'll help dispense with the old barn myself.

What's that? Oh, the game.

Every so often I've had the experience of introducing someone who's never seen baseball to the Grand Old Game. In these situations you pray for a barn-burner, something with twists and turns and hope and heartbreak and some rancor along the way. You want a 9-8 doozy, not some 5-1 snoozer that alternates between arcane vocabulary and batters wandering around the batters' box before grounding out. One of the best introductory games I remember came years ago, with a German visitor named Joachim as a guest at my parents' house in Florida — a Mets/Cardinals battle royal at Busch, with Tony Pena confiscating HoJo's bat after a home run. (Perhaps it was this 1987 game?) Joachim began sitting paralyzed on the couch, parsing all the bizarre rules and trying just to keep track of the action, and wound up yelling and screaming in wild joy along with my Mom and Dad and me.

Tonight would have been a perfect introduction. So, in honor of Joachim, here's a conversation that didn't take place but should have.

Joachim: This pitcher, this Pedro? Why did he hit the National in the back with a fastball?

Well, Joachim, officially that pitch slipped. Unofficially, Jose Guillen has been having his way with Pedro, and Pedro doesn't like that. One would think that would settle their accounts.

I hear Pedro is wearing some kind of special shoe. What's the story with that?

It's a long one, but watch — here. See the way he finishes his pitching motion? Imagine doing that 100+ times every fifth day, for years and years and years. We think it's finally fixed, but you'll excuse us if we're saying a few quiet prayers over here. And keep watching, Joachim, because Pedro hasn't thrown enough pitches this spring to keep from getting real tired before this one is over.

Now the other team's pitcher is trying to hit David Wright, the one all the fans like! This shouldn't be!

That's the code — you hit our guy, we're either going to hit you or hit your best player. And did you know Ramon Ortiz, the Nats' pitcher, grew up idolizing Pedro? You'll find baseball's full of ironies like that. Anyway, let's see what David does. Look at that! Lined a base hit! That's the way you deal with these things. Hey Joachim, did you know in the American League pitchers don't bat? It's true! Yes, it is ridiculous!

That ball the hawk-faced player with the odd name hit seemed to have bounced off the pitcher's foot and come right down in another fielder's glove! What a strange play! Wait, as I understand it he should be out, shouldn't he?

Frank Robinson seems to think so. Watch Frank, Joachim. He is a very angry man. I get very angry about once a month and then invariably sleep for about 10 hours. Frank gets very angry about once an hour.

My goodness, Pedro got a base hit! Is there anything he can't do?

That was incredible! Though actually, Joachim, when it comes to hitting, Pedro…no, never mind. You're absolutely right. There isn't anything Pedro can't do.

Why are all the fans cheering for that mistake the Nationals made? As I understand it, that was a foul ball. So it wouldn't matter, right?

No, Lo Duca would have been out. Now, because Schneider dropped the ball in foul territory, he gets to hit again.

Whoa! And he hit into what you call a double play! So…wait. He would have been better off being out the first time, wouldn't he?

Yes, he would have. That's pretty funny, actually. Poor Lo Duca. There's a lot of funny stuff that happens in baseball if you're paying attention.

Wait! Pedro has hit another National! It is the same one he hit before, Guillen! Are there going to be fisticuffs?

Hmm. Apparently not. Amazingly enough, the Mets haven't had an actual on-field brawl since May 11, 1996. Though hitting an extremely high-strung young player twice in one game generally leads to one.

Why are there players running in from behind the outfield fence? They seem to be huffing and puffing.

Those are the relief pitchers arriving too late to punch anybody. The fight's officially over if the bullpen catchers reach the infield, usually because everybody else has to stop and laugh at them.

Wait a minute, isn't that man calming down Guillen a Met?

Yes. That is Julio Franco. He is 169 years old, yet very wise.

Is it normal for players on enemy teams to talk reasonably like this during a fight?

No. But it's interesting, isn't it?

Oh my goodness! The round National with the terrible mustache hit that ball a long way! Now the score is close again.

Yes. Remember Pedro hit Nick Johnson earlier this game, too. That's the way you answer these things. Well done, Mr. Johnson.

Why has the game stopped? Where are the umpires?

Um…I'm not sure. This is very strange.

This Ryan Zimmerman is having a terrible game. He just hit that ball straight up, so he won't drive in a run, and Pedro kept throwing the ball by him earlier.

Yeah, but yesterday he helped beat us. He's just young. A year from now he won't have too many nights like this.

Wow! That was the other Carlos's first hit of the year! A home run! Why isn't he coming out to acknowledge the fans' cheers? He looks very angry.

You know, I don't really blame him. The fans have treated him horribly, Joachim. It's quite a story — he was injured most of last year and didn't tell anybody, and did his best, and the fans booed and booed. Then they gave him a pass after he was badly hurt in this terrifying head-to-head crash, but now they're on his case again for no reason. It's wrong and embarrassing, and I'm actually kind of glad to see that Beltran is finally letting us see that he's human, that he's good and pissed off at being treated this shabbily.

But shouldn't he come out? Won't this make things worse?

Yes. This is what passes for a peace offering in New York. He'd better take it.

The old wise player is talking to Carlos — and now he's coming out to wave. Does the old wise player ever actually play?

Yes, but not tonight. He's new here, but I'm beginning to appreciate him.

My goodness, that National tried to hit Lo Duca. And now he did hit him! What is the umpire doing?

He's throwing the pitcher out of the game. See, both benches were warned, earlier —

But the Met pitcher with the glasses hit the National with the strange mustache who hit the home run, and he didn't get thrown out. That seems strange.

Yes, it does.

You're right, this man Frank Robinson is VERY angry. I'm a little worried about him.

So are we.

That Met is extremely fast! He seems to really enjoy playing baseball!

Yep. That's Jose Reyes. And boy do we enjoy watching him play.

Wow, young Mister Zimmerman struck out AGAIN. Is that it? Is that the end?

Afraid so, Joachim. 10-5, Mets. We're 2-1. Pedro gets the win. And the Marlins come to town tomorrow.

You mean you get to watch something this dramatic and fun and strange and wonderful EVERY NIGHT?

Joachim, I think you're gonna like it here.