I know, I know, from Throwing in the Towel to Too Excited. But I want this game.

Oh, it'll be tough to do: Kaz Ishii vs. Jake Peavy isn't the kind of matchup that sends you running to Vegas. And hey, it's not out-on-a-ledge time if we take two out of three instead of sweeping. But this team is playing well and about to play a patchwork Dodgers team before starting five weeks of crazy yo-yo-ing back and forth across the country. We don't need this game, but in six or seven weeks it could stand out as a game we sure wish we'd had. It's not quite time to say all-in or go home, but it's getting there, and this is an excellent chance to get off the .500 treadmill and aim at a bad stretch of road with some momentum.

But OK, enough. No need to anger the baseball gods. Games are reduced to plays are reduced to pitches. So here we go, Mets: This pitch. There's gonna be about 290 of them, but they'll come one at a time. So let's take 'em that way.

Kaz Ishii and those who follow him, what are you trying to do with this pitch? What are you gonna throw? Where are you going to throw it? What's the purpose of it in approaching this hitter?

David Wright and everyone else in the field, are you positioned properly for this pitch? If the ball comes to you, what are you doing with it? If it doesn't come to you, what are your responsibilities?

Carlos Beltran and everyone else walking to home plate, what's your goal on this pitch? What's the count? What's Peavy got? What's he thrown you in this at-bat? In previous at-bats? What will the runner (or, hopefully, runners) be doing? What do you need to do with the bat?

Focus on this pitch. Then do it again until there are no more. Let's go. Let's get this game.

The Mets are playing the way they're supposed to and have won three in a row. They're two games over .500, a half-game out of third, five from the Wild Card, 5-1/2 away from first.

To reluctantly paraphrase a Yankees fan overheard in the upper deck six years ago who was desperate to downplay the significance of what Matt Franco had just done to Mariano Rivera, t'row a pahty — the Mets are in fourth place.

It's all very nice, but I won't be wondering who let the dogs out for at least a little while. Excellent game, don't get me wrong. The Mets are warming up and the weather at Shea, like its primary tenant, proved bearably hot. Good stuff. But Dr. Freud would caution us that sometimes a three-game winning streak is just a three-game winning streak. Let's make it four before breaking down the Doors.

'Twas another Six-Pack night, a fantastic merchandising gimmick. Without them having been slipped in among the Braves, Yankees and Home Opener, I can't imagine 31,000-plus would've shown up at the end of a 90-degree day to watch the Padres no matter what the standings say about them. I wouldn't have gone out of my way for San Diego. Six-Pack partner and FAFIF Comments doyenne Laurie surely wouldn't have. “What am I doing here?” she asked after attacking…

• the Padres as worthless adversaries and human beings

• the pukey Padre road togs as something out of a diaper

• our various Section 9 neighbors for their steady, two-fisted support of your local Anheuser-Busch brewery (indeed, we were a sober sandwich between two slices of drunk)

• the guy in the next row who last week thought Jose Offerman was Marlon Anderson

• the heat

• the humidity

• the tobacco industry's clientele

• and the Texas Rangers

All valid targets. I was impressed.

“You're a one-woman show.”

“That's not a compliment, is it?”

“Sure it is.”

We had fun. We had seven runs of fun. We should've had eight. That balk business was loopy. Jose dancing off third was something out of the Bobby V playbook, which made me slightly misty for (everybody, all at once) Steve Bieser. Whenever a dispute with an umpire gains steam, I grab for my radio. By the time I untangle the earbud cord, Gary is halfway through explaining all that went wrong. Then I parrot it like I really heard everything he said and really understand what I'm talking about.

“Meriweather made a horrible call! You can't reverse a balk! You can't consult on a balk! You can't argue a balk! Bochy should be thrown out! C'mon Willie! C'mon Jose! Fight! Fight!”

Honestly, I had no idea, but Gary Cohen is my rabbi. I would rely on him to interpret the Talmud if I had any desire to know anything about that austere document. I just know that a Mets run disappeared without the Padres doing anything to erase it. Somebody should've paid dearly. I'd wanted Glavine to dust the first Padre hitter he saw. What that had to do with Chuck Meriweather is still not apparent to me, but it was kind of warm and all I was drinking was water.

Which reminds me…concession tip for non-Friday night/non-Saturday afternoon games: the Kosher hot dog stand beats Nathan's hands down. I have the most gruesome ketchup-mustard stain to prove it. The creepy Jews For Jesus pamphlets (which include a New York Baseball Trivia Quiz chock full of misspellings) that have been handed out of late by earnest zombie types — the ones not hawking credit card applications — on the 7 extension can be used to soak up your dripping condiments.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Glavine didn't hit anybody but the Padres didn't do much to Glavine. Maybe he's an older version of Barry Zito at this point of the season, a good pitcher who has found a way around whatever was bothering him. I'd hate to show Glavine that much appreciation except he is here and is wearing whatever combination of shirt and cap that marks him a Met. We're paying him, he may as well earn it.

Juan Padilla may just turn out to be this year's Bartolome Fortunato. Bartolome Fortunato turned out to be last year's Jose Parra when Jose Parra couldn't handle the pressure of being Jose Parra for very long.

Hence, the Pythagorean Theory of middle relief suggests Juan Padilla may already be Jose Parra. As long as nobody's DeJean, we'll be fine.

Carlos Beltran has gotten it through his head that he wasn't playing behind Tom Glavine Wednesday night. He was playing behind Pedro Glavine. Thursday's starter is Pedro Ishii, followed by Pedro Zambrano. Whatever it takes, CB. Whatever it takes.

And dear old Mike, driving in three runs, homering and answering another cry of “Encore! Encore!” It seems to have dawned on everybody all at once that Piazza is a dish likely served not at all next year, so he's getting a hero's reception every time he shows the back of his head. (Laurie didn't mind Heilman's extended stint of relief because, she let on, where there's crouching Mike, there's hidden pleasure.) Surely grateful Mets fans will continue to shower their all-time great with the love and respect he deserves for the rest of the season.

Until he grounds into a couple of double plays. I think they'll give him a pass on the first one. But he'll hear it once he fails twice. That's love and respect Shea Stadium-style in 2005.

I'm not sure it's rising (let alone risin'), but at the very least it's fluttering suggestively.

Reyes was so good tonight they had to give one of his runs back. Carlos showed more signs that quad is finally just another muscle. Floyd bashed and ran and did all manner of good things, Wright played some sparkling defense and Piazza once again looked like a mountain of pressure has been taken off his shoulders in the #6 hole.

And then there's TMB. Some of my anger at Glavine's failings this year has been due to my assessment — no doubt highly accurate through a TV screen — of why he's been failing. It's been hard to blame Kaz Ishii for screwing up because watching him you got the feeling he couldn't change, and being mad at Kaz Ishii for being Kaz Ishii seems kind of pointless. Watching Glavine, though, was different: I got the feeling he wouldn't change, and that was getting pretty close to unforgiveable, considering how poor the results were as Glavine hunted for the outer edge of an expanded plate that no longer existed, then gave in and threw mushy fastballs on hitter's counts. But not since that debacle in Seattle, and particularly not during his last two starts — he consistently pitched inside against the Braves last time out, showed some guts, and deserved better. This time he did the same — pitched inside, mixed in curveballs, and received better. (Sure, he wilted early, but that's eminently forgiveable. It's beastly out.) Bravo, Tommy. We might just come to like you yet.

Apologies for the '99 reference. If I ever work the Baha Men into this blog (and no, that doesn't count), feel free to put a price on my head.

You get a shiver in the dark

It's been raining in the park, but meantime…

Know why I'm particularly happy that it was Chris Woodward who walked us off into victory Tuesday night? Because every time he comes to bat, Shea's P.A. plays a few notes from a Dire Straits song, usually 1979's “Sultans of Swing”. I'm not a Dire Straits fan per se (though “Sultans of Swing” is No. 480 on my Top 500 Songs of All Time list, “All Time” encompassing the years 1972 through 1999, but never mind that right now) nor is Mark Knopfler a personal hero of mine. I just like the idea that a 29-year-old ballplayer chooses something relatively ancient and probably obscure to the current generation of players as his theme. “Sultans of Swing” seems more suited to a middle-aged softballer. Or a relentlessly sedentary writer/editor/consultant. Or Gerald Williams.

Good on ya, ya erstwhile Torontoan, for giving us a shiver in the dark in the eleventh inning and for reaching back more than a quarter-century for your intro music. You make me feel so young. You make me feel there are games to be won, homes to be run and a wonderful fling to be flung especially when you, the Woodman, pinch-hit instead of Williams, the human white flag.

Last year, ESPN.com did as in-depth a study as anybody could ask for on which songs are requested by which ballplayers when they come to bat or the mound. As a Jay, Woody went for “anything by Creed”. Glad he switched.

If you've already forgotten how various 2004 Mets set the stage for their respective individual dramatic presences, Jason Phillips rocked you like a hurricane, Todd Zeile let it whip and Mike Stanton associated himself with the red, white and blue.

The flag awaits his apology.

A hit that ends a game at Shea, which by definition ensures a Mets win, is music to the eyes as well as all other senses because when the hitmaker gets to first, he generally raises an arm in the air and pumps a fist, just as Woodward did against the Padres. Ain't that fun? Ain't that joy in a kid's game? The rest of the time a batter who as much as smiles “better watch his step” lest he “violate” the “unwritten rules”. That's why almost all players effect the grim visage of investment bankers about to take a conference call even though they've just batted a baseball off the bottom of a scoreboard 430 feet away.

Last week, when Wright cracked his second homer against the Braves, there was a swelling demand for a curtain call. I knew we wouldn't see one. Diamond Dave is too cognizant of protocol and his single year of service time to acknowledge the crowd as early as the fourth. Too bad. One of the things that made the 1986 Mets so beloved by the fans was the way they stepped out of the dugout to wave their caps — anytime, anywhere for having done anything. No shyness about it. No worrying about how it looked, only how good it felt. The practice made the other team mad but our guys cared about us, not them. I've never understood why it's so wrong for ballplayers to demonstrate that kind of emotion as the rule and not the exception.

Imagine being a Major League Baseball player. You're living the life. You're being paid exponentially beyond anything approximating your or anybody's value to society. You get to run around baseball fields almost every day or night for six months in front of tens of thousands of people at a time, many of whom worship you, cheer you and wear garments with your name and number on the back. To top it all off, your employer will play a song real loud just for you. Not only should you express exuberance when you do something good, you should jump up and down and clap and go “WOO-HOO!” every couple of minutes just because.

That's what I did when Chris Woodward said thank you, good night, now it's time to go home.

The antithesis of the baseball team as an exercise in unpredictable ebullience can also be interpreted as the deadliest, most consistent winners we'll probably ever see in our lifetimes. In fact, we just saw 'em. See 'em again, if you dare, at Gotham Baseball.

I hope Alex gets a game that good — well, OK, it would be nice to have one not quite as long, and one played on a night not quite as much like an armpit or a stagnant aquarium in the sun. (New York City is really no place to be right now.) Weather aside, though, that was a good 'un. Heck, any game that ends with the guys wearing your colors clustered around home plate waiting to spring is, by definition, a good 'un.

Still, for a while it felt like a game on a treadmill, which I suppose is fitting for a season on a treadmill. Exactly how many times were we going to have a runner at second with one out and walk away with nothing? Exactly how many great relievers could the Padres run out of the bullpen? Exactly when was Trevor Hoffman going to come out and blitz us for God knows how many innings? (Thankfully, that never happened.)

While we're sort of on the subject, how terrible are the Padres' uniforms? In fact, have the Padres ever worn a uniform that isn't rub-your-eyes ridiculous? They change them every other year, spinning up the color wheel like crack-addled hamsters while the designs morph from godawful to uninspired and back, and not even by accident do they ever hit on something worth greeting with more enthusiasm than, “Well, I guess that's better than the old Padres uniform.”

I mean, we know bad uniforms. We started out OK (combining the Dodgers and Giants colors gave us an identity as a newborn expansion team, even if our infatuation with ol' Ebbets Field and Polo Grounds favorites served us poorly for a time), mucked things up with the wretched side stripe of the 1980s, banished that only to usher in the thankfully short-lived METS with a tail (which can be seen, for some unfathomable reason, on minor-leaguer Jim Burt's 2005 Bowman card), and then unleashed sartorial hell, with the ice-cream caps probably the low point. Now the classic pinstripes are hardly ever seen, and we're usually screwing up the fairly cool black unis by wearing them with that awful blue-billed cap. If there's any rhyme or reason to when we'll be wearing black or snow white or pinstripes, it certainly escapes me. If I had my say, things would be simple and predictable: Home rotation would be pinstripes as the norm, black on the weekends, snow white on holidays, no blue bills ever. Road would be grays as the norm, black on the weekends and holidays. There. Was that so hard?

But compared to the Padres we look positively classic. Shudder.

Speaking of shuddering, I'm beginning a tiresome and probably futile campaign of complaining about the dead roster spots occupied by Mister Koo and Danny Graves. Koo couldn't manage to get any lefties out, which is his only purpose for being on the team, and was only saved from disaster by a lucky roll up Piazza's arm that deposited the ball in perfect throwing position for Mike to nail Dave Roberts on what sure looked like a lazy call at second. (Jose tagged the immediate space around Roberts' various limbs repeatedly, but I'm not sure he actually got the runner.) As for Graves, well, it would be cruel to state the obvious. Why, oh why, can't we see Ring as the lefty specialist? I don't much care who replaces Graves. OK, not Mel Rojas or Rich Rodriguez, but other than that I'm open to anything.

And why in the name of James Baldwin and Scott Erickson is Ishii getting another start? Augghhh!

On the other hand, there was David Wright batting ahead of Piazza in the batting order. About time — let's hope it lasts longer than the Jose Reyes Bats Seventh experiment. Braden Looper managed to avoid the dreaded Closer's Second Inning debacle. Kris Benson was masterful. And Chris Woodward, well, he sent us all home happy.

Hi Alex,

My name is Greg. My wife Stephanie and I are looking forward to meeting you on Sunday. We've heard a lot about you. It's hard to believe you're about to turn eight and this will be the first time we'll be seeing you. Perhaps you've heard grown-ups use the expression “time flies.” Well, it's true.

Your dad and I worked together a long time ago before you were born. When you came along, we sent your parents a Mets uniform for you to wear, one you've long since outgrown. At that time, I told your dad that one of these days we hoped to go to a Mets game with you.

That day will be Sunday. It won't be just any game. It will be your first baseball game. First for you, first for your brother Zack. We are honored to be a part of such a big event.

Your dad is a great guy. He hired me for my first full-time job and we became friends and have stayed friends ever since. The only thing your father and I didn't share was a love of baseball. He's not a baseball fan, but I'm sure you don't hold that against him. I know I didn't. Everybody has different interests. Guys like you and me really like baseball. Your dad says you're quite the shortstop. I'm impressed! That's a very important position. I was never much of a player myself, but I'm a pretty big fan, especially of the Mets. Your dad knows that and asked me if I wouldn't mind sending you some information about my favorite team before you go to your first game. I said I'd be happy to do so.

I'm not sure how much you already know about the Mets. Your dad says you know Mike Piazza. That's a good place to start. Mike Piazza is the best-hitting catcher there's ever been in baseball. He's getting older now and isn't as good as he used to be but he's still able to win a game with a big home run every now and then. He did that last week against Atlanta. I was at that game and it was very exciting.

The Mets' shortstop, the guy who plays your position, is Jose Reyes. He's very young for a Major League ballplayer. He just turned 22. He had some problems early in his career avoiding injuries but this year so far, he's stayed healthy. He's shown great ability to get to balls that are hit to his right and he steals a lot of bases. I think you'll like watching him play. He's my favorite Met on the team right now.

Another really good young player is David Wright. He's the third baseman. He's also 22. David is going through what almost all young players go through, something called growing pains. He has good games and he has bad games. Sometimes he has them at the same time. He's also worth watching.

The Mets have three very talented outfielders. The left fielder is a veteran named Cliff Floyd. He's the Mets' biggest home run hitter. He's hit more than 20 this year which is a high total. As a fielder, he's made some terrific catches. You can say the same for Carlos Beltran, a very good centerfielder. He came to the Mets before this season and got the fans very excited because he had been a very good player for Kansas City and Houston. So far, he hasn't been that great for the Mets but even when he's not at his best, he helps them win. He can hit for power and run very fast. I think he'll be better in the second half of the season than in the first. The rightfielder is Mike Cameron. He's what you might call a team player because he used to play center but moved to right to make room for Beltran. He's had his slumps this year, but he hustles in the field and has good speed, too.

I don't know who will be playing first base and second base on Sunday. The Mets have had a lot of injuries at those positions. That's why you need a good bench. The Mets have been lucky to get two reserve players (your coach might call them subs) to fill in: Marlon Anderson and Chris Woodward. They've been the most surprising players on the team this year. Surprising in a good way, that is.

The pitcher who gets to start the game is decided by what is known as a pitching rotation. That means the pitcher who starts the game gets to do so, basically, because it's his turn. Sometimes the rotation changes but if it doesn't, you'll probably see Kris Benson pitch. He throws hard and has had a good season. If he can't pitch all nine innings — most starting pitchers don't — the manager, Willie Randolph, will select from among six or seven relief pitchers. Who he uses to pitch will depend on how the Mets are doing in the game and what point of the game it is.

You may have heard of Pedro Martinez. He's the Mets' best pitcher. He is a lot of fun to watch. It probably won't be his turn on Sunday but I would suggest that the next time he is pitching that, as long as it's OK with your mom and dad, you watch the Mets on TV. He knows where to throw the ball where the batters can't hit it. Not every pitcher can do that, but Pedro can.

Those are the main players on the Mets. I can't promise they'll all play but probably most of them will. If you're curious about any other players on Sunday, I'll try to answer your questions.

As for where you're going to be on Sunday, the Mets play in Shea Stadium which is in New York City — in Queens, to be exact. Shea was built more than 40 years ago specially for the Mets. The Jets used to play football there, too, but moved to New Jersey where you live more than 20 years ago. Now it's used only for baseball and maybe a few concerts. (Your dad and I were going to see one there once but we had to work and couldn't go.)

There are newer ballparks in other cities but Shea has what is known as character. That's a nice way of saying it is old but it can also mean it stands out from other stadiums. What gives Shea character? For one thing, it has a lot of color. The seats are orange, blue, green or red depending on where you sit (we'll be sitting in green seats). The outfield fence is blue as is the outside of the stadium. If the game is good and the sun is out, it becomes a very exciting place to watch a game. It can be a little loud at times because the people who run the ballpark like to play music and stuff over the loudspeaker when the game isn't going on. Character also means that when you go there, you are reminded of the good things that have happened there before. If you look at it that way, Shea Stadium has a lot of character.

Your dad also asked me to let you know a little about the Mets' history. Well, the Mets were born the same year I was, in 1962. They were what is known as an expansion team. The National League, the league they play in, needed a team in New York because New York was the biggest city in the United States and the two teams the league had in New York, called the Giants and the Dodgers, left the city a few years earlier to move to California. (The Los Angeles Dodgers are who the Mets will be playing on Sunday.) The Mets took their colors from those two teams — blue from the Dodgers and orange from the Giants — and formed a new team. The idea was to get those old fans to come see them but also get new fans interested.

The Mets weren't very good at first. Actually, Alex, they were pretty bad. People called them the Amazin' Mets as kind of a joke. But that made their fans like them even more. Sometimes people like to root for a team that isn't all that good because they know when that team gets good, it will make winning that much better. And you know what? That's exactly what happened. In 1969, after the Mets had been so bad for so long, they got very good and won the world championship. Then they were called the Miracle Mets. That's when I became a Mets fan and I stuck with them after that no matter how they did. Sometimes they were very good. Sometimes they were very bad. But I always liked them and always rooted for them. They were my team. They still are.

The Mets won another world championship in 1986 and have been in two other World Series, in 1973 and 2000. Since 2000, they've had some bad seasons, but they seem to be improving this year and I think they'll have better luck next year and the year after. To be honest, I would believe that even if I didn't think so. There was a Mets player many years ago named Tug McGraw. In 1973, when the Mets were in last place, Tug came up with a saying: You Gotta Believe. Everybody listened and the Mets finished in first place. It's a saying Mets fans live by to this day. Really, all it means is that if you're going to be a Mets fan, you should never give up hope, not during a game or during a season. You gotta believe that the Mets can come back and win.

I've been lucky enough to have gone to hundreds of baseball games since I was a kid, not only at Shea Stadium but all over the United States and even in Canada. Every time I go, I feel happy. I don't always feel happy when the game is over, especially when the Mets lose, but there is something very special about going to a baseball game. You'll see why on Sunday. You'll see the colors and hear the noise and cheer and clap and maybe eat a hot dog (check with your mom) but mostly you'll go home with a memory that you can't get anywhere else.

And there's another thing. You will be a part of history. This game between the Mets and the Dodgers will go into the record books. You'll be able to look the date up online and see that it really took place, that you weren't just imagining it. That may sound silly right now. You know you're going to the game, why would you have to look it up? You'd be surprised at how much stuff a person forgets as he gets older. The details of your first game might become hard to remember, but the record books will show it really happened. You'll be able to look it up and point to it and tell anybody, “hey, that was my first baseball game, my first Mets game, the first game I went to with my mom and my dad and my little brother. I was there at Shea Stadium in New York on July 24, 2005.” And when you do, you gotta believe that that will be pretty cool.

Like with most things in life, Alex, baseball is something you need to experience for yourself to know how good it really can be. That's why your folks are taking you and Zack on Sunday. That's why we'll be there to meet you. We can't wait. See you then.

All the best from your fellow Mets fan,

Greg

It's a long way from Brooklyn Heights to Keyspan Park. It's even longer when you decide that in order for the journey to count, you should really start from the “Welcome to Manhattan” sign 2/3 of the way across the Brooklyn Bridge. And it's longer still when you decide that, what the hey, it'd be quicker to get to that sign by walking across the bridge from Brooklyn, then turning around. And while 100% humidity doesn't make distance longer, it sure makes it feel that way.

Oh, and the Cyclones game? Started an hour late, then was suspended in the fourth inning. When the tarp came out for the second time, Pete and I had no debate over the proper course of action. “This ain't no playoff game,” I said, and we were gone as fast as our wet, swollen, possibly damaged feet could carry us. (Which wasn't very.)

There are some things that make distance seem shorter, though. Like beating the tar out of your personal tormentors, 8-1. Like Pedro Martinez authoring a low-speed masterpiece and hitting the shower early because this one was safe and we'll need him later. Like having Eddie Coleman and Gary Cohen for company in one ear as one Brooklyn neighborhood slowly turns into another. And better yet, there were Met fans in those neighborhoods. The guy on the northern edge of Midwood who took our picture was wearing a Met cap and beamed when I pointed at it and said we were up 4-0. (“Against the Braves?” he asked. I wondered why the heck he couldn't be sitting on a bench on Ocean Parkway with a radio, but hey, not everybody can be Superfan.) Later, pushing through Gravesend, a man went by on his bicycle, transistor radio strapped to the handlebars, giving me Eddie and Gary in momentary Doppler studio. It wasn't until we were at Keyspan that I heard about Leiter and his rejuvenation. (Which didn't bother me one bit: A Marlin got traded to the AL team in town, whoop-de-doo. Though I gotta say Al did look good in that uniform.)

An 8-1 win makes every glass of .500 seem half-full, but I was relieved to hear Gary Cohen — not one for sugarcoating things — pooh-pooh the idea that a split in July was something to fret about, and to include the Mets in his list of talented teams that could have a run in them. Gary didn't say this, but he seems to expect the Mets to put that run together. You keep waiting for it, too. And so does Willie Randolph.

That makes three smart guys expecting this franchise to clear the cobwebs and go on one of those 14-3 tears that makes a season look a whole lot different, while I — the perennial doubter, the thrower of towels, the wanna-be trader of Hall of Fame catchers — walk to Coney Island in the rain. Here's hoping there's an obvious lesson in that, even if it is at my expense.

And whaddya mean there's no game tomorrow?

There are worse things than being a .500 ballclub. For one thing, when you continually find yourself one below, you are continually given chances to climb back to .500 and then can continually hold out hope that you will inch one above .500. It gives you something to shoot for and allows you to have humility, which comes from being humble and not having Humber.

You can also take comfort in the notion that a win is never more than a day or two away. Losing too many robs you of hope. Winning makes you take it for granted.

I guess we're just right.

In terms of competitive alignment, maybe we've been looking at this all wrong. I keep thinking we're just about to get on the roll that will put us well beyond .500 and turn us into the team that won't be caught. Maybe what's going to happen is we'll just keep chugging along a win and a loss at a time while everybody else in the East suffers the one big meltdown that each of them is due. Then, as they all sink below us, we'll be the team that can't be passed. Right now, that's probably as good a shot as we have to win — or not lose — this thing.

Credit Eddie Coleman with the line of the year in the bottom of the fourth. With the Mets far ahead but rain threatening to render the whole matter unofficial, the precipitation suddenly ceased. Maybe, Eddie speculated, Pedro simply put his hands up and made it stop.

So today we go for the split. Which is to say, we go for the right to tread water at .500 again. With four more days off the calendar. Like I said a couple of days ago, a split here is like being on death row and the governor doesn't call: You're not dead, but you sure are closer to it. And, of course, Pedro might lose 1-0. So the choice today is between “we lost 3 of 4; time to sell off saleable pieces with an eye on 2006” and arguing about whether or not it's late enough that we should sell off saleable pieces and look to 2006. Oh boy!

Meanwhile, Philip Humber is getting a second opinion on his elbow. Met doctors say he needs surgery. I'm confident the second opinion will be “there's nothing wrong with this fine young man's elbow that a couple of Nuprin wouldn't fix — in fact, you should send him to the Show immediately!” Ha ha! (Last year the docs really would have said that, only to admit a few months later that they'd looked at the wrong elbow.) I think I just heard the sound of eight million dollars being flushed down the Tommy John. But wait, you say: Lots of young prospects have that procedure. Why, some of them even come back with extra oomph on their fastballs, or crazy movement they never had before. Yeah, but most of them don't. Most of them don't come back at all. Hope we read about you in 2007, Phil.

Getting back to the dismal present, could we please end the Danny Graves experiment? Or at least relocate it to Norfolk? Nothing against Mr. Graves, who seems a decent young man liked by his teammates and all that, but, well, um, he can't pitch. He finished May with an ERA of 7.36 and since then has managed to raise it to 7.85, which is hard to do. Surely there are things about Juan Padilla or a bullpen-bound Kaz Ishii that we could learn instead of amassing more evidence that Danny Graves is a dead roster spot.

My pal Pete and I hit upon the preposterous idea of walking to Keyspan Park today, so we're off on our Brooklyn sojourn. Where are the Mets trudging to, and how long will it take them to get there? I'm no longer willing to even hazard a guess.

The less said about Saturday night, the better, with the exception being another round of pat-on-the-back, don't-hang-your-head, go-get-'em-next-time kudos for Victor Zambrano. He's only gotten to live up to his name four times all year despite pitching like a victor (not to mention a new man) for the last two months. Hey Mets lineup, are those bats in your pocket or are you just unhappy to see him? Take out your wood and starting whacking home some runs for him. In fact, don't wait for Zambrano's next start. Act now.

Think about the wonderful starting pitching we've gotten the first three nights of the second half and try to figure out why we've derived only one win out of it. Don't think about it too much, though. You'll not want to face another dawn.

Now it's up to Pedro. It's always up to Pedro, isn't it? We wouldn't have it any other way in these circumstances even if we'd rather it not come to this. We'd rather Mr. Martinez be asked to put an exclamation point on a four-game statement, not erase the same aggravating question marks that always seem to pour down in buckets on our heads after these Brave abominations. Whatever symbol is called for, Punctuatin' Pedro will know what to do.

It was said during the winter that Pedro Martinez was, in effect, replacing Al Leiter in the Met rotation. Al won 10 games for a lousy club last year. Pedro won 16 for an eventual world champion. Al's ERA was almost seven-tenths of a run lower than Pedro's. Those who can't stand for any of us to be happy scoffed that given the numbers, it wasn't much of a tradeup. These were the same people who wrote off the opposable thumb as just another finger.

As Leiter attempts to resuscitate his career back where it all began (who else wants to bet that “in my heart of hearts, I've never taken off the pinstripes” will be uttered in some form or fashion by the Senior Senator from the State of Self-Absorption?), Pedro is tasked with saving our season…again. There isn't that much left to save, but a split with the Braves is a lot better for morale than losing three of four, especially if the final two come at the hands of pitchers — particularly Hampton (ptui!) — who had been disabled until five minutes before their first pitch.

This is a job for Pedro Martinez. He's going on six days' rest and avoided that trip to Detroit. He's our man. If he can't do it, no one can. But make no mistake about it, he's ourman. Not everybody's caught on to that inconvenient little reality.

In Saturday's Times, a generally good columnist named Harvey Araton genuinely offended every fiber of my being with the suggestion that Pedro is in the wrong place at the wrong time. His point was that the “best rivalry in sports,” between the first- and third-place teams in the American League Eastern Division, which of course is the axis upon which the world — never mind baseball — spins on, was better when Martinez was at the center of it. OK, as far as that goes, but Araton would reverse the events of the past eight months altogether in the name of saturation:

I miss Pedro. I wish he were here, still pitching for the Red Sox, who foolishly let him escape to the Mets, or for the Yankees, who stupidly spurned his advances.

Maybe Araton still wishes he were writing for the Daily News, which devotes most of its sports pages, a chunk of its news hole and an occasional Thersday feature to Red Sox-Yankees, Part LXXXVI. Regardless of where he works, the important thing the writer stumbled across is the need to embellish “the best rivalry in sports.” Why are we selfishly holding onto our ace when he could be doing the only organizations that matter some good? Let's get Pedro Martinez to Fenway tonight. He can pitch alternating innings for both clubs.

Better yet, how about Bud Selig declares a periodic draft of the best players from the 28 MLB also-rans so the elite two can fill in their respective trouble spots as warranted? Albert Pujols would look awfully good in a Yankee or Red Sox uniform…Miguel Tejada would look awfully good in a Yankee or Red Sox uniform…Jake Peavy would look awfully good in a Yankee or Red Sox uniform…see? It's easier than thinking!

It's not our problem that Boston is reduced to hiring distasteful, overgrown urchins like David Wells to take starts while its formerly imperious foe runs its rotation like Bob Barker. Sean Henn, come on down! Tim Redding, come on down! Al Leiter, come on down! More Gong Show than The Price is Right, really.

The Mets' guess was on the nose when they signed Pedro Martinez. He's better off with us (and us with him) than trapped in somebody else's tired storyline.