MLB's schedule-makers — who may be a bunch of rats pressing levers in the dark, if Memorial Day is any indication — have started the second round of interleague play with a small slate: The Braves are playing the Angels, while the Phillies got stuck playing the lone lame NL-only game and got beat by the D'Backs. I'm not a math expert (Math is hard!) but our division being what it is, I assume the Phils are now in last and would have been in first if they'd won, with the Braves facing a similar Door No. 1/Door No. 2 choice.

Anyway, the rest of the NL Beast is off (just as well for us — it's raining pretty Biblically right now), so here are some links to get us through the off-day:

* Joel Sherman of the Post has a nice article on Runnin' Reyes, though I gasped, threw salt over my shoulder and knocked on wood till my knuckles were bloody when he called JR the role model for staying healthy. (The crowd hid its collective face last night when Jose hit the brakes after his guaranteed triple turned into a ground-rule double, sensing a pulled hammy there would be typical Reyes buzzard's luck.) It's a nice mix of good writing about things we knew (recreating Jose's 11-pitch at-bat against Schmidt, which juiced the fans nicely) and good reporting unearthing things we didn't know (Willie wasn't pleased that Jose kept fouling off pitches that weren't balls).

* Newsday's Ken Davidoff covers a lot of ground, including the booing of The Beleaguered Kaz Matsui, Met fans getting ahead of themselves and Randolph's curious double-switch. (More about that in a minute.) Though he undermines the Easy-on-Kaz case by noting that TBKM swung at an eye-high pitch with the bases loaded and a 3-and-2 count, killing our 8th-inning rally and leaving us with too far to go in the ninth. “Nearly all of these Mets should be given some slack,” he writes, then adds: “All right, maybe not Matsui.” Ouch.

* Kaz wouldn't have been pinch-hitting at all in the 8th if Willie hadn't double-switched out David Wright, something I totally missed in the upper deck and had to rely on the Bergen Record's J.P. Pelzman to explain. I'm glad I missed this. It would have made me really surly.

* Ricardo Gonzalez at hella cool site MetsGeek was kind enough to include us in a Mets bloggers roundtable.

* Matthew Cerrone at hella cool site Metsblog passes along a report that Eddie Guardado could be on the block, with Omar looking for a left-handed reliever. Yes yes y'all, is what I'm thinking.

Pedro and Roy Oswalt square off tomorrow night. Baseball like it oughta be!

I think I've got the baseball equivalent of an ice-cream headache.

Seven hours is a long, long time to spend at Shea Stadium, even if it was a very pleasant time. We (me and Will, noted earlier in these pages for Cardinals fandom and being struck by legumes) were in the upper deck, but a remarkably convivial part of the upper deck, considering it was 90 degrees and the quality of the baseball being played down there below us did not elicit universal praise. I fervently cheered The Beleagued Kaz Matsui each time he came to the plate, though I admit that was more to avoid provoking wrathful comments from Laurie than from conviction. (Hey, Kaz really is trying. He even made a nice play going to his right.) But other than booing Kaz, this was a peaceable crowd — mostly happy, occasionally clever (“Where's Bernstein?” demanded one wag when Chris Woodward entered the game), willing to entertain irony (two college kids did a very serviceable Macarena, and one guy asked his buddy if Marquis Grissom was really French — I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt on that one), friendly to rowmates, and glad to engage in the advanced mathematics of the NL East standings. One of the better Shea crowds of my acquaintance, in fact. And in the upper deck, no less.

Since everyone knows what happened and I'm exhausted, some tidbits:

* This was the Day of the Pitchers. Between Ishii, Tomko, Benson and Schmidt, pitchers went 4 for 7 with 5 RBI on the day. Somebody get Elias on the phone.

* The fan of the day was the early-20s woman in the row below us who sat placidly for eight innings with her friends, then came to life when “Welcome to the Jungle” was played, dancing sinuously along with a look of rapt adoration and after that reacting to every play with hand gestures worthy of a somewhat-deranged symphony conductor. In fact, she looked vaguely like Axl, except for the lack of cornrows, 'do rag and Kleenex boxes on her feet. There was no evidence she was about to release an album either.

* They played the 1969 season highlight video between games, complete with promotional spots from Borden, which at the time offered extremely funky primary-colored yogurt containers. (Though one of the flavors was mandarin orange, which seems like a bad idea.) I misted up when Cleon dropped to one knee. “I was raised on this stuff,” I explained to Will. “It's like my Beowulf.” He laughed and nodded, no doubt thinking of his own tales of the deeds of Bob Gibson and Lou Brock.

* No offense to Todd, but Randy Hundley was a major dick. Bunting down 4-0 to try and break up a perfect game. I'd forgotten that. I hope there was a head shot some time during 1970 to make up for that one.

* One of Tom Seaver's Borden-related duties was to carry around a calf at some silly promotion on the field. Can you imagine the hue and cry if some member of our starting rotation strained something carrying around a heifer? What a bad idea.

* The observant members of the crowd booed Joe Torre when he appeared as a '69 Brave.

* Pedro was wildly cheered while running sprints in the outfield between games, when he appeared on the Diamondvision, when he was spotted leaning on the dugout railing, etc.

* The fireworks after home runs have got to go. It's so Turner Field. And playing “San Francisco (You've Got Me)” by the Village People was fairly low-rent too. Besides the suggestion of a sneer, it's a really crappy song.

* The looks at what was happening around the majors were actually relevant — and not just because suddenly the doings of four other baseball teams are of major relevance daily.

* This game would be a lot easier to take if every loss that makes you squinty and sulky was followed within 90 minutes by a 12-1 shellacking.

All right! Huge win! Wow! After all that baseball and all those runs, that must mean we're…

…right where we started when Sunday began.

How boring. If we had swept the Giants, we would've moved into a first-place tie. If we had been swept (heaven forefend), we would've dropped to last. And if we didn't beat the Cubs while the Pirates won that makeup game against San Diego — Whoops! 1973 flashback in effect. Sorry 'bout that.

Anyway, we're no longer a game behind Atlanta. Instead we're a game behind Washington. And we're no longer a half-game ahead of Philadelphia. We're a half-game ahead of Florida. And we're no longer tied for third with Florida. No, we're tied for third with Philadelphia.

The key is tied for third, a game out of first, ending Sunday the same as we commenced it, except maybe a little older, a little wiser, a lot tireder, my head at least as stuffy as it was 24 hours earlier.

But never mind me. Tell me about your day, dear.

Courtesy of the indispensable Ultimate Mets Database, I have confirmed a hunch:

The Mets should never play doubleheaders against the Giants at Shea.

Before Sunday's miserable first game, the record against the Harlem Deserters in home twinbills since 1964 stood at 1-5-3. Throw in the Polo Grounds and it's 1-6-5. With any luck, it will be 1-6-6 before midnight. Talk about your lofty aspirations.

The one sweep for us was in 1979. The last pair of losses (and the last SF @ NY DH prior to as we speak) was the bizarro Home Opener of 1997 when we were strangely scheduled to open on a Saturday because we were strangely scheduled to open on a Friday but strangely switched because we didn't want to compete with the other local team's home-o (where they were raising their first flag in 18 years; screw them). Then it rained Saturday, necessitating an Opening Double Day on Sunday. Sapped of almost all pageantry, hardly anybody showed for the first home games — and home losses — of the season.

August 24, 1984 stands out in my memory (thus fueling the hunch) because I was driving back to college for my senior year, rueful that I had to miss a twinbill in the midst of what was our first pennant race in forever. Fortunately, I could pick up WHN as far south as North Carolina. Unfortunately, I could pick up WHN as far south as North Carolina. Loss. Loss. Total loss.

The little-known Can't Hardly Sweep The Giants At Shea Curse began, of course, with perhaps the most famous doubleheader in Mets history. May 31, 1964. Particularly the second game. Willie Mays played short. Gaylord Perry threw ten shutout innings…of relief. Al Jackson pinch-ran. Ed Kranepool, after playing all of a doubleheader in Buffalo the day before, was called up and played all of this doubleheader, too. So? So, the second game lasted 23 innings, nearly 7-1/2 hours. It was mentioned on What's My Line?, which aired live, that the Mets and Giants were playing a doozy. With that, What's My Line? lost a large swath of viewers in the New York area.

And the Mets lost both games. Of course.

If I had warned you of any of this, would it have kept you away today? Tonight?

Didn't think so.

So we can't move into first. Let's just stay out of last.

Shake it off, boys. Go get 'em in the nightcap.

Ever heard the term phantom tickets? It refers to tickets printed for games that were never played. For example, a ticket to the 2004 World Series at Yankee Stadium would be a phantom ticket because the 2004 World Series wasn't played at Yankee Stadium because the Yankees had a three games to none lead on the Red Sox in the 2004 American League Championship Series but then lost four straight and didn't make the World Series.

(Gratuitous enough for ya?)

While I keep meticulous records of every game I've attended, I have no idea what the Mets' record is in my phantom games — those contests for which I've held tickets and failed for whatever reason to show. These might also include times somebody held a ticket for me and I had to send my regrets. Or games I was sure I was going to buy tickets for and didn't. It's too amorphous a category to track.

But I can say that Saturday made me 2-0 this year in games whose tickets turned into $30 bookmarks. Got waylaid by a summer cold at the exact moment summer broke out around here. Summer colds are the worst (unless they're winter colds or colds any other time of year).

While I felt like a creaky phantom myself every time I deigned to do so much as raise my thumb to the remote control yesterday — this is no ordinary cold — my hearing was sharp enough to make out the voice analyzing the game on Fox.

I already felt physically ill. Listening to Jeff Torborg, the phantom of the manager's office, made me physically iller.

Earlier this season, I was discussing the state of things with a well-informed Mets fan. He was going on about Art Howe having been obviously and totally the worst manager in the history of the Mets. I interrupted him.

“What about Jeff Torborg?”

“Oh yeah. He was worse.”

It's been more than a dozen years since he made out a Mets lineup card, but I can't get over my hatred of Jeff Torborg. This is hatred of an actual and personal nature even if I've never met the man. I feel I would have to be restrained should I ever find myself in an elevator with Jeff Torborg. Keep me away from him for the good of all involved.

Art Howe? Nice guy. Overmatched. Shouldn't have been here. (Kansas City actually considered him? Aim high, brothers.) I resented Howe taking over for Bobby V. I was frustrated that he did such a poor job. It bothers me that a quote like Jason Phillips' from several weeks ago in SI…

“Move a runner over or string out a five-, six-, seven-pitch at-bat, maybe hurt a [starter] later on, get into their bullpen early. Those things have gone unnoticed on a lot of teams I've played for, but here when you have a good at-bat, even if you make an out, [Jim] Tracy's the first one to say, 'Hey, man, great job.'”

…reflects so accurately on Howe's turning being unengaged into a Zenlike thing. But I never hated Art Howe.

I hated Jeff Torborg. I still do. I hated him when he mysteriously got jobs with Montreal and Florida. I gloried in the Fish revival under McKeon because it made Torborg look all the worse by comparison.

I'm still mad that on an October day in 1991, upon hearing the news that the Mets had hired Jeff Torborg, I said, “oh good.” Like Al Harazin, I was blinded by the one good season he had had with the White Sox. It would turn out to be his only good season. Much like Steve Phillips a decade later on so many occasions, it never occurred to Harazin to ask, “gee, if this guy is so good, why is he so available?”

It wasn't the lousy record the Mets compiled under him. Almost every Mets manager has a losing record lifetime. It was the sanctimonious prickdom of Jeff Torborg that got under my skin and stayed there. It was the non-accountability of Jeff Torborg. It was there yesterday when Thom Brenneman noted we had just passed the anniversary of the beginning of Lou Gehrig's Iron Horse streak. Brenneman made some light, time-filling remark about how you sure would've liked to have had that guy on your teams, huh Jeff?

“I sure had a lot of Wally Pipps on the teams I managed,” Torborg snarked in reply. He sort of took it back, but it was typical. They never gave me the players. The players never did what I wanted them to do. If only they had followed my rules.

The man couldn't manage a cardboard box if you sealed all the flaps for him. And for the record, Wally Pipp had a pretty fine career.

I didn't listen to Jeff Torborg for very long. With few exceptions this season, it's been TV sound down, radio sound up, delay be damned. I've gotten so used to watching this way that when I actually settle for the television announcers, I don't expect the action to match their words. When one of them says “Beltran fouls off the pitch,” I assume the pitcher is still in his windup.

It's a small price to pay in order to enjoy Gary and Howie. There's also the bonus delusion of thinking that when Floyd flies out on the radio while on television he has yet to swing, that maybe when he does make contact on screen, something different will happen.

Watching/listening to Roberto Hernandez face Fonzie tested my ongoing loyalties versus my dormant ones. Circa 2003, in the anything goes 'cause nobody cares era of Howe, I probably would've been with Edgardo. Not Saturday. Not anymore. If he's wearing another uniform, he's an opponent. Come home Fonzie and be Rusty II. It appears you're built for it.

Nothing's more important than the laundry right now. Too much appears to be at stake to get caught up in sentiment or sort through personalities (TMB! TMB! Every time the Man from Manchuria legitimately contributes to our '05 pennant drive, his past gets a little cloudier.) Entering Sunday, every team in the East is a contender. Or a pretender. It won't last. It can't last. This was more or less the case a year ago well into July. It didn't last. But while it does, whatever's there for the taking needs to be taken.

There are no prizes for being in first place on June 5. But it beats being in one of the other four places. Besides, this is haymaking time. These are the home games against teams that, while they must all be respected, can be played against. The Dirty Thirty — those out-of-division, out-of EDT games — remain and they still scare me. To be in any position to withstand them, we have to win one and then another.

And that's just for Sunday. Let's play two! Let's win one! And then worry about the other.

Edgardo Alfonzo vs. Roberto Hernandez, 8th inning. Alfonzo's the tying run, two outs, 1-2 count. Hernandez keeps trying to put him away; Alfonzo keeps fouling pitches away, waiting for Hernandez to miss with a pitch he can drive. And I'm wondering at my loyalties. I'd switched to the radio at that point, but I could practically see Alfonzo anyway. Because after all, we'd seen at-bats like this for years: Alfonzo wasting pitches, working the count back to even and then to his favor, determined to tire the reliever out.

Not this time: Roberto got him. I pumped my fist, swallowed a bit — and apologized to Edgardo. Is it too much to ask that one day, Alfonzo will return to us as an ace pinch-hitter? Edgardo becoming Rusty Staub II would make me very, very happy. Heck, Edgardo becoming Lenny Harris II would make me pretty darn happy.

Speaking of divided loyalties, we've also seen plenty of Tom Glavine games just like that one: a homer, a bunch of hits, but just one run, and you're left wondering how you lost. I don't think I'll ever get over my cognitive dissonance about The Manchurian Brave, but the cognitive dissonance disturbs me a lot less when TMB wins.

The rest? An early-summer game like many another, which isn't to say it wasn't a wonderful time. Nice to see a little luck for Piazza, who's certainly endured its absence. Also nice to see Willie keep the pedal on the floor: Cliff Floyd and David Wright may not be your archetypal double-steal combination, but they certainly caught Matheny napping. I was irked at Moises Alou's Cadillac around the bases, until I remembered he was 49 years old (young for a 2005 Giant) and realized that was probably as fast as he could go.

Then there was the team of Brennaman and He Who Shall Not Be Named. They sure did gush about Carlos Beltran's poor decision to bunt with runners on first and second and nobody out in the 5th. They shouldn't have. The base-out matrix — which has to be coolest part of sabermetrics (as well as being mercifully easy to grasp) — is pretty clear on this: On average, 1.573 runs score when you've got runners on first and second and nobody out. Second and third and one out: 1.467 runs. (There may be a more-canonical version of the base-out matrix — which I first discovered in Alan Schwarz's awesome The Numbers Game — but regardless of the values, the pattern and the lesson are always the same.) You could say Carlos was bunting for a base hit (which would have put us in a situation yielding 2.417 runs on average), but with his bad leg that doesn't seem like a good play either. Indeed, Beltran was out by a whisker.

It's nice to know Carlos is an unselfish player, but there's such a thing as not being selfish enough. Outs are precious.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm back to scoreboard watching. Let's go, Pirates and Nats! I want to see first place, even if we have to share it.

Our ripoff…uh, adaptation of Newsday's old Short-Season Awards proved so popular, that we're bringing it back. “Borrowing” from Joe Gergen's strike-era (1980-81) concept, we recognized the best and worst performances of the season's first 25 games, which was roughly the first sixth of the season.

Well, another sixth has gone by, so let's get fractional and hand out the honors/dishonors for all Mets action between Games 26 (5/2) and 54 (6/2). When we get an idea, we like to run it into the ground.

Best Mets…EVER!

Ever, as in 29 games.

1) Mike Cameron: Cam-a-lama-ding-dong! What idiot was telling himself “if only we could pawn off Cameron on somebody, then we'd get somewhere”? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to avoid every mirror between here and the kitchen.

2) Kris Benson: After shaking off the rust, he's pitching like he can't wait to plow through the hitters, get home and hit the sack. Wonder why.

3) Pedro Martinez: Prepare an extension.

4) David Wright: Know what's fun about him? He's getting better right in front of us. He's not perfect…yet.

5) Miguel Cairo: Skanque becomes Savior.

SNO Mets

SNO = Severe Negative Overreaction

1) Doug Mientkiewicz: Oh, if only we had signed Delgado, we'd score more runs. (Parallel universe: Oh, if only we had signed Mientkiewicz, we'd allow fewer runs.)

2) Kaz Matsui: I know! Maybe if everybody boos him every time they see him, he'll do better! It worked for Doug Sisk.

3) Carlos Beltran: He didn't drive in a single run all those days when he was he too hurt to play. Bum.

4) Cliff Floyd: The human spoiler. He spoiled us.

5) Victor Zambrano: What has he done for us lately? I mean before that?

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

1) Koo called safe when he was out.

1a) Koo in a position to be called safe.

1b) Koo eyeing home on a bunt as he rounded third.

1c) Koo doubling.

1d) Koo doubling off of Randy Johnson.

1e) Koo swinging against Randy Johnson.

1f) Koo standing in the batter's box.

2) Cameron lies down in right — and CATCHES the ball!

3) Zambton Comes Alive.

4) Glavine resembles Glavine against St. Louis.

5) Mike demolishes Milwaukee.

It Sucks To Be Mets

1) Wright called out when he was out in Atlanta. But c'mon, ump.

2) Koo (et al) blowing last Yankee game.

3) Hernandez not being perfect against Cardinals.

4) Junior Bleeping Spivey “stealing” second.

5) Congratulations, Jae — you're demoted!

Who's That Stranger?

1) Mike DeFelice: Designated for oblivion.

2) Eric Valent: Come back sometime, will ya?

3) MSG/FSNY On Time-Warner: The war is over! Until next year!

4) Scott Strickland: No, that's all right. Really. We're fine.

5) Felix Heredia: Sure we wanted you to go away, but not with an aneurysm.

Die [Opponent] Die!

1) Braves: Always the Braves. Always.

2) Skanques: 6-6 since the Collapse-O-Meter's last appearance.

3) Fish: They're probably better than us but they don't show it.

4) Phillies: Brett Myers still haunts me.

5) Cubs: Keep Derrek Lee away from us.

Seemed Important At The Time

1) Koo Starts The Ninth.

2) Looper Doesn't Start The Ninth.

3) Hernandez Removed In The Ninth.

4) Jose shouldn't bat leadoff. Unless he triples and steals a lot. Never mind, then.

5) Aaron Heilman.

Amazin' Zeitgeist

1) We're Great!

2) We Suck!

3) We're Great!

4) We Suck!

5) We're .500.

(The fans at Kaufmann Stadium are acting like they just won the World Series. It's nice to see. Hey, can you begin with a digression?)

Once in a while this game's just plain fun. Your ace torments a bunch of snakes. An ancient catcher gets waved around from first, with doom awaiting him at the plate — and somehow scores despite the fact that he's now moving at the approximate speed of a tectonic plate. An AL pitcher without a hit this year gets one that maybe goes 25 feet. A right fielder turns the wrong way, falls down, and still catches a ball. (Snakes, meanwhile, are watching balls bounce all over the place — though of course it's hard to field without limbs.) The suddenly resurgent young shortstop banks a ball off the pitcher and sees it go into the outfield. (A snake tries the same trick and sees the ball go right to the second baseman.) The aforementioned second baseman shakes off his haplessness to collect a two-run double, and quiets the mob. Even the ninth brings pleasures: Our young work-in-progress pitcher shows some admirable toughness in getting out of a jam, helped out by a nifty block of home by the just-returned backup catcher.

Why, it's enough to make a team want to take a break from the game to play in the sprinklers.

And did I mention that Mister Koo got put on the DL with a somewhat-vague injury? Turns out he hurt his shoulder sneaking home on that play against Randy Johnson. Odd that the culmination of Mister Koo's big inning would be the vehicle for his exit from the roster.

(Michael Kay is railing about the shocking sweep. He looks genuinely upset. Hee hee hee.)

Postscript to last night's game: My pal Pete arrived about nine to go out and play pool, sending me racing out to hear what I hoped would be a crisp wrap-up to Deep Throw's gem. (COUNSELL RESIGNS?) It had been a long time since I'd assumed this role: the anxious fan-in-the-car. Pete was a baseball fan ages ago (even, I seem to remember, vaguely a Met fan), but he put aside childish things sometime in the Doug Flynn era and now maintains a polite interest at best. He apologetically said he needed to get gas. With Looper coming in from the pen, I could not have been more magnanimous — after all, getting gas would take care of the entire bottom of the ninth. Or should. Or could.

Of course, getting gas soon turned into enduring torment, as Looper commenced to pitch lousy. Finally we're moving again — double play! Of course I'm now mildly annoyed that the high of winning a game will be followed by a few minutes of looking for a parking place. (Ingratitude, thy name is moi.) The double play apparently startles Looper: As we pull up to the bar, Tony Clark singles and they bring in a speedster to pinch-run, with Piazza of course still in the game. (Gulp.) I hold my hand up and poor Pete realizes that yes, we're waiting in the car until this is decided. Cintron singles. Good Lord. The car is like a tomb. Each pitch takes an eternity as my eyes flick around looking for some distraction. (One is helpfully provided: Three overeducated young men have made getting a sofa through a narrow doorway into a cross between a physics experiment and a board meeting.) Here comes Matt Kata. It's obvious we're doomed. Perhaps I'll stay in the car and drink antifreeze. But wait! Looper's gone schizo the other way again! Strike three! Wheeee! Turn that ignition off and let's go pound that Bud!

We walk into the bar and of course the game's been on in there the whole time. Clearly visible from the car, in fact. D'oh!

WASHINGTON (FAF) — Political pundits, media analysts and historians of all stripe continue to be flabbergasted by the shockingest of revelations this week, one that has rocked the nation's capital to its core.

After what seemed an eternity, Victor Zambrano has been revealed to be a good pitcher by throwing deep — carrying a shutout into the ninth inning before giving way to Braden Looper — in the Mets' 2-1 win over Arizona at Shea Stadium Wednesday night.

“I waited a long time, but I can wait no longer,” said self-confessed Deep Throat W. Mark Felt. “I have to say that Zambrano threw quite a game.”

Felt, whose role as the key source in the Watergate scandal received some attention before the Zambrano bombshell took over every news cycle, indicated the moment was right to reveal the right-handed pitcher's status.

“He was pretty good Wednesday night against the Diamondbacks,” the 91-year-old Felt admitted. “No, he was very good. Is he a hero? I'd have to say he was.”

It has been a parlor game of sorts in Washington and other interested precincts to guess when or even if Victor Zambrano would be considered a good pitcher. Estimates ranged from “never” to “when hell freezes over” to “what are you, drunk?”. Few Zambrano experts guessed the answer would be “yes” and arrive as soon as June 1, 2005.

“The thing that made me think there was no connection between good pitching and Zambrano,” said Felt, “was the fact that the guy pitched like he was pitching in a dark, deserted garage. You can't get batters out that way. Now, it turns out, that maybe you can.

“I don't know what to believe anymore.”

“A lot of investigation went into this,” explained Bob Woodward, co-author of the groundbreaking All the President's Men. “Carl [Bernstein, Woodward's co-author] and I thought we might have to carry this to our graves, but in the end, Victor Zambrano outed himself. He scooped the whole lot of us.”

The Zambrano identification had eluded experts because those who sleuthed for clues saw few if any hints that this story would break so unexpectedly. Theories like “walks too many”; “has that one bad inning”; “throws balls away”; and the popular “Zambrano for Kazmir? What are you, drunk?” seemed to eliminate the possibility that Victor Zambrano could be good, let alone excellent.

But now one of history's great riddles has been solved. While there is immense satisfaction among Washington's chattering classes knowing that Victor Zambrano is a good pitcher, there are still some loose ends in need of tying up:

* What took him so long?

* How did he keep his identity a secret?

* And will it be completely corroborated by his next start?

“Whoa,” cautioned longtime Washington Post executive editor Ben Bradlee. “One mystery at a time.”

I was gonna whine about losing, especially losing to the Diamondbacks. I went to a game last August against them just before we completely went sliding down the toilet and was amazed at how much worse the Diamondbacks looked than us. Kris Benson pitched carelessly that night but still won handily.

Not so much Tuesday night. The Diamondbacks seem to be rebounding nicely in the post-Colangelo, post-Backman (sorry, Wally), post-Unit “TRADE ME” nonsense (hahahahahaha) era. Long way to go, but they look sharp and are contending in the West. Don't know that I'd want to root for them, though. Yes, they spent themselves to Nirvana immediately, so their world championship rings are 15 years shinier than ours — and won in most noble fashion — but a franchise that can wallow in Colangelo, Backman (sorry, Wally) and Unit “TRADE ME” nonsense (hahahahahaha) is not on solid ground.

[Sidebar: Listen to Randy Johnson next time he's interviewed after a lousy start, hopefully soon. Then try to remember what Will Ferrell sounded like when he did Janet Reno on SNL. You won't be able to tell them apart.]

I wouldn't rather be a Diamondbacks fan than a Mets fan even if they did win a World Series four years ago. I wouldn't rather be an Angels fan than a Mets fan even if they did win a World Series three years ago (being very noble along the way themselves). There's probably been no better era in which to be an Angels fan, pending Vlad's stay on the DL, but that whole Los Angeles at Anaheim thing would be too embarrassing to explain away to our Dodger fan enemies. “Yeah, well at least, we're, uh, pliable!”

I wouldn't rather be a Marlins fan than a Mets fan either. Sure they won two years ago (nobly!). And they're pretty good right now. But take a close look at Your Name Here Stadium next time the Mets are sentenced to a series down there. More sacks of Soilmaster sit in the dugout than Marlins fans sit in the stands. Therefore, if we were Marlins fans, we would barely exist.

Nothing could be trendier than being a Red Sox fan, but that wouldn't work either. Yes, they did the Lord's noble work and should always be celebrated for it. Yes, they are defending world champions. Yes, there is that whole Red Sox thing that is quite charming and alluring. And yes they're a good team. But we're New Yorkers. New Yorkers who become Red Sox fans are Doris Kearns Goodwin.

I don't wanna be Doris Kearns Goodwin.

Those are the last four world champions. They are great excuses to become frontrunners. Each has won lately and each is in reasonable shape to make the playoffs again, perhaps this year. Three of them could win a World Series before too long, giving them (the Angels, the Marlins, the Red Sox) two to three trophies since we last won one.

But they're not for me or for us. We're better off being Mets fans. And if we're not gonna hop on a recently successful bandwagon, then whose?

We can't be Yankees fans. That's a given. First off, we'd die of shame. Secondly, if we didn't, our families would. And third, what kind of blog would Bluster and Blather in the Bronx be?

Despite losing in Kansas City tonight, I feel very full of myself. My team has won many, many world championships. It makes me a better person to root for this team. Next time I go to The Stadium, I will lick each monument in Monument Park with my tongue to prove what a good person I am. Then I will take my seat and yell expletives at our opponents. Then I will tell anybody who doesn't think my team is great that they are a loser. And I will lick another monument with my tongue if drunk enough to burst past security which should not be a problem. Then I will remind myself how great my team is and how many, many world championships they have won. My life is full.

Who're we kidding even bringing up the slo-pitch league? The only American League team we can root for is whoever's playing the Yankees. At the moment, we're Royals fans. Could we be Royals fans the moment the Yankees move on?

Not every club can hire a proven commodity like Buddy Bell and maintain a straight face, but that alone wouldn't make us Royals fans. No, the entirety of the American League exists for the sole purpose of tripping up the Yankees in two-, three- or occasional four-game increments. Scientific research has proven it's impossible to care about the Orioles or Blue Jays outside of their potential to finish in front of the Yankees.

It's impossible to care about the Devil Rays at all.

OK, so A.L. — out, at least until we need you to do a job for us. Let's instead sort through the league where baseball gets played nine men to a side.

We can't be Braves fans. After the last decade, that's about as much a given as us not being Yankees fans, but there's a better reason than enmity:

You simply don't wanna see me wrapped inside a fanny pack.

We can't be Phillies fans. There aren't enough lemons to suck to get the face just right.

We can't be Nationals fans. They're owned by Major League Baseball. “Go Antitrust Violators!”? I don't think so.

East's out. Central? Cardinals? You kidding? We couldn't possibly be that cheerful.

Cubs? That's rich. True, they know how to laugh at themselves, but they also laugh a little too much at everybody else. After 97 years of the big Without and maybe four good seasons in the past 30, wipe that smirk off your face, ivy boys.

Brewers? That would entail naming guys on the Brewers. Too much homework.

Reds? Embrace the proud tradition of Pete Rose, Marge Schott and D'Angelo Jimenez? Embrace this.

Astros? Cheer for Roger Clemens? Maybe cheer for a team that trades Roger Clemens because he's feeling a touch colicky over pitching for a lousy team? No, I'll stick with my own 1962 misfits.

Pirates? That I could almost see if only to sit anywhere I wanted in beautiful PNC Park, the best ballpark in the National League. But there's a reason I could sit anywhere I want in beautiful PNC Park, the best ballpark in the National League. It's the Pirates. Pass.

West? Padres are in first. Yeah, that'll last. Actually, they could very well win their division this year. They're good for a playoff season every now and then. Then they spend the next ten years selling off players and losing at two in the morning.

Dodgers? Reward a team that left Brooklyn? For Los Angeles?

Giants? Reward a team that left Manhattan? And not for Queens?

That leaves the Rockies. That's a bad idea at any elevation.

Sorry, Senior Circuit. We're not available. We're Mets fans.

So Mets, stop playing like you did against the Diamondbacks Tuesday. Because if you don't, we'll…we'll…

Well, there'll be no repercussions, because we've just determined we can't root for anybody but you, thus limiting our options to one, but there's no telling what kind of clever, cutting remark we'll post at the expense of your self-esteem next time you do play like that.

Consider yourselves on notice.