(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.

It's never the best PR move to spit the bit on the first game of a homestand after returning from an infuriatingly schizoid road trip after your city has been rendered baseball-less on the first national holiday of summer by a bizarre quirk in the schedule. It's particularly not a good PR move to spit the bit in such, um, projectile fashion.

Anyone with a morbid fascination could pick through tonight mess in the road and find plenty to wrinkle his nose at:

* A simply horrid return for Beltran: It's tough to come up to the plate your first three times with a total of five runners on base and one out each time and advance nobody even an inch, but he managed it. (Yuck!)

* Games from Piazza, Floyd, Wright and Mientkiewicz that were less awful only because their failures were less conspicuous. (Gross!)

* A terrible brain lock in the field by Reyes that opened the floodgates (Ewww!); and

* Another wretched performance by Mister Koo, who really has to be Norfolk-bound at this point, seeing how the highlight of his season is a fluke double. (Blecch!)

So once again we're 26-26. Glass half-full? Glass half-empty? Consult the wildly spinning Met-Fan-Mood-O-Meter. Where it stops, nobody knows.

But here's the thing: Our division is definitely of the half-empty variety. Tough division? Bah. I look at it and see five teams destined to take turns falling on the ice, poking each other in the eyes and engaging in other shameful pratfalls until the calendar finally runs out. The Phillies? Beset by the same weird, self-defeating woes that plagued them under Larry Bowa — they're a happy clubhouse now, maybe, but still a bad one. The Nationals? Playing over their heads, but a flawed team whose ownership disaster won't let them make the big move they need. The Marlins? Yo-yo city of late. The Braves? In their last two games they've watched a home run turn into a groundout in the rain, then failed to get a runner home from third with one out and the game on the line. (Yes, I did have a cookout and watch Braves-Nats on Memorial Day. Desperate times and all that.) Us? We know plenty about us.

With the idea of the wild card coming out of the NL East the stuff of horselaughs, time to focus on the lowest common denominator: This entire division is separated by 3.5 lousy games. Incredibly, we're 2.5 out. We could be tied for last tomorrow. We could be tied with the Nats and looking not so far up at the Braves and Marlins. In the AL Central we'd be 9 out. In the NL Central, 7.5 out. In the NL West, 6.5 out. (To complete the calculations: We'd be 5.5 out in the AL East and 4 out in the AL West.)

Somebody's gotta win this crummy division, so why not us? Hell, we came within one crappy Yogi Berra decision of winning the World Series with an 82-79 mark, right? Ya, um, gotta believe. Or something.

If there were a game today, I'd like to trot out the best team in Mets history. It's right here.

This is not an all-time team in the usual sense of the word, but the best team that could be pieced together based on the best individual seasons at every position and in every role in Mets history.

Let's start with the batting order:

1. Lance Johnson, 1996 CF

Perhaps the most aberrational season a Met has ever had. That is to say, nobody, centerfielder or otherwise, has had a season like this: .333 BA, 50 SBs, 21 triples, 227 hits, 682 ABs. The last three led the NL. He couldn't be gotten out through September. Shattered the team hits, runs and triples records. Didn't walk much, didn't have to. Slugged .479 batting leadoff. Defense improved in second half as he got used to Shea.

RUNNER-UP CF: Tommie Agee, 1970

2. Edgardo Alfonzo, 1999 2B

Best season from best all-around player Mets ever developed: 27 HRs, 108 RBIs, .304, team-record 123 runs, OPS nearly .900. Five errors all year, none on a ground ball. Transitioned from third to second for team's sake and nearly (should've) won a gold glove. Hit 3 HRs in Division Series.

RUNNER-UP 2B: Wally Backman, 1986

3. Keith Hernandez, 1984 1B

Keith put three consecutive years together from '84 to '86 that were similar, but it was in '84 that his impact on the lineup (no Carter, very young Strawberry) was at its peak. Led Mets to surprise second place finish, even more surprising battle for first. That was when he became Mex, running the game from first base. Batted .311. Walked almost a hundred times. Magnificent in clutch. More magnificent in field.

RUNNER-UP 1B: John Olerud, 1998

4. Mike Piazza, 2000 C

Though a late-season slump (probably from wear and tear) curtailed his numbers, and even though his stats were a shade better the previous year, Mike was at his NY best in 2000. Could've been MVP. 38-113-.324 as a catcher, for goodness sake. Signature moment: Three-run homer to cap ten-run inning in breathtaking comeback win over Braves. Shook off postseason blues with “monster out of the cage” shot versus St. Louis. Two homers in World Series. Maybe most feared hitter in NL that year.

RUNNER-UP C: Gary Carter, 1985

5. Darryl Strawberry, 1990 RF

Darryl's 1987, 1988 and 1990 were similar, high-impact seasons. 1990 gets the nod because he was never hotter than in June and July when he carried the team from the dumps to a nose-to-nose duel with the Pirates for first; team (26-5) was never hotter either. 37 HRs, 108 RBIs, the latter a team record at the time. Three-run homer against Pittsburgh in September his signature swing: huge game, huge moment, huge result. Stole 15 bags.

RUNNER-UP RF: Rusty Staub, 1975

6. Robin Ventura, 1999 3B

When one adds it all up, the best season any position player has ever had in Mets history. Transformed the lineup from the fifth spot: two through five was Fonzie, Olerud, Piazza, Ventura, R-L-R-L, all having banner years. 32 HRs, 120 RBIs (second to Mike in team history). .908 OPS. Nagging injury led to horrible late-season slump, but it was forever redeemed by Grand Slam Single. Gold Glove, best defense in team history at third. Launched Mojo Risin' as the team's rallying cry. By all indications, instant team leader.

RUNNER-UP 3B: Howard Johnson, 1991

7. Kevin McReynolds, 1988 LF

The most solid season from a player who was generally sound. 27 HRs, 99 RBIs, very good for the time. Provided support for Strawberry from fifth spot in lineup. Immaculate defense. 21 steals in 21 attempts, which may have been a record. Finished third in MVP voting. Hit two homers versus Dodgers in NLCS.

RUNNER-UP LF: Cleon Jones, 1969

8. Rey Ordoñez, 1999 SS

No shortstop has put up great offensive numbers for the Mets. None. But Rey managed to drive in 60 runs from the eighth slot. Batted a respectable .258 after flirting with .300 around the All-Star break. Defensively, he was at his peak, which is likely the peak for any shortstop. Finished the year with a record 99 consecutive errorless games. Only four errors all year. Most spectacular fielder Mets ever had.

RUNNER-UP SS: Bud Harrelson, 1971

With a lineup like this, we're not gonna be too terribly reliant on our bench, but you never know what a game situation will call for. So let's look at our subs. I didn't pick simply the player with the second-best season at any one position but guys who could actually fill roles. Unlike the starters, I went with guys who demonstrated their skills over their entire tenure as Mets.

UTILITY MAN: Joe McEwing, 2000

Super Joe played every position competently, infield and outfield. Could hit, could run. If he didn't own Randy Johnson, he sure rented him in 2000. Contributed to pennant winner which is why he gets the nod over Bob Bailor, circa 1982.

FOURTH OUTFIELDER: Carl Everett, 1997

This is a wild card choice, I grant you, but when I thought about it, here was a guy who never started consistently, certainly wasn't handed a job, but when he filled in, he was terrific. He was also a nut and probably dangerous, but when his talents were harnessed, he was a force. The only other fourth OF type who sprung to mind was Danny Heep, 1985, but I never liked him as much as others did.

PINCH HITTER DELUXE: Ed Kranepool, 1974

Who else but Eddie? Well, maybe Rusty ('83) or Mazzilli ('87) or Matt Franco ('99) or Lenny Harris ('01) or Marlon Anderson ('05), but how can we have an all-time Mets anything team without Ed Kranepool?

SUPERSUB: Melvin Mora, 1999

Could play anywhere and have an instant impact on both sides of the ball as he showed during his unfortunately limited Mets tenure.

DEPENDABLE VETERAN PRESENCE: Joe Orsulak, 1995

Competent at everything and one of my favorite Mets of all time. It's my roster.

BACKUP CATCHER: Todd Pratt, 2000

Already experienced as Piazza's caddy. Will keep everybody honest. And can catch day games after night games.

That gives us 14 position players: eight starters and six reserves. The question is do we want a 10- or 11-man pitching staff? Let's see where that goes.

Here's our rotation. They're all pretty much aces but with the exception of our No. 2 pitcher, they were each slotted into the role they've been assigned to here at some point during the season in question.

1. Dwight Gooden, 1985

Enough said.

2. Tom Seaver, 1971

20-10, 1.76, 289 Ks. Sabotaged by popgun attack and still won 20 games. Led league in everything else. Granted, Tom was never the No. 2 starter on the Mets, so let's just say we have a pair of aces and deal with that pleasantness.

3. Jerry Koosman, 1976

If they split the Cy Young, he would've won second half (Randy Jones was best in first half). Could've won it anyway. Wonderful climax (21 wins) to a wonderful Mets career.

4. David Cone, 1988

20-3. Most confounding range of motions of any Mets pitcher. Redeemed idiotic ghost-written column that fired up Dodgers with dynamite Game 6 in NLCS.

5. Bobby Ojeda, 1986

Most wins, most consistent pitcher on great staff in team's greatest season.

Our bullpen is…

CLOSER: Jesse Orosco, 1983

As hot a closer as the Mets ever had during season's second half. Won 13 games as a fireman. 31 saves remained team record for quite a while. Saved both ends of a doubleheader.

RIGHTY SET-UP MAN: Roger McDowell, 1985

Although he did close from time to time (and split the duties with Orosco in '86), he'd come in anytime, anywhere and do the job his rookie year.

LEFTY SET-UP MAN: Dennis Cook, 1998

Stabilized bullpen as no lefty had in a generation.

LONG MAN: Pat Mahomes, 1999

The unsung hero of a great bullpen. Kept the Mets in games every time they needed him desperately, right through the post-season.

SWING MAN: Terry Leach, 1987

Spot starting and middle relieving, Terry kept the Mets afloat during the chewy middle of their ill-fated championship defense. It wasn't his fault they didn't repeat.

That gives us ten pitchers (three righties, two lefties starting and relieving, respectively) and a 24-man roster. That would be good enough for the late '80s, but we should have 25. We are entitled. Something tells me we don't really need an eleventh pitcher, but the only position player we could possibly use would be a third catcher and that's almost always superfluous (especially with Super Joe around). So let's agree to have John Gibbons, 1986, on call at Tidewater in case something happens to Mike.

We are the Mets. We are about pitching. Let's have another pitcher. Heck, let's make him a lefty.

ELEVENTH PITCHER: Ken MacKenzie, 1962

He had the only winning record for the worst baseball team of modern times. That's gotta be worth something.

Seems there are some things we're not accustomed to.

Dae-Sung Koo is not accustomed to hitters swinging 3-0 — “In Korea and Japan, most players don't swing at 3-0. I wasn't expecting a swing on that.” That, of course, was the lifeless, string-straight fastball he threw to Carlos Delgado in much the same way a zookeeper throws a hunk of meat to a lion. I half-expected the guy who caught it to hold up a bunch of thread and a scrap of burning horsehide. To quote Bernard Gilkey from a few years back, a grown man hit that ball.

Kaz Matsui isn't accustomed to playing day games at Dolphins Stadium, which is why he lost a pop-up in the sun. Granted, he did manage to get the force, in a play that was tailor-made for reminding fans when the infield-fly rule is called and when it isn't. Marvelously fair game, this baseball thing.

We, of course, are accustomed to Matsui muffing pop-ups, not to mention grounders, humpbacked liners, bunts, pivots and other hazards of the infielder life. We are growing more and more accustomed to being pleased to see Miguel Cairo, his late Yankeeness notwithstanding. And from the chatter, Omar Minaya is increasingly accustomed to calling other GMs who think they need a middle infielder. Something tells me that one or another, the Kaz Matsui Era is nearing its close.

We're also accustomed to other things, like Tom Glavine quietly semi-blaming his teammates, manager and everyone else who wears the same uniform. (From the above New York Times article: He was “close” to empty before the 8th, could “certainly” have gone back out there, but also said he understood “if you guys want to send someone out there fresh”. Glavine also noted how he would have pitched Delgado differently, though he wasn't trying to second-guess Koo. Of course not. Hey Tommy — if you're so friggin' smart and not out of gas, why not insist that you want the ball for another inning?)

Oh, and we're accustomed to Mike DeJean being sucky. Too accustomed, I'd say.

Let's hope we don't get accustomed to Victor Diaz and David Wright grounding into double plays, or to Heath Bell getting grounders in exactly the wrong places. Tough “L” for Heath.

Yes, we took three of four from the Marlins, and I could get accustomed to that. But I could have tried on the four-game sweep for size, too.

By the way, how is it that neither the Mets nor the Yankees play a game on Memorial Day? What am I supposed to do, have a cookout and watch Braves-Nationals? How on earth does something like this happen?

Middle-of-the-day greetings, as tonight's posting weather is Uncertain with a 60% chance of drunkenness.

Is it possible for a team up two games to zip in a key series with a division rival to have that sinking feeling? Why yes it is. Hear that basso growl, the one with a hint of a high-pitched whine atop it? See the little bits of paper and trash starting to quiver and dance on the platform? Smell that little hint of smoke in the air?

That's the D-Train coming. And behind it, the Beckett Express.

You may want to shut your eyes for this next part — I'd type it that way if I could: Dontrelle Willis is 8-1 this year with a 1.55 ERA. He's faced us eight times in his career, and here are the numbers: 5-0, 2.31. The Marlins' record in those games? 7-0. (Beckett, meanwhile wound up on the wrong end of the unveiling of Aaron Heilman 2.0, but his career marks against us — which include his early scuffles — are 4-2, 2.41.)

So on paper we've already lost. We'll play 'em anyway, of course, in honor of Joaquin Andujar's favorite word in English,* but this is looking ugly, and that's not even considering whatever karmic horrors the Land of Teal will supply. (After yesterday's post I went looking for some numbers, and found something unexpected: After last night's game we're 45-45 in the history of what's now Dolphins Stadium. I would have guessed 22-68 or something equally awful. This lessens my dread by not a single shiver.)

In other news, the Eric Valent Era is over. Baseball is a pitiless game, and never more so than for the guys at the end of the bench. Valent had a terrific year in '04, emerging as a supersub with surprising pop and a talent for showing up in big moments. That let him turn his career from a tale of frustration to a nice story, one I admired all the more because Valent was the epitome of the kind of player who had to bowl over a big-league front office to get a look in the majors. At 5'11″ and 195 Valent's big for a civilian but small for a big-league player (and seems smaller), never mind that at UCLA he hit 69 home runs, still the Pac-10 record and more than amassed by the no-first-name-required likes of Bonds and McGwire. (Yes, there's an aluminum-bat factor at work here.) Valent had a great 2004, but he didn't get off to a good start in 2005 at all. If your name's Piazza or Mientkiewicz that's not fatal; if you're a bench guy, it is. Hopefully he'll catch on somewhere else. Hopefully he won't beat us too many times wearing a different uniform. Hopefully Victor Diaz will be unfazed by having hit under .200 at Norfolk and coming up to stare into the lights of the D-Train.

Oh, and turns out Shea is doing a Dog Night of its own: Aug. 20. First 5,000 fans get an unpainted bobblehead of either Matsui or Zambrano, ticket taker's choice. Rimshot. No, it's one of those mysterious promotions that takes place only out in the picnic area, rendering it for all intents and purposes invisible. Considering the alternatives, that seems like a good thing.

* Joaquin Andujar's favorite word in English was “You never know.” You could look it up.

We've seen enough horrors in Whatever They're Calling It This Year Stadium over the years to know that the crown always sits uneasy going into the ninth. By now, showing me a ribbon of teal or a split-second snippet of bags of grass-care products against cinderblock walls is enough to make me scoot for an exit. Because it's Miami, and cruelty awaits.

That ninth inning was one of the more-frightening one-two-three innings I've ever seen. The first hard part was just knowing it was coming. So you wanna be a major-league manager, huh? OK, Willie: Do you send Pedro back out there, hoping to complete a Cinderella story when the pitch count's past midnight? Or do you bring in Looper, who's been closing under a little black cloud for most of the year? Either way, if something goes wrong the newspapers will be radioactive. Ain't baseball fun? For the record, I fully backed the decision to go to Looper. I just did so while hiding behind the couch, nauseous with dread.

That dread had less to do with Looper than with the memory of so many games evaporated through bad pitching, bad fielding and bad luck. So of course Juan Pierre, bad news incarnate as it is, promptly banks one off Looper's foot. Juan Pierre who will obviously beat out an infield hit and then steal second and probably third off Piazza to make us regret our brief surge of euphoria when Mike actually gunned him down stealing. After which it'll just be a question of when and how: Right then and there in a lost ninth, or hours from now in a miserable 13th or 14th?

Only Reyes grabs the deflected ball and throws him out. One down.

Still, this is probably just disaster deferred. The Ghost of Garbage Man Huizenga still haunts these parts. And so, indeed, Paul Lo Duca bounces one off the plate, high into the air. High enough for many a batter to make first base while our infielders look at each other helplessly. Certainly high enough for Kaz Matsui to botch the play in some hideous fashion. After which Lo Duca will be replaced on the basepaths, probably by Luis Castillo, who will show that his bad leg isn't so bad by stealing second and probably third off Piazza to make us regret our brief surge of euphoria when Mike actually gunned Pierre down stealing.

Only Lo Duca isn't many a batter, but a slow-footed catcher. And Kaz is still on the bench, because he made the mistake of hurting his neck while playing lousy baseball. Cairo grabs the ball and throws Lo Duca out. Two down.

Still, we're not out of the woods yet. In fact, we're now entering the Carlos Delgado Forest, full of brambles and thickets and balls struck a long way. A third Delgado double will bring up the deadly Miguel Cabrera, who will undoubtedly hit a home run. Looper will squint and trudge off the mound disconsolately. Al Leiter will clap his hands and smirk. I will come downstairs and find Ed Coleman interviewing Delgado on the Clubhouse Report and snap a small bone in my wrist turning the radio off with enough force to twist a fair-sized tree limb off its trunk. Call it the Ghost of Ryan McGuire. And indeed, Delgado smacks a hard shot to the right of the second baseman — the kind of play Matsui can't seem to ever make.

Only…well, we covered that, didn't we? Cairo gloves it on the backhand, throws it to Mientkiewicz, and we're 1-0 winners. I still feel vaguely like throwing up, but it's a good kind of nausea.