“Wow, this is a really good sandwich. Who wants to ask me about it?”

Willie, what's the deal with the double-switch?

“The Double-Switch Deal? You mean how when you come in to your local Subway and you get twice the meat and twice the cheese at half the price? Yeah, what a deal!”

No Willie, we're talking about the double-switch you botched against the Reds.

“The only double-switch I made was the switch I made on the double from Quiznos to Subway, where there's always a great 'botch' of your favorite fixin's to top off your favorite sandwiches!”

You mean batch?

“I mean flavor!”

But Willie, the Reds?

“Ah, the reds — the tomatoes and the peppers that are available to accent the biggest, meatiest, tastiest Subway sub you've ever had. You're right — they're awesome!”

C'mon Willie. How on earth did you blow something as simple as knowing you had to take out the first baseman and the pitcher at the same time to be able to switch them in the order?

“You can order anything you like at Subway, and yes, you can get it to take out. And the only blowing I'll be doing will be blowing on my hot meatball sub because it's so darn hot when it comes out of the Subway microwave oven.”

Did you not realize that when you put DeJean into pitch that you also had to replace Mientkiewicz with Woodward simultaneously if you wanted Woodward to bat ninth? Was it a lack of experience that caused you to overlook that rule?

“I realize there's no better experience than biting into a delicious tuna sub at Subway. As a matter of fact, it does rule!”

That doesn't answer my question at all.

“Is anybody going to ask any questions about me?”

Yes. Do you have any idea how muddled your explanation was after the game when you said the umpires shouldn't have allowed Dave Miley's protest because you hadn't crossed the line yet? What line?

“There's no line.”

So you admit you were confusing the double-switch with a visit to the mound?

“I admit that there's never a line at Subway because their courteous, professional staff of sandwich artists moves you through their many restaurants and to your lunch in 90 seconds or less.”

Willie, the season's barely started, but it's beginning to feel as if you don't quite have your head in the game. After the crushing opener, you dwelled on what a nice day it had been for you. Regarding your closer, you basically said he's not as good as his counterpart on the Yankees, which doesn't do anything for his confidence or make Mets fans feel any better. You've got guys stealing when they should be staying, and staring when they should be running. And then there was this whole embarrassing episode with the double-switch that wasn't, which may or may not have affected DeJean's demeanor on the mound, and god knows DeJean doesn't need distractions. I guess I'm asking if you feel you're living up to expectations as a manager thus far?

“When it comes to expectations, Subway surpasses all of them. You've gotta try their new sandwiches. It's on bread that's really toast!”

Willie, get it together soon or that's what you'll be.

Forgive me for summing this one up before it's official. Fear 1, Faith 0.

All hail the unanticipated kingdom of Joe Randa — at least Howie's not

around to point out once again that he was a paper Met. And hey, we got

Juan LeBron for him. Did Juan LeBron even reach Binghamton? *

So many embarrassments tonight. There was Glavine doing his usual Glavine thing — even if he was

getting squeezed early, you knew eventually those decision pitches

thrown over the plate would lead to Bad Things, which they did. And

what exactly was Cliff doing trying to steal second with Diaz at bat as

the tying run? Your newest, number-crunchingest sabermetrician and your

oldest, crustiest, cigar-chewingest, selling-jeans-here-est scout would

have been equally appalled by that one. And couldn't Joe Torre have

stopped healing the sick long enough to lean over during an interleague

game and teach Willie how to double-switch? Mike DeJean sucked, but at

least you can't say he did anything wrong above the neck.

(Of course Victor Diaz now gets a hit. Goddamn it. This game will kill you.)

I largely held my fire during the St. Lucie days about Felix Heredia

because I take it on faith that those who stink in the Grapefruit

League generally come out of the gate OK and vice versa, just to make

baseball even more of a head-scratcher. But this is getting ridiculous:

Willie's giving Heredia the Mike Maddux treatment and it turns out he

refused to go on the DL, which means we'll have to resort to some kind

of 40-man-roster chicanery to bring Jose Santiago up to face Atlanta,

which will probably treat him like Julio Valera. (I hope Omar's

reviewed the roster rules, seeing how in Montreal Bud Selig barely let

him have 40 guys.)

Anyway, thanks Felix! Way to be a team guy! What's the over/under on

how many weeks of this we have to endure before the team grudgingly

eats Heredia's contract?

(Goddamn Mets. These lipstick-on-a-pig rallies ultimately just make you

angrier. La la la, I'm not listening to this comeback attempt.)

By the way, did you notice Mariano Rivera, Mr. Automatic, blew the save again? And got booed? Someone talk Filip Bondy off the ledge. If he's noticed.

(Strike three. Thanks for playing, Mike. Once again God was not fooled by my ostentatiously not listening to a rally. 9-5 Reds.)

OK, that was the suckingest bunch of suck that ever sucked, but for

whatever reason I'm not too discouraged. The team looks (sorry, it sounds)

much better defensively and the offense, while not exactly clicking,

has been encouraging up and down the lineup. Maybe it's just listening to a healthy

Reyes and Floyd. Maybe it's just having games that count again. Maybe it's just that it's finally warm. Regardless, I'm

hanging in there better than I'd expected. Though if things go badly tomorrow, I get the feeling

I won't be so philosophical at around 4 o'clock.

* The Internet provides. Juan LeBron played one whole season at Triple-A. So says his bio

on the Web site of your Somerset Patriots, who helpfully note that

LeBron was signed on August 3, 2004 and released on August 28, 2004.

(Somerset, please! A little tact!) Oh, and he hit .216.

But here's the weird thing: Juan LeBron even got a Topps baseball card,

part of the 1995 Traded set. Only the good folks at Topps goofed and

put his face on another Kansas City prospect's card, with that

prospect's face winding up on LeBron's. So who was the other guy in the do-si-do?

Carlos Beltran. You could look it up.

With 161 games remaining, our once-beaten closer has two choices:

* Getting bogged down in his mistake
* Climbing back on his proverbial bike

Yes, it's BONER OR PEDAL for BRADEN LOOPER.

(That's all of them, I promise.)

I'll bet there were some equally stupid things written about the Opener. I'll have to bet because I refused to read any of them.

I don't consider myself a see-no-evil fan — as opposed to Time Warner subscribers who are see-no-Mets, hear-no-Healy, a mixed bag to be sure — but on infrequent occasion I will institute a news blackout: no papers. The last time I did that was a couple of days in early November 2001 when I didn't want to be inundated by screaming headlines proclaiming,
MIRACLE YANKEES WIN GAMES, HEAL CITY

O'NEILL OBLITERATES MEMORY OF TRAGEDY

JETER FLIP TO CATCHER CAPTURES OSAMA

GOD PLEDGE: I'LL TRY TO BE MORE LIKE JOE

The last time before that was the Monday after a five-game series the Mets played versus third-place Philadelphia in mid-August 1980. With the Mets coming in a mere 7-1/2 back, I fancied this a showdown crucial to the outcome of what was clearly going to remain a four-team pennant race. By the time the weekend was over, so were the 1980 Mets. They were outscored 40-12, sat eleven back and were in the midst of a spankin' new five-game losing streak.

The Phillies took off and won the World Series, one of many that should have been ours.

That was the summer when I began to make it my business to buy every paper I could and read every word written about the Mets. The Magic was Back, you know, and the more evidence I had of it, the better. But after that sweep, I couldn't stand to be reminded that the Magic was illusory. So no papers that Monday.

And no papers yesterday. I wouldn't even click on one of our many helpful Braintrust links. Your reporting on the reporting by the likes of Bondy and Araton made me glad I saved my quarters and my eyesight.

Generally, though, I'm old-fashioned. I believe in newspapers, physical newsprint, as intrinsic to the baseball experience, win or lose. That kiosk at the end of the 7 extension which occasionally sells Mets (and too often the other kind of New York baseball) merchandise used to be a newsstand. That's romantic. I like the notion that you can buy a paper outside the ballpark. I think every fan should have read at least one paper before coming into the ballpark. I also think there should be all kinds of entrance exams administered to anyone daring to sit in a better seat than me, but that's for another time.

The beat writers do the heavy lifting for people like us (fans, I mean, but bloggers, too). We should give them a little love from time to time to recognize the volume of work they do, but we should also get something beyond the mundane and, worse, uninformed from them.

Man, it sure sucks that we lost the seventh game of the 2005 World Series yesterday afternoon.

What's that? We didn't? Are you sure? You'll have to forgive me then, because that's the impression I got from this morning's papers.

Here's Filip Bondy: “Sandman! Cue Sandman! Sorry, no Sandman. Very clearly, this was no longer the rally-proof

Bronx, the triple-pad-locked, barb-wired playground of a certain

one-pitch reliever.”

Now, I expected no more from the sniggering Muttley of Yankee propagandists. But I was a bit disappointed in Harvey Araton: “From the dugout as Joe Torre's third-base coach and last year as his

first lieutenant, Randolph had a front-row ticket for Mariano Rivera.”

Mariano Who? Oh yeah, the Yankee reliever. But wait a minute — isn't

he the same guy who came into Game 4 of the ALCS, with the Yankees

three outs from a World Series — and blew the save? And isn't he the same guy who came right back in Game 5 of the ALCS — and blew the save?

And perhaps I've gone crazy, because this seems impossible, but isn't

he the same guy who came into today's game (played in that

“triple-pad-locked, barb-wired playground,” if I can quote me up some

of that fancified writin') against the Red Sox — and blew the save?

Now, I'm no math whiz, but from my calculations it looks to me like

this Mariano fella is on a three-game losing streak, saves-wise.

Amnesia may be a necessary part of the toolkit for professional

athletes, but it's a bit embarrassing in professional sportswriters.

I'd climb higher on this particular high horse, except  for the

fact that our new manager is part of the problem. This, alas, was

Willie Randolph yesterday: “There's not too many Mariano Riveras

around, that's for sure.” I can't believe I'm saying this, but time for

a little Wilpon interference. How about a short, sharp memo: We admire your loyalty, Willie, but choose your comparisons more carefully — you work for us now. Any questions, let us know.

Anyway, this is the nature of closers. One of the more-searing parts of Moneyball

is Michael Lewis's description of Billy Beane stamping out closers like

counterfeit coins: “You could take a slightly above average pitcher and

drop him into the closer's role, let him accumulate some gaudy number

of saves, and then sell him off. You could, in essence, buy a stock,

pump it up with false publicity, and sell it off for much more than

you'd paid for it.”

When that was written, Beane had shipped off closer Billy Taylor to

some idiot team that'll remain nameless for Jason Isringhausen, whom he

later let go as a free agent and so converted into Cardinals draft

picks, to be replaced by Billy Koch, who couldn't make the Blue Jays

this spring.

Why is it so easy to mint closers and pass them off on suckers? Because people don't understand the numbers. As Alan Schwarz noted recently

in the Times, last year 84.8% of save opportunities were converted by

relievers considered closers. That works out to 32 of 38, which sounds

good to us, but isn't — it's average. (Schwarz notes that Keith Foulke

is the talk of the town these days, but he was actually slightly below average in save percentage last year. Incidentally, he blew a save today too.)

Braden Looper's an average closer. If he has an average year he'll go

32 of 38; if he has a good one he might go 34 or 35 of 38; if he has a

bad one he might go 29 or 30 of 38. I was gonna say he ain't Brad Lidge

— but you know what? Brad Lidge converted 88% of save opportunities

last year: better than average, but probably not as good as most people

would have guessed. And no, Braden Looper ain't Mariano Rivera, who did

convert 93% last year. (And 50% in the ALCS.) But I've got news for

certain New York media and managerial circles: Recently Mariano Rivera

ain't Mariano Rivera, either.

So Victor Hall and Yusmeiro Petit joined forces to put us over the top in the latest chapter of our long struggle against the Washington Nationals…oh yeah, I forgot. Anyway, nice way to close out the exhibition season — I heard about half the game, and the D.C. fans sure sounded excited.

Time for some post-Florida moratoriums:

* Grumbling about Randolph's Rules of Order is suspended until Memorial Day. Those determined to violate this order must first intone “we battled” after five consecutive losses.
* Immediately after the completion of tonight's season opener,  any and all warm wishes for the Boston Red Sox not of the “enemy of my enemy” variety are verboten. They're enemies again; the bandwagon is returning to Boston for storage with those kooky duck boats.
* Now that they're family, grousing about Hernandez, Heredia, Aybar, Matthews and Koo is hereby declared suspended — until Pedro walks off the mound at some point tomorrow afternoon.
* No one is allowed to wear electric blue with black until next February. A small silver lining in the dark cloud of Cablevision shenanigans: Those horrors were invisible for two-thirds of my spring. (If the powers that be should like to make this moratorium a permanent ban, they have my enthusiastic support.)
* Howie Rose must never, ever again sing “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne over the air, even if doing so might prevent an act of nuclear terrorism. If you don't know what I'm talking about, trust me.

Speaking of WFAN, our next burning question is which Met should get the nickname of “American Chopper.” This year's first inescapable radio promo is Tone Loc shilling for some cable-TV show by announcing that “American Chopper's in the hoouuuuuuse.” As with previous exhortations (“I seen better hands onna snake!”), it's so bad it's good.

Off to Cincinnati. We're oh-and-oh.