There can't be a historically minded person in Metland who didn't at

least cringe a little bit after reading Willie Randolph's rules for the

team: no beards (guy-in-the-pool-cleaning-van 'staches are OK), no

earrings on the field, 1 a.m. spring-training curfew, no booze on the

team bus or plane, etc.

Part of the hackle-rise is the reflexive little-brother rebellion

against all things Yankee, which it's our job as Met fans to take a bit

too far: Whaddya mean, we've gotta go to the postseason every year? And be just like the Yankees? Screw that!

But there's also the specter of a certain horrible early-90s manager.

No booze on the team plane? C'mon. I can understand some rules to

prevent '86-style debauch — something along the lines of No vomiting out the emergency exit at 35,000 feet while feeling up another player's wife — but after you've been beaten 9-2 by San Diego and are stuck on the redeye, booze is practically mandatory.

Nice to see that we've got some new horrible spring-training duds to

affront the eye. (Or maybe those blue-black-orange-white disasters

aren't new, and I had just successfully blocked them out.) Amazingly, I

think these are even worse than the wave-me-if-lost-at-sea orange ones

from last year. The distress-flag orange unis hit you immediately, at

least; the sheer awfulness of the new ones keeps coming back at you

after you think you've absorbed it all. Can't Willie make a rule about that?

Enjoyed Piazza's remark that the moustache would go because he doesn't

want to look like “70s Burt Reynolds.” On first glance it wouldn't seem

like looking like 70s Burt Reynolds is all that different than looking

like a little lost Allman Brother. But on further review he's

absolutely right. (On the other hand, would it have been cruel to tell

Matt Ginter, “You can keep that beard, kid — Norfolk ain't got no

facial-hair ban.” Yes, probably.)

The Star-Ledger morphed Pedro Martinez into Perez today. What's going on over there?

Shawon Dunston — greatest late-season pickup in Mets history, all based on one at-bat (leading off the 15th of Game 5 vs. Atlanta), probably the greatest at-bat in Mets history, all due respect to Mookie. I think he was simply issued No. 12 and recognized it as having belonged to The Boz. That alone got him in my good graces after years of cursing him out as a Cub. I was disappointed when he wasn't more thrilled to be here in the first place (he just bought a house in St. Louis, but that wasn't my problem), delighted when he gave the boys a stirring speech after the epic series against the Braves, dismayed when he wasn't re-signed thereafter and went back to being just another nettlesome utility player for somebody else.

You'll be happy to know that future Met Dick Stuart was succeeded at first in Pittsburgh by future Met Donn Clendenon. But if you want an immediate and dramatic defensive upgrade, consider this:

On June 14, 1983, the Mets' starting first baseman was Dave Kingman. On June 15, the Mets traded for Keith Hernandez. Pretty immense improvement right there. True, Piazza was a catcher playing first whereas Kingman was a misanthrope masquerading as a human, but they were both out of position and both were relieved by master glovemen. Keith proved it over and over here. Dougie Hard to Spell & Reluctant to Sell, we'll see.

Ah, the ambiguously gay Chevy. Isn't it great how the guy who can afford to purchase any 50 automobiles he desires (plus his dad owns a dealership) is gifted a vehicle while thousands of fans scraping by in '92 Corollas watch and applaud? I forget — did they bestow a Shoney's on Mo Vaughn during Injury Appreciation Week?

Had an interesting (to people like us) debate with Rob earlier today regarding who you'd rather have as your catcher for one year if you were creating an all-time Mets team based on a single year's performance. I take Piazza 2000, he goes with Carter 1986. He gives Carter credit for grit and the role he played in Game 6 against Houston when Keith delivered his Sermon on the Mound: “Call any fastballs and we'll fight,” or words to that effect. Said Rob, “I can't imagine Piazza ever being involved in anything like that.” But, I countered, it's not like Carter said screw you, I'm going with No. 1 and if you don't like it, I'll rip your mustache off your ugly face — now go back to first where the only thing you know about pitching is that you can't hit it, or words to that effect. Carter listened and called for sliders. Piazza could have done the same thing, though he might have come out for Pratt (or Hearn) by the 16th.

Then there was the Clemens thing in 2000, both the beaning and the bat fragment, for which Rob still awaits retaliation. (What — Shawn Estes didn't do it for him?) I still don't know how to explain that away in Mike's favor. Davey Johnson's Mets would've wailed on Clemens in a situation like that. Bobby V, for all his weird bluster, did not instill a literal fighting attitude in his charges. Anyway, I loved Gary Carter, even more in '85 than in '86, and I wouldn't want to diminish him at all, but I'll go with Piazza for my hypothetical team. (I'll roll out the rest of the lineup here one of these days.)

Thing about spring is Piazza hasn't slumped since last season, so we're all constructing lineups and penciling in Piazza-type production approximating what we once knew. Mike has not been Mike except for flashes since 2002. Going to first was going to take a big load off his body. Now going back to behind the plate is supposed to take a big load off his mind, yet his body is another year older. He may start the season batting cleanup, but I can't believe he'll end it there. But if not Mike, who? It's probably a bit much to put that slot on Wright right now. Floyd? You don't get the sense he's long for this team wherever he bats. It must be difficult to have a job where your status is talked about in clouded terms constantly, and the majority opinion is you'll be traded and are unwanted, but for what these guys make, put up with it, smile and grab a bat. Ditto for Cameron, not the centerfielder he thinks he is.

I worry about Beltran out there. Center is notorious at Shea for its swirling breezes and Devil's Triangle effect on fly balls. Lance Johnson said it took him half a season to figure it out. Brett Butler never did. Willie Mays said it was the most difficult center he ever played — as a Giant when he was still Willie. And Cameron looked like Keith Miller at times last year, not enough like Pat Howell (yes, Pat Howell, best defensive CF we ever had, albeit for five minutes) the rest of the time. We're all putting too much on Beltran probably.

My, this is a nervous Friday. They've done no more than loosened their arms and I've got worst-case scenarios going all over the place. At least I'm in mid-season form.

Spring training being spring training, the papers basically had two stories today — Mike Piazza Is Contented and Willie Randolph Is Not Art Howe. You're right — why on earth do they all write these things on the same day? If they're going to do that, why not just use a pool reporter?

Re Piazza, I have to wonder if any team has ever upgraded its first-base defense the way we have going from Mike to Mientkiewicz. (No insult to Mike, who would probably agree he shouldn't have been over there in the first place.) Who followed Dick Stuart at first base for the Pirates?

Does Mike's marriage mean Alicia gets to drive the World's Gayest Vehicle around Miami Beach? (I'm using the seventh-grade sense of that word, naturally — no gay man I know would come within a mile of this disaster.) Note that I tried and failed to find a picture of Piazza staring in horror at the actual truck forced upon him in last year's cruel ceremony. I fervently hope he made his agent's assistant sell it on the spot. Poor Mike. It's been a tough couple of years.

As for Willie, the most interesting thing to my geeky little eyes was, naturally, the Daily News' discussion of how he wound up with #12 instead of #30 — as you knew immediately, it's in homage to Ken Boswell. A quick check of Jon's Mets By the Numbers confirmed my memory that Shawon Dunston also wore #12 to salute K.B. Since it would be cynical to suggest Cliff Floyd's digits might be up for adoption soon enough, I'll confine myself to wondering at the seemingly outsized influence of Boswell on the youth of Brooklyn in the late 1960s.

(Art Howe's number should have been an homage to Terry McDaniel. Rimshot.)

Following up on yesterday, the Guy Swearing You'll See Him in July is Orber Moreno, whom I feel kind of bad for forgetting about even though he's probably destined to be the next Jaime Cerda.

News about The Holy Books* — the fairly anonymous Chris Woodward somehow already has a Met card, from the very cool retro Topps Heritage set. One wonders if that will be the highlight of Mr. Woodward's Met career. Meanwhile, the player most likely to be the Guy Who's a Holy Books Problem (though not of an Al Schmelz level) has got to be the just-signed Francisco Campos. Who? Wha? From where?

* Note for anyone else actually reading this: The Holy Books are Jace's two binders full of baseball cards chronicling the history of the Mets. Each player gets a card (or a photo, if no card is available), arranged according to the year of their Met debut. Al Schmelz, Class of '67, is the only member of The Holy Books to lack at least a decent photo. And yes, Jace is insane.

So Day 1 being Day 1, the papers gave us the view from the GM's chair, to be followed, as always, by Day 2 or 3's view from the manager's chair. Day 1 being Day 1 for me as well, it was time for my annual moment of being struck by how programmed spring training and spring-training coverage is. It's like opera — take one look at the people on stage and one listen to the vocal tones and you pretty much know the story. Day 1 being Day 1, this is comforting and wonderful.

Though it wouldn't be Port St. Lucie without some of the usual Met weirdness. The beat writers obviously really like Jose Reyes, because they were sure willing to wave off the fact that he, um, didn't finish his hamstring regimen with Mackie Shilstone and, gosh, doesn't always do all his exercises because there are so darn many of 'em. Beyond the obvious objection — “There's just too many switches and doohickeys to push all of 'em, but I sure am loving flying 747s again!” — one wonders how the scribes would have taken that from, say, Rey Ordonez. And then there's Alay Soler (identified, oddly, as Soler Solay in the Star-Ledger), who says his agent's stealing from him and whose agent says he was trying to sneak in on a doctored passport. Either way, he ain't here. Yes, a career in a baseball team's front office is very rewarding, kids — and did we mention Jeff Wilpon calls 25 times an hour?

Anyway, one of my favorite parts of spring training is how there's really only a single set of player profiles that get trotted out every year. Only the names change. The beat writers are probably already holed up at the Cracker Barrel figuring this out, but we can get there ahead of them.

A couple of these perennials have already been cast:

Guy Who's About to Burst Onto the Scene: Reyes. Let's hope.

Guy MIA Because of Visa Problems: Obviously it's the unfortunate Mr. Soler/Solay. If he was a Yankee he'd cruise in on a yacht and some Costanza type would tell us he bobbed here in an oil drum.

Journeyman Who Just Might Stick: One paper (forget which) has already cast Joe Nelson for this role, though most of the story was about how he knows Jason Kidd. Of course Ron Calloway, Manny Aybar, Jose Rosado, Marlon Anderson and others are all auditioning. “Stick” is of course a relative term — who wants to be the next Jon Nunnally?

Minor Leaguer in Awe of It All: Philip Humber is already gushing about pitching off The Same Mound Occupied By Pedro.

Yet to be cast:

Minor Leaguer With Interesting Story: Who knows? Bob Keppel? Ambiorix Concepcion? It's usually one of the anonymous catchers kept around for split-squad games. Getting cast in this role means you will never make the Show. Send the story to mom, because it's over.

Guy in the Best Shape of His Career: So far I suppose it would be Heath Bell, though … oh, we're going to make a lot of fun of Heath Bell this year, so let's leave it at that for now.

Comeback Feel-Good Story: Andres Galarraga, of course. In our house the story of April and May will be Emily swearing off her mysterious, longstanding hatred of the Big Cat.

Guy Enjoying His Last Go-Round: Galarraga by default — we don't seem to really have one of these. Which is best.

Guy Who's Just Happy to Be Here: TBD. Eric Valent?

Guy Who Works Harder Than Anybody: Between David Wright and Joe McEwing, we've got this one covered.

Guy in New Surroundings: We're gonna get at least a week of these for Pedro and Beltran, not to mention Willie Randolph. Mientkiewicz won't qualify because he'll have to be asked about the World Series ball 58,000 times.

Guy Going Back to His Roots: You know, the veteran fallen on hard times who's probably going to make the team, but still arrives with a crew cut, takes a number in the 60s for inspiration, works hard and keeps his mouth shut. Do we have one of these this year?

Guy Who Doesn't Take It Too Seriously: Not sure we have one of these “I'll be there when the bell rings, skip” guys, what with Mike Cameron coming off surgery and Pedro being the Anti-Pedro.

Guy Who Knows He'll Be Elsewhere: Cameron? Cliff Floyd? Grant Roberts?

Guy Swearing You'll See Him in July: Scott Strickland? Tyler Yates? Said guy generally doesn't show, natch.

Guy Who's Making This Team, Dammit: Victor Diaz? This guy inevitably gets screwed by a get-the-roster-down-to-25 trade that brings in some has-been from another organization. Baseball is so imaginative sometimes.

As a parting thought, I loved Shilstone's quote about Reyes: “His varied problems are multifaceted.” It's like one of those occasional bummer fortune cookies, if management consultants took over writing them. Still, I've felt the same way about myself now and then.