The Germans have handy words for lots of complex emotional states, most notably Schadenfreude, defined for 40-odd years now as "the feeling of pleasure when the Yankees don't win the World Series." Do our crafty German friends have a word for "the giddy high that one doesn't want to hear is in fact not a high, but merely a return to relatively normal altitude"? If they don't, perhaps they should. My suggestion is Neuenmetzenabgebenendlichkeit. Rolls off the tongue, don't it? And I thought my seven years of half-assed schoolboy German would never amount to anything.

For yes, our New Mets finally delivered, and in storybook fashion, erasing a whole lot of sting from a bad week just in time for what otherwise would have been a rather tortured home opener.

Truth be told, I didn't think we were out of this one despite the fact that Smoltz was on, particularly with that evil splitter of his. Floyd looked miserable, but Reyes, Cairo, Mientkiewicz and Castro kept getting good cuts, and you could see Beltran and Wright walking away from each at-bat reviewing and concentrating, like they'd just dealt with a question on a tough but not impossible midterm. And then there was the X factor of the pitch count.

Besides (and this is an easy thing to claim after the fact), I knew I wasn't going to put a foot through the set even if we did lose 1-0. It was just too good a game, one of those you realize early that you're lucky to see (and for the first time this year, I did see it) and will talk about for years. In fact, it reminded me of the great Pedro/Clemens matchup from 2000: Both pitchers going all the way, 22 strikeouts between them, Trot Nixon breaking a scoreless tie in the ninth with a home run off the Rocket. (Emily and I watched that game in a packed Rockaway Beach bar that regarded every pitch from about the 7th on like part of Mass, but that's another tale.) That game shows up on ESPN Classic now; today's may join it someday. (If so, they better show the great gunfighters' moment where Pedro and Smoltz took amiable, respectful swipes at each other after Pedro's comebacker.)

Pedro? We'd need a whole lot of new words in a whole lot of languages to sum up Pedro today. Two hits -- Andruw's triple, which was nearly a shoestring grab by Floyd, and Estrada's chalk-puff double. And after the double he gave up nothing. Nothing! (I know you know this, but hey, this one deserves a write-up for the history books.) Even more impressive, to me, was the killer look in his eye after the leadoff triple. A little pop-up that Wright made a nice play on (though Andruw should have scored -- he is absolutely hopeless from the neck up), a strikeout, a harmless flyball. Bang, bang, bang. When's the last time we had a pitcher who was able to elevate his game that way? (Leiter was a ferocious competitor, but all too often he couldn't get out of his own way.)

And then that marvelous 8th inning, which reminded me of the Olerud grand-slam game against the Braves: all the frustration and tension flying away as if the home run had yanked it out of the dugout and our tortured psyches, leaving us all floating blissfully free.

Are we a playoff team? I don't know any more than I did when we were down 1-0. The difference is I'm no longer worried -- about us or the 25 guys who actually have to do the work. They -- and we -- are gonna be just fine now. Danke schoen, Pedro und Carlos.

Ol' Case had a pitcher named Karma at Worcester, his first managerial posting, in 1926. Karma went through the order once but never again. Turned out what would go around didn't come around. So much for Karma, Stengel said.

So much for this pitching staff, too. Mr. Martinez notwithstanding, it's enough to make one long for the days of Astacio, Estes and D'Amico. Who knew D'Amico'd inherit the earth? At least those guys kept up appearance for a couple of months before imploding.

Pedro (Martinez, that is) is wonderful and our best hope for redemption Sunday afternoon, but he began a disturbing trend. I'll play Statboy for now and break down the innings that have followed the starters' breakdowns:

Game 1: Down 0-3 in the first, Martinez over the next 5-1/3 gives up 0 hits, 2 walks, 0 runs.
Game 2: Glavine...well, forget Glavine.
Game 3: Down 0-3 in the first, Ishii over the next 5-1/3 gives up 0 hits, 1 walk, 0 runs.
Game 4: Down 0-2 in the first, Zambrano over the next 4-1/3 gives up 3 hits, 3 walks, 0 runs.
Game 5: Down 0-4 in the second, Heilman over the next 3-2/3 gives up 0 hits, 0 walks, 0 runs.

Prior to each stretch of the four games in which the starter has settled down, it seems the tipping point has been a visit to the mound from or a talking-to in the dugout by Coach Peterson. He tells them something and it seems to work for a decent interval. Then it wears off. I guess I'm wondering:

1) What's he saying?
2) Why doesn't he say it before the game?

I'd ask why there's a statute of limitations on the effectiveness of his amazing advice, but I'm thinking it's like blackjack. Every pitch that hasn't blown the game beyond obvious repair is another pitch closer to 21. Heilman, for example, said "hit me" once too often to Larry/Chipper. Somebody had the good sense to not let Victor the Erraticator go above 17.

And Braden's ERA has diminished from Incalculable to 36.

Funny (funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha) thing is this team doesn't look awesomely bad. Remember 2002, the last time off-season moves were supposed to catapult us back to the top of the East? That team looked awesomely bad. I was watching an A's-O's game the other night and a Baltimore infielder cut off a throw from the pitcher to first on a bunt. The announcer swore it was unprecedented, but I'm pretty sure some combination of Leiter and John Valentin pulled off that same neat trick in an early-season meltdown three years ago. It was, if I recall correctly, the game in which Ordoñez discarded his suddenly tarnished glove in frustration. (To think we were still tracking the Wild Card standings when August began.)

I don't sense the "uh-oh, we can't get out of our own way, I thought Alomar was supposed to be so great" cloud that enveloped us in '02 moving in from quite the same kind of angle right now. There are, however, a lot of stormy conditions.

* Except for Matsui, the defense has been reasonably sound.
* The batting averages aren't microscopic unless runners are on base.
* As illustrated above, starters have shown the ability to pitch several competent innings, one following another, though usually after digging a hole.
* The bullpen has been undistinguished but not altogether incompetent.
* Save for the double-switch blunder that served to haze Randolph into the N.L. managerial fraternity, Willie hasn't noticeably screwed up.
* Everybody's pressing a bit too much, yet one good rally should take care of that.
* If it has to take place versus Smoltz, so be it.
* Stop being such Old Mets already yet.

Karma? Luck? Dunno. But we're due.