Good game. Not the way we would have wanted it to turn out, of course, but good game. In many ways a tenser, less goofy version of the first game of the series, down to the crummy umpiring and the absurd weather.

That bottom of the second, though? Ugh. Hit by pitch. Absurd pop-fly single in the howling wind. Balk. Walk the pitcher. Wild pitch. A should've-been double play that went awry when Minky, his fingers undoubtedly frozen, alligator-armed Piazza, who came up empty on the scoop. Single. Cubs 3, Mets 2, death by a thousand little cuts.

Sure, we fought back, showed life, even (ulp) battled. That hideous inning aside, Zambrano wasn't too bad -- infuriating, sure, but not bad. Heath Bell was terrific...in the 9th. Piazza kept smashing balls that unfortunately went right at Cubs. Eric Valent kept himself on the roster with a jump-out-of-the-coffin single. The Nameless Koo provided more evidence that he's not capable of doing the extremely specific job he was brought here to do, and we didn't lose a game for it. That short-arm of Piazza was just about the only play Marvelous Minky didn't make all day. But it wasn't enough, leaving us to confront that age-old baseball question: Which makes the stomach burn more, falling short in the ninth or tying it and saving the death rattle for extra innings?

Still, whatcha gonna do? Derrek Lee fouled off ball after ball in an 11-pitch at-bat, finally slamming one that was mightier than the mightiest Wrigley wind. Sure, he got a call in the sequence -- good hitters get calls, and he's hitting .383. It's only fair that sometimes the other guys play well and get a little lucky. Even if they are Cubs.

From the Daily News:

Tom Glavine presided over kangaroo court before yesterday's game. The camaraderie-building tradition of fining players for generally humorous indiscretions had been absent in the Mets' clubhouse since Darryl Boston* served as judge in the early 1990s.

Tom Glavine? TOM GLAVINE?

I wasn't aware he was even familiar with those 24 guys who aren't on his mound. Since he apparently is, I've got an idea for some indiscretions to put on the books, with suggested fines:

Constant alibis in analyzing yet another bad start = Trade to some other team for Double-A scrubs
Whining about Questec, the strike zone, etc. = Trade to some other team for Double-A scrubs
Consistently spitting the bit against biggest division rival = Trade to some other team for Double-A scrubs
Refusing to change approach despite ample evidence that it's no longer working = Trade to some other team for Double-A scrubs
Chronic injuries to throats of booing onlookers = Trade to some other team for Double-A scrubs
General suckage = Trade to some other team for Double-A scrubs

Seriously: How on earth did Mike Cameron not get this gig?

* The Faith and Fear Court rules Adam Rubin has to eat three soggy and/or rock-hard pretzels in one half-inning for his own misdeed. It's Daryl Boston.

Apparently there was something filtering through the air vents of the East School library in the early 1970s that infiltrated the kids' grudge receptors. As demonstrated the other day, I can still hold one that's more than thirty years old. And so can somebody else.

Since this has been a night for opposing viewpoints, it is my privilege to present unedited, as received via faithandfear@gmail.com, the other side of the Harry Truman's 88th Birthday story. Ladies and gentlemen, the first "arrogant, argumentative, generally didn't know what he was talking about" Yankees fan I ever knew and my best friend from third grade...

Here's something to add to your blog:

Clearly, I knew more baseball at 9 years old than you know now. Since that day in May 1972, the Yanks have won 5 World Series, each more glorious and filled with heroics than the one that preceded it. Great players, great teams, great wins, great times and great baseball -- still played at the site where its always been played, 161st Street and River Avenue in the Bronx. Even unsuccessful years -- 2001 for example -- provided for the greatest sports moments a fan could witness in person (WS, Game 5, Brosius' turn to make BK "Someday he'll be pitching for the Mets" Kim cry). Last year was rough, but your Schmetties were once again barely worth watching. Moreover, Old Timers Day at Shea continues to be nothing more than a parole opportunity or a rare paycheck for the rogues gallery of miscreants, malcontents, morons and deadbeats that typically underachieved in Dodger blue and Giant orange -- and a lot of mortuary black added of late. Lastly, with regard to HST, it was my idea and I never received the postcard back from him that you and the Debbies and Beths and your other fellow copycats did. Of course, that you still begrudge a great American dead 30 years a meager franking privilege suggests to me that in addition to the character flaws and deficient understanding of America's pastime that has led you to willingly choose baseball in a place appropriately called Flushing, you probably also find fault with how WWII was ended with swift and decisive action by the then Commander in Chief. President Truman, likely a Cards fan, had some choice words to describe that type of thinking and those who engage in it. You can look it up.

Jon Hymes
Washington, DC

P.S. To complete the historical record, I feel it's important to note that in 1979 you stole my review of Led Zeppelin's "In Through the Out Door" from Lindauer's The Tide inbox.

Good to hear from Jon for the first time in many a year. I appreciate his knocking one WS title off the Yankees' post-1972 tally, presumably 2000's. Did I mention he always had a terrific generosity of spirit?