Well, it was fun. Now here we are in more-familiar confines: Last place, .500 record.

We were heading out to dinner and wound up behind a gaggle of depressed Brooklyn Heights Met fans who'd obviously just returned from the game: They'd stripped off their gear and were holding their Beltran bobbleheads glumly, like they wanted to discard them but were still holding out hopes of making the ticket price back on eBay. Kind of said it all.

What a nasty sixth inning. Bobble by Cameron. Benson has to put a ball in his pocket. Horrifying error by Offerman. (How many times did Red Sox fans get to say that? Why is he on this team?) Reyes doesn't get the tag down on a rare good throw by Piazza.

Come to think of it, the ninth wasn't a lot of fun either: Graves hit Encarnacion (whom we can't get out no matter what we do) and Anderson failed to execute an ill-advised behind-the-back flip. (I may be wrong, but to me it looked like he had time to turn and fire a conventional throw.)

In our half of the ninth, I officially gave up hope when Offerman strode to the plate and Gerald Williams moved into the on-deck circle. If you told me in March I'd see that combination in July, I would have assumed I'd be watching an old-timers game out of boredom. Nope, just the Mets letting the rotting corpses of last millennium's average players clog up roster spots that might otherwise be used to evaluate players under 30 who might actually have some use beyond this summer. (Such a shame Brian Daubach didn't get a chance to hit, while we're on the subject.)

We're nine behind the Nationals. It's getting harder and harder to say they can be caught. Though maybe if we bring up Benito Santiago and coax Mike Sharperson out of retirement....

Hope you get an enjoyable visit today -- we'll be there tomorrow for Joshua's second-ever Mets game. He's very excited, though I'm not sure how we're going to handle the fact that he's somehow gotten it into his head that he's going to play. (Perhaps I've been telling him too many tales of the 2003 Mets.) Between Victor's statue act on the mound and the D-Train poised to blow through us, Mommy and Daddy may inadvertently teach him some new words.

Last night we had friends from out of town over and so I watched our heroics and anti-heroics with the sound off, a tacit compromise that seemed to please everyone. It made for somewhat odd watching toward the end, though -- Woonderson's double/go-ahead single seemed to come out of nowhere without crowd noise to ratchet up the tension, and it was eerie to watch Looper's great escape in silence. Still, I had no trouble imagining the boos as Delgado cruised into second, and Emily's growl of disgust was a perfectly serviceable stand-in.

On the other hand, Mike Lowell's misery needed no additional senses to grasp. I really do feel sorry for Lowell. Or rather, I will be happy to shake my head in sympathy come Monday.

THB Update: Dae-Sung Koo got a card in Upper Deck Series 2. I'm sure it will be the most-cherished possession of every schoolboy in America. So much for the card of him in Orix Blue Wave togs that I acquired with considerable difficulty. (Actually it was fall-off-a-log easy thanks to eBay, but it seems like it should have been hard.) That card's back is mostly in another language, but I imagine it says things like this:

• Once assaulted a man for mispronouncing his name and prefers to be referred to with honorfics
• Struck long double as Daejeon Prefecture School No. 45 defeated Rural Junior Academy No. 12, 5/3/77, and dreams of doing so again
• He is better than Mike DeJean, so stop whining

They're one person, I've decided. It's just easier that way. Charlon Woonderson is the best darn IF/OF/PH we've had since I don't know when. Wearing No. 184 (or sometimes 418), he comes in wherever and whenever required and gets the job done.

• Need to get a guy on? Woonderson!
• Need someone to drive him in? Woonderson!
• All out of second basemen? Woonderson!
• Is a great play in order? You know who to call.

Rando's Commandoes, who first reared their beautiful heads in mid-April, are still at it halfway through the season. Willie's bench has not let him down, certainly not Charlon Woonderson, the personification of versatility...squared. He has made us forget about ol' whatshisname, not to mention that other one who disappeared though I hear he's coming back Saturday.

This team ain't flawless -- sometimes it's downright flawful -- but you can't blame the reserves, particularly the ones (I mean one) who have (has) been playing with regularity lately and accomplishing things with assuring consistency. The Marlins learned about all the manager's men Friday night, particularly in the eighth when Woonderson, with an assist from co-commando Ramon Castro, manufactured the winning run. With Beltran and Martinez around, the inclination is to follow the money, but where would the Mets be without their afterthoughts?

Woonderson is terrific. Castro, even if he doesn't have the cachet of a Tank, gets timely hits and receives the ball competently. Jose Offerman, though his being here seems like a gag, hasn't been retired yet (two hits, one hit by pitch). Brian Daubach bears a striking resemblance to Vince Vaughn and he was the only who looked remotely like a swinger on the West Coast. I hear Gerald Williams likes children and animals and is a friend to everybody even if he isn't a shortstop.

Not a bad group considering they've been pressed into service in unexpected spots and practically none of them was as much as a slow roller in our collective consciousness when the swallows returned to Port St. Lucie in February. We were all about McEwing and Phillips and Valent and Galarraga and Ron Calloway and Kerry Robinson and maybe even Luis Garcia (I just found out he opted for free agency at the beginning of June, satisfying my curiosity over why he wasn't called up to play some first).

Oh...and Cairo. I keep forgetting about Cairo, returning from witness protection at last. That reminds me:

Go down Victor
Way down in Norfolk land
Tell Omar Minaya
Let me play first

Regarding other precincts, it's imperative that we thrash the Fish the rest of the weekend. They're allegedly the team to beat in this division. I don't think so but why take chances? I feared them after they peeled themselves off the Soilmaster at True Playa and took two from the Braves. Might that have been the big turnaround the Baseball Tonight types have been telling us has been on its way since April? Not to read too much into two games, but our winning or, better yet, sweeping (as if we ever win on Sunday afternoon at home) this series would go a long way toward keeping that from happening.

They're a talented bunch but they don't seem that deep. I'll take Woonderson over the 99th Greatest Met of the First Forty Years and whoever he's waving a towel with these days. In any event, we have, for at least a night and a morning, pawed our way above the Phillies. Would be nice to hit the Fourth in third. We're getting to the point where it's beginning to matter.

Not to look ahead ("Today is our most important game of the season because it's the one we play today" or words to that effect --B. Valentine) or too far off to either side, but the Nationals are presenting a problem. I listened to them play the Cubs Friday afternoon. If they lost, we could've been at that moment 7-1/2 games out of first. But if the Cubs lost, we'd pick up ground on them, the only non-East Wild Card contender. This is getting complicated, but it beats the simplicity of being, say, 30-49.

Anyway, the Nationals won as they tend to do often, something beyond our control until Monday. But there are Fish to filet in the meantime. I'll be in the mezzanine Saturday afternoon cradling my Carlos Beltran bobblehead doll. Actually, we get most of the doll when we pass through the turnstiles, and then they'll mail out the missing 5% of his right bobblequad when it's completely healed.