Yeah, winter is without use. Evaluating every milepost along its dreary way, from Halloween through April Fool's — it's all winter until Opening Day — only serves to remind us that there's no new baseball immediately en route. How anybody can invest anticipation toward anything that doesn't start with a first pitch is beyond me.

Good news is the Mets have assured us of a shorter winter than that to which we've become accustomed. When was the final out of 2006? Too soon is the correct answer, but technically somewhere around 11:45 PM, October 19. Thanks to the irony cops, we open in St. Louis on April 2 at, I'm guessing, 4:05 PM Eastern (the Cardinals will probably have some unsavory, self-congratulatory rituals to muddle through). So if I've calculated correctly, the Baseball Equinox will occur in Metsopotamia on Wednesday, January 10 at around 7:55 AM. That will represent the approximate midpoint between the last curve broken off by Adam Wainwright and the first fastball fired by Chris Carpenter.

Progress? You bet. Last year's Baseball Equinox arrived in the wee hours eight days earlier, indicative that the 2005 regular season closed without playoff ado. This year we were granted 18 extra days of summer. That's something to keep in mind as the sun begins to regularly drop from the sky at two every afternoon. And on that frigid second Wednesday morning of January, as you scrape that newest layer of frost from your windshield, just remember that the worst has melted.

Until then, until next year, there is what is suddenly last year. It's not going anywhere...not if I have anything to say about it.

Y'know what I ran across in my mess of stuff a little while back? A requiem, if you will, for the 1988 season that I wrote the night the Dodgers shut the Mets out in that year's distressing Game Seven. I wrote down all the things that were worth remembering, including the Pedro Guerrero incident...Lenny's hand in the air...HoJo's shot off Gott...Kevin + Darryl: 5 RBIs apiece in Philly...Elster's two off Leary...

If I strain really hard, I kind of think I remember what the hell most of those things were, but I'm not altogether positive. 1988 had been a fantastic season. Its postseason left a little to be desired, but we won a hundred games and a division title by 15 lengths. Today that's an afterthought. Today that's a shame. How many runaway romps do we have in our scrapbook anyway? 1988's was, at most, our third. The one we just witnessed was our fourth. I'm hangin' on to this one for now.

Lest you think me the neighbor who won't take down the Christmas lights, allow me to elaborate on the shortsightedness of relentlessly adhering to the long view.

On Opening Day 1987, the Mets threw themselves a lovely ceremony to distribute jewelry and raise a flag. My mother offered to videotape it for me. Nah, I said, that's about last year. I want to focus on this year.

It was a popular theme that spring. With Darryl having been accused of this and Doc having been caught doing that, the Mets made a lot of noise about leaving this and that in the past and moving full steam ahead. George Vecsey suggested the team's slogan be something along the lines of "The 1987 Mets: We're Putting It Behind Us."

The Mets wouldn't be in a World Series for 14 more years. That one, 2000, didn't go as swimmingly as '86's. Several changes were made. Those Mets who were new for 2001 weren't part of the National League champs. Those Mets who remained were guys who lost the World Series. The Daily News slapped a conventional wisdom headline, "Mets make World go away," over a thoughtful Lisa Olson column in which she reported the mood in St. Lucie had morphed over the winter from "what ifs?" to "what nows?".

2001 was, essentially, as successful as 1987. The Mets had moved on from their predecessor seasons with only another year of age to show for it. 2000, like 1986, faded because it was time to move on.

We're always waiting 'til next year, even immediately after years when we were completely fulfilled or darn close to it. Next year looks awfully good every year when this year has lapsed into last year, but I'm not about next year. Not just yet. I'm not done with this/last year. In fact, I'm bringing it out for a curtain call.

Besides, I couldn't tell you a damn thing about 2007 even if I wanted to, save maybe that unless it goes wonderfully well, I'll be spending a good bit of it missing 2006. No reason to start doing that at this early stage.

I ask those of you who are already burying what we just lived through in the closet of your subconscious because a) it's over and b) it didn't end exactly the way you wanted it to, what's your hurry? What's your rush? Why move on so soon? Before you know it, you'll have forgotten more of 2006 than you realized you remembered. And that, too, will be a shame.

Don't let one disappointing series get the best of you. Don't let the sting of four games at extended-summer's end — really just two ninth innings, Games Two and Seven — wreck the otherwise beautiful greensward on which we danced 'neath the cover of October skies. Don't think this wasn't terrific, stupendous or, in the most overused word in sports these days, tremendous. Don't sink deep into the sofa of denial when somebody wants to talk about 2006. Don't mope that it's too depressing or grumble that it's too infuriating or insist that it's too frustrating. Don't be like that.

It wasn't. It isn't.

Sure, we missed out on the totally, totally awesome experience. We've only had two of those in 45 seasons (batting .044 in the ultimate prize department). It wasn't even as good as getting to the final plateau. No world championship or pennant. In stark terms, it means 2006 was undeniably not as good as 1986, 1969, 2000 or 1973. It couldn't be. It didn't go as far.

But that's it. In my judgment, this year beat all others in franchise annals. I give 2006 fifth place on points over 1999 (a little closer to the World Series plus a division title) and 1988 (one playoff series win more, albeit in a form unavailable 18 autumns ago). Even if you don't buy that edge, even if you hold out for '99 (greater drama) and '88 (stronger pitching) as a wee bit better for some reason, then this was no worse than the seventh-best season in Mets history.

However you slice it, it's upper-tier material, the top 16th-percentile. We didn't get definitively fitted for the brass ring nor did we get to remain on Fox for an extra week, but we did everything else. We did more than we did the year before and the year before that and more than 27 of 29 other teams in captivity did this year.

Good stuff. Very good stuff. Excellent stuff. Extraordinary stuff.

So don't get over it. Because with one or two glaring exceptions, there's nothing to get over.

I'm going to dwell on 2006 this week. I don't think it's unreasonable. I just dwelled on 1986 over 43 consecutive Fridays. I spent several days on 2005 in October 2005 and we won 83 games in 2005. I took two days in December 2005 to dwell on 1979 and we won 63 games in 1979. There's a lot to be said for living in the present and for the future, but face it: baseball means something to us because of the past. The past — what happened 30 years ago, 20 years ago, 10 years ago, two weeks ago — is what made us who we are and fuels us toward what we will become.

All my agos keep growing wider. When April 2 rolls around, the Mets' last league championship will be seven years ago, the Mets' last world championship will be 21 years ago and the day I first fondled a baseball card and was intrigued by that four-letter word under Ed Kranepool's picture will be 40 (!) years ago. I suppose I should be dismayed that time is doing a number on me.

But piling up all these agos also means I've witnessed more history to this juncture in my life than I ever had before. More baseball history, more Mets history, a library of recollection whose latest bulging volume is marked 2006. Let's recall it and revel in it before the hazy Shea of winter plows its most vivid details hard to the side of the road.

Tonight, around 6ish: We're getting ready to carve a pumpkin when Joshua looks up and asks, "Is there baseball tonight?"

One of my happiest nights as a father was the first night Joshua asked that. Emily and I coached him through the end of the season, and then through the playoffs. I explained that there were eight teams left, then that there were four and we were trying to be one of the last two. For Game 6 Emily coaxed him to wear his Mets pajamas to bring the team luck. He agreed and announced that "they will see me and know they have to win!" (The next night he, of course, went back into those PJs; told the morning after that they'd lost and the season was over, he asked: "Do you and mommy still love me?" That was not my happiest moment as a father.)

Is there baseball tonight? No, sweetie. There isn't. I explained that the season was done, but that there'd be baseball again in March. (Joshua isn't going to be pacified with pitchers and catchers doing wind sprints. After the first week or so, I won't be either.)

It didn't comfort him. It didn't comfort me. March? The kid is about to turn four. March may as well be 2100. And I feel the same way.

For a while after Carlos Beltran stood up in disbelief, I was OK. We'd given it all we could and come up short. I had other, long-neglected things to attend to. And there was still baseball. (Even if I couldn't work up much bother about it.) Now and then there were still little traces of us. Carlos Delgado on the field. Willie Randolph in the newspapers. I read about David Wright talking of Japan as if it were the end of the season, and felt a pang, but it was mild. Reyes and Maine would be there with him. Another pang, but I could handle it. Mike Pelfrey was in the Arizona Fall League. Eh. It would be interesting for a few minutes, but the season was over. A new champion crowned, free agents declaring, Halloween and November looming. Over. Wait til next year.

But then, the question my son got used to asking as summer crawled by, and I had to answer that no, there wasn't any baseball. And wouldn't be, not until long after he'd stopped asking.

I got on the treadmill a little while ago and flipped around for something to look at. A Mets game would have fit the bill admirably. Braves-Reds would have done the trick. Yankees-Rangers would have been acceptable. Columbus-Richmond? I could try it. There was nothing. Sitcoms and college football and reality shows and...wait, what was that?

It was Fever Pitch.

I flipped by it irritably -- I don't hate Fever Pitch or anything, though the scene of Drew Barrymore not being dragged off by security guards is ridiculous and the fact that she and Jimmy Fallon were on the field at the end of Game 4 is an atrocity. But OK, if you can get by that, it's got some nice touches and it's harmless enough. Still, I wouldn't give it a second glance, normally.

This isn't normally. The sight of a groundout, of a baseball stadium under the lights at night, was piercing.

April. March. February. Whatever date you want to set for next year, it seems infinitely far off. What on earth am I supposed to do with myself until then?

I'll never know if she saw me. Probably not. But in that moment, all the bad memories, all the things I'd ever wanted to say to her, it all came flooding back.

My first impulse was to run over there, pound on her window and demand that she admit she tore down those posters and lied and cheated her way into winning that election. Instead I just stood there. And I suddenly realized I wasn't angry at her anymore. I just felt sorry for her.

I mean when I think about my new life and all the exciting things I'm doing. And then I think about what her life must be like, probably still getting up at 5 in the morning to pursue her pathetic little dreams. It just makes me sad.

I mean where is really trying to get to anyway? What is she doing in that limo? Who the FUCK does she think she is?

[Throws large Pepsi at limo.]

But that's all ancient history now. I've got a whole new life.
—Mets fan Matthew Broderick as disgraced ex-teacher Jim McAllister in Election

"Skateboard wheels my ass!"

Once I saw that subject line, I knew who was writing. It was Ray Stilwell, Metphistopheles himself. He was, in the parlance of Sportsphone, fast and first in September with almost all the answers to our first DVD quiz.

Almost. He answered "skateboard" when the right reply was "skateboard wheels," a detail captured correctly by another contestant who was awarded last month's prize. I felt really bad that Ray slipped on that particular ramp given that he's been not just a loyal reader and commenter, but has credited us for sparking his own excellent blog. I felt even worse when a storm left him in the dark for several days during the playoffs and hoped he would see the light and be able to give this quiz a crack.

Well, Ray was fast and first again but this time tripped on nothing. Though I'd be happy for anybody who earned it, it is with a smidge of blolleague pride and mutual redemption that I announce Ray Stilwell of somewhere near Buffalo the winner of the musical version of the Flashback Friday quiz. He gets The New York Mets Vintage World Series Films DVD from A&E Home Video, which contains the remastered highlights of the '69 and '86 World Series, along with a collector's pin from the 2006 NLCS (fondle it as you recall Games One, Four and Six plus a couple of moments from Seven) and an actual scrap of paper with Faith and Fear history written all over it.

We received several entries, for which I thank all contestants. Everybody came fairly close and I applaud you for either your Googling skills or your relatively scary recall of the musical scene in 1986. It's almost as scary as mine, and I scare myself sometimes with what I retain.

Flashback Friday was a lot of fun to produce. Some scaled-down, more intermittent version will likely reappear in this space in 2007. As ever, stay tuned. Until then, haunt the Greatest Hits of 1986 on the sidebar to your left to relive our most recent world championship at your leisure.

Oh yeah...the answers. All chart positions referred to are from the Billboard Hot 100.

1. To this day, TALKING HEADS and any number of musical acts from the 1980s make more sense than many of the talking heads on sports radio. In '86, their "Wild, Wild Life" peaked at No. 25.

2. I guess Mike Francesa and Chris Russo are smart for themselves, and if you find yourselves listening to them for very long, you're the ones with SIMPLE MINDS. In '86, the uplifting "Sanctify Yourself" rose to No. 14.

3. Though two readers thought Eurythmics met the description of a duo that was more like a soloist plus one, Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart formed what appeared to be a true partnership (my bad for not phrasing the question more clearly). The same couldn't be said for WHAM!, which was essentially George Michael. He was once asked to explain what his sidekick Andrew Ridgeley did. Plays rhythm guitar and adds to the image of the group, he said. No wonder George dropped the pretense and went solo in '87. In '86, their final Top 10 hit, "The Edge Of Heaven," climbed to No. 10.

4. MTV began showing old MONKEES episodes in the spring of '86 and by summer, the prefab four was reunited (minus Michael Nesmith). Their return hit was "That Was Then, This Is Now," which made it as high as No. 20.

5. I bought the 45 and probably put it on a mix tape. I hope I didn't send it to whom it was intended. In any event, HONEYMOON SUITE was, like my fleeting crushes back in the day, here and gone pretty quickly, but not before "Feel It Again" peaked at No. 34.

6. Former Stray Cat Brian Setzer's solo career stalled in 1986 when "The Knife Feels Like Justice" missed the Hot 100. The same could be said for his old buddies Slim Jim Phantom and Lee Rocker. They teamed up with Earl Slick to form PHANTOM, ROCKER & SLICK and, though "Men Without Shame" also failed to break on Billboard, it got its share of airplay on WLIR Garden City plus a few rotations on MTV in early '86. I have the single to prove they existed. Setzer would take off with a swing band more than ten years later. PR&S...still men without hits (not unlike the Mets versus Scott).

7. The rest of the N.L. East were PRETENDERS, same as the group with a No. 10 hit in '86, "Don't Get Me Wrong".

8. She was a Go-Go who dated a Dodger. Eventually BELINDA CARLISLE broke up with Mike Marshall and went solo in a more substantive way, scoring a No. 3 smash in '86 with "Mad About You". Marshall didn't last the 1990 season with the Mets, but that's another tune altogether.

9. Every woman, every man join "The Caravan Of Love," an inspirational No. 51 hit for ISLEY, JASPER, ISLEY in '86. Their family act was known earlier, later and better as the Isley Brothers, whose path to stardom began in 1959 with "Shout," the eventual touchdown anthem of the Buffalo Bills. I think I heard it after Game 4 of the 2006 World Series at Busch Stadium as well (a little bit softer now).

10. A group better known for catchy technopop went all the way to No. 1 with a ballad of regret. The song was "Human" and they were the HUMAN LEAGUE.

11. Met legends left Shea that summer and fall but the ROLLING STONES rolled into Flushing in October 1989 to play some shows, including one I had a ticket for before giving it up in deference to a business trip. Three years earlier "One Hit (To The Body)" slammed its way to No. 28.

12. MADONNA remains in the news to this day by adopting young African boys and making pretty good dance albums. Who'd have thought she'd last that long when she first broke through in 1984? By '86, when "Live To Tell" topped the charts, we might have had an inkling. (Somebody guessed Whitney Houston, but Whitney didn't really break until '85...and she's no Madonna when it comes to generating pub on her own terms.)

13. We became familiar anew with NEIL DIAMOND when the Mets either exhibited excellent musical judgment or completely ripped off the Red Sox by playing "Sweet Caroline" every night down the stretch and into the playoffs this year. Alas, his 1986 hit, "Headed For The Future," stretched only as far as No. 53 — his last Hot 100 single to date.

14. Pete Rose and Eric Davis were probably simply red in the face when Howard Johnson blasted that 14th-inning homer in Cincinnati on July 22, 1986. SIMPLY RED, on the other hand, had to have been satisfied that "Holding Back The Years" shot to No. 1 in '86.

15. Sort of as GEICO did in 2006, the movie soundtrack Down and Out in Beverly Hills catapulted the voice of LITTLE RICHARD back into our ears in 1986, the same year he was inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame (its first class). "Great Gosh A'Mighty!" was a throwback to "Tutti-Frutti," but a) it peaked at only No. 42 and b) it wasn't, to the best of my knowledge, covered by Pat Boone.

16. We lost ROBERT PALMER in 2003, but not before he left us with a couple of indelible video images, starting with him and his all-girl band strumming "Addicted To Love," his No. 1 smash from '86.

17. One of the great "gotcha!" songs of all-time was "The Rain," the only pop hit for Def Jam artist ORAN "JUICE" JONES. He caught "you...and him" doing something tawdry amid precipitation and took that information all the way to No. 9.

18. When my family was auditioning Long Island-based bands for my sister's Valley Stream wedding in 1982, one combo's manager excitedly told us that his was the very same group that launched the career of Lindenhurst-raised New Wave queen PAT BENATAR. My mother had no idea who this was, but in 1986, she still had enough of a following to send "Le Bel Age" to No. 54.

19. DAVID LEE ROTH is no Howard Stern. In 1986, he didn't have to be. "Yankee Rose" boogied its way to No. 16. Of course Van Halen/Hagar zoomed to No. 3 with "Why Can't This Be Love?" And nobody's listening to Roth these mornings.

20. I don't know if the MOODY BLUES were nearly as big as they were in the plotline for the video of "Your Wildest Dreams," specifically the part where groupies and hangers-on are carrying lead singer Justin Hayward away from the sad Mod girl who has missed him for twenty long years. Quite a lot of fuss for a song that peaked at No. 9 in 1986.

TIEBREAKER: "True Colors" by Queens' own Cyndi Lauper was the No. 1 song in America for the weeks ending October 25 and November 1, 1986, encompassing October 27, 1986, the night the Mets won their last World Series. It topped the chart, it topped the page that had the questions we just answered and it is played over a montage of highlights on the 1986 portion of the DVD Ray Stilwell has won.

Twenty years ago today, the Mets won us a World Series. Today, on the heels of the promised year of Fridays in which we commemorated that victory, I want you to win two.

We have another copy of The New York Mets Vintage World Series Films DVD from A&E Home Video to make yours. It is a restored, digital rendering of the official MLB 1969 and 1986 Fall Classic retrospectives. You probably saw them on Channel 9 or SportsChannel a long time ago. And you probably haven't seen anything better since approximately the top of the sixth inning of last Thursday night.

I have prepared yet another 20-question quiz for you to prove your worthiness for this excellent prize. Last time, I asked you to dig deep into the Flashback Friday archives and find me the answers in the essays. This time, in what amounts to our '86 retrospective coda, you need only stop at the top. Every question relates to the headline of an FBF. Below I describe a musical artist. You need to a) identify that artist and b) tell me which Flashback Friday headline/song title that artist had a hit with in 1986.

Of course, loyal reader, you'll remember it was a mere two weeks ago that I explained that every Flashback headline was a song title from that golden year. And because you pay Met-iculous attention to every word we write here, I'm going to sweeten the deal. In addition to the DVD, I am throwing in two souvenirs from the postseason just past. You get a beautiful collector's pin from the National League Championship Series (I find myself with a surfeit; cherish the Mets logo, defile that of the Cardinals) and a true piece of Faith and Fear history: the ACTUAL sheet of paper on which it was calculated how many times the Mets won two games in a row in 2006. That's the genuine source material for our October 18 post urging us all to keep the Faith in Flushing. The content proved half-right but the comment thread was completely inspirational.

You can't find it in stores. You can only win it here.

The piece of paper, I mean. You can actually find the DVD in stores or online. But cut out the middleman, answer some questions and save yourself a few bucks.

As was the case in our first quiz, the first to submit all the correct answers (artist and song title) by e-mail (faithandfear@gmail.com) wins the prize package. If nobody comes up with all 20, the most correct answers received soonest will be declared the winner. A tiebreaker bonus question is included to either break ties or create new ones. If we're deadlocked after all that...ah, I'll think of something.

It's a challenging quiz, but it's not like we have anything better to do with our baseball lives between now and the middle of February.

All headlines are accessible by clicking on the Flashback Friday link at the top of each FBF post (starting with the last one in the series and flashing back to the previous week's and so on). They are also conveniently listed on our sidebar under Greatest Hits of 1986.

All entries must be received by 12:01 AM, Friday November 3 (unless a winner is declared prior, in which case put down your pencils). One set of entries accepted per contestant. Our previous winner, though he seems like a really nice guy, is ineligible to win again. All judge's decisions are final. All contestants really should have been listening to the radio and watching MTV a lot in 1986.

Remember: Artist and corresponding Flashback Friday title are required for each correct answer.

As Billy Ocean said, when the going gets tough, the get going. So get going and go get 'em.

1. This group was featured in the movie Stop Making Sense, a sentiment that's been largely unnecessary in the New York sports conversation since the debut of irrational WFAN in 1987.

2. As long as we're picking on the dopey underbelly of all-sports radio, you could say there are two of these in the 1:00-6:30 PM time slot, Monday through Friday at 660 AM. (In other words, I don't consider them complex thinkers.)

3. One of the most successful duos of the '80s, it was really more like a solo act plus one...not unlike how Ray Knight and Howard Johnson formed a third base platoon that was mostly Knight when it counted.

4. Hey, hey, they were gone for a long time before 1986 but an unforeseen revival culminated in a comeback hit that pretty much described their sudden, 75%-strength reappearance on the pop scene, previously versus presently.

5. One of my favorite lyrics from my sappy, lovelorn phase of two decades ago was "if you would just be sensible, you'd find me indispensable." The sentiment didn't work for me, but it booked this group its only Top 40 hit in Billboard.

6. Two of the three guys in this band prowled about in another far more successful band before. The guy they left behind went on to swing for the fences. The trio that was formed without him struck out on the charts the way the Mets did against Mike Scott.

7. In '86, this group's name could have been used to identify the Phillies, the Cardinals, the Expos, the Cubs and the Pirates. After all, the Mets were our division's only contenders.

8. This solo artist was once involved with a future Met, but she was done with him by '86 (and the Mets were done with him pretty quickly themselves when they got him on the professional rebound in 1990).

9. These fellows formed the next generation of a long-running family act whose classic party hit is more identified with another team that called Mario Cuomo its governor in the mid-'80s and early-'90s (when said team really had something to shout about).

10. The Mets were National. The Red Sox were American. But all of us, theoretically, belong to this circuit.

11. Mookie left. Lenny left. Roger left. Keith left. Gary left. But this five-man outfit wheeled into Shea in 1989, the year all those '86 legends made their exits.

12. She began to be adopted as a worldwide favorite at almost the same time the K Korner took in Doc Gooden as its own. When it comes to remaining in the public eye, she thanks her lucky stars that she still has her fastball.

13. His 1986 hit didn't do so good (so good) on the charts, but his voice, via a 1969 smash, became a staple at Shea in October 2006. Most sang along with him, but some snorted he didn't sound so good (so good) outside a certain other ballpark. Hint: Don't be headed for his 1969 hit here — it's not the answer we're looking for.

14. Pete Rose and Eric Davis were two who would have easily blended right in with this chart-topping group in 1986.

15. If you watched television enough last summer, you probably saw this Hall of Famer excitedly shill a bit of insurance. Didn't say he was a baseball Hall of Famer, however.

16. One of rock's most elegant solo acts, he became best known for being surrounded by a bevy of backup musicians and singers who didn't appear to have much to say in his videos and, later, cola commercial.

17. He went by a very clever nickname, one that poured beautifully off his first name. Thanks to Jose Canseco, the word he used for his nickname now carries an entirely different meaning in baseball.

18. She could take the Babylon line from where she grew up, change at Woodside and take her best shot at being at Shea in probably an hour-and-a-half. Whether she ever did is another matter.

19. This singer didn't quit his day job so much as take a different one in early 2006. He had a hard act to follow and didn't follow it very well at all, ironic in that in 1986 he was a hard act to follow but was followed successfully. Anyway, in '06 his day job (specifically, a morning shift) quit on him.

20. Many of the artists whose songs graced Flashback Friday were artists who had been absent from the charts for quite a while prior to 1986. This group was one of those, and the video for their big comeback hit reflected the band's 1960s roots with, yup, a flashback.

TIEBREAKER: What song, not necessarily a previous Flashback Friday headline, was No. 1 on Billboard 20 years ago today when the Mets won what is still their most recent world championship? I just wanna have the title that topped the page.

Game Four of the World Series (in St. Louis, not my imagination) was rained out last night. May be rained out tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. Who can keep up?

Who cares to?

Back when we were just some second-rate, second-division afterthought, I probably would have. Baseball fans watch baseball games and I'm a baseball fan. Yet after our having filled the collective role of Icarus from April 3 to October 19, I suspect a lot to most of us wing-melted Mets fans have landed on Pluto where this Tiger-Cardinal matchup is concerned. And we're not alone. Dancing With The Stars outrated Game Three of the freaking World Series and that was with Game Three going off as scheduled. On a Thursday night, which is übercompetitive in network television to begin with (even without new eps of Earl and The Office, dang it), I suspect the numbers will plunge to Bob Gibson 1968 levels.

I'd like to believe it's because America is absolutely mournful that its Mets — how could a team as beautiful as ours belong to merely a single city? — are missing from action. But that's not it. The World Series ain't what it used to be in terms of national glue and it has nothing to do with participant market size. I really miss those days when baseball was everything to everybody even if I never lived in them. In Memories of Summer, the great Roger Kahn described the phenomenon of autumn as it existed when he prepared to cover his first Fall Classic in 1952, New York (A) at Brooklyn:

Six hundred of the best and most popular sportswriters in the country would cover every inning of every game. The ranks included [...] Vincent X. Flaherty of San Francisco. The closest major league stadium, Sportsman's Park in St. Louis, stood 2,140 miles east of Flaherty's home base, but the old World Series transcended geography. It was a front page story across the country, especially exotic to people who lived thousands of miles away. Few Americans had seen anything more of a World Series than patchy black-and-white scenes worked into newsreels. Those glimpses left imagination free to roam.

Now the World Series is just something Fox airs so it can plug the BCS and Brad Garrett. The USA doesn't need an excuse to ignore it. Giving it the mostly anonymous Tigers and momentarily overachieving Cardinals certainly helps, though.

A few days ago, stripped of fresh Met nits to pick, my regular e-mail group was trying to realign baseball to buy us a more favorable outcome. I've read everything from four eight-team divisions to eight four-team divisions (we're expanding, apparently). I'm tempted to say let's just go back to two leagues: the Mets in one, everybody else in another, us in the World Series no matter what.

The root of my friends' not altogether unreasonable gripe with the system is how the fudge can a 97-win behemoth like ours sit home while some non-entity that barely finished over .500 gets t-shirts and stuff? Of course we all pay lip service to 1973, but it is frustrating when October Madness places the Red shoe on the other foot, namely ours. I took it as total sour grapes until I read Sports Illustrated and it was noted that "St. Louis had 83 wins, which ranked them 13th among Major League teams this year."

THIRTEENTH? Really? Geez. How did that happen?

Oh yeah, we stopped hitting.

I doubt the Dancing With The Stars crowd would be moved by statistical niceties, but 13th-winningest team is a little jarring. The Blue Jays were better. The Phillies were better. Nearly half of baseball was better. In 1973, only eight teams had more wins than us ("only," he says with a straight face). But 1973 was...well, it was 1973. It was a magic fluke. The Cardinals, at least until they reveal themselves transcendent, are just some decent team from a lousy division that got on a roll when somebody else fell into a slump. They're also two wins from a world championship.

Rain. Don’t rain. Whatever.

Programming Notes:

• While the Mets gave away a World Series last week, we will attempt to give away a World Series DVD tomorrow, the one with highlights from 1969 and 1986, two years when baseball's playoff setup was astoundingly perfect. There will be a quiz, for which I offer this advance hint: title & artist.

• Next week, look for a proper Faith and Fear retrospective on that semi-championship season, 2006. I don't know what's going to happen in 2007, but I'm pretty handy with a rearview mirror.

Three hundred twenty-three regular-season games. Six National League Division Series games. Seven National League Championship Series games. Two exhibition games. One intrasquad game. Two games rained out after I sat down. One baseball card show.

I've been inside Shea Stadium quite a bit. But never was I as cold as I was Tuesday night. And never did I care less.

It was gloves and ski caps and blankets and every thermal underthing I could steel myself in. It was still freezing. It's taken me this long to thaw my fingers lest they shatter on contact with a computer keyboard.

But you endure a few inconveniences for your first World Series game. Given the choice between the warm and comfy couch and the laughingly labeled "Fall" Classic (correct only in the chronological sense — assuming it's still October), I'll take going out to meet Jack Frost in Flushing every time.

Jack Frost? How about Jack Delgado? Let's call him that from now on for his one, no two jacks that made Jim Leyland presumably the warmest soul in Flushing. Yeah, I'd be lighting up in the runway, too, if I saw my clean-handed lefty starter go down in flames, so to speak, when Delgado went the other way on him not once but twice. Two two-run homers to left for our Roberto Clemente Award winner. Throw in the deuce by his lefty buddy Shawn Green, the stab and throw by Wright on Polanco and six good ones by leading man John Maine with best supporting action from Mota, Feliciano and Hernandez (take the night off, Billy) and you've got the Mets' first home World Series win in exactly six years.

We should really be in these things more often.

I'm 1-0 in World Series play, dammit. That's almost as special as the Mets being 2-1 in this particular set of games. Almost.

We (Laurie and me — nice birthday present, don't you think?) got there early to get our shivering underway ahead of the rush. But when you've been waiting a lifetime to see the Mets in a World Series at Shea Stadium, you don't mind. We got our silly towels and waved them for warmth. OK, so they only contributed to the breeze, but at our altitude, we lost the ability to think clearly.

They say a World Series congregation is calmer than your average, regular-fan crowd. I don't know about that, seeing as how I have only one World Series game under my belt and we were far from the corporate swells of urban field level myth. It was plenty loud in the upper deck, just as it was in the NLDS and NLCS. It was pretty savvy at times, too, not just sticking it to Kenny Rogers when he was introduced — Piiiine Taaaar has replaced Laaaarrrreeee in the Shea arsenal of insults — but resurrecting, of all things, the ol' "everybody say Rey-O!" in spots for Magglio Ordoñez (who quite fortunately hit like our erstwhile Gold Glove shortstop and goodwill ambassador).

Not that there weren't dollops of stupidity. For example, I came upon a gent I noticed during Game Six of the Cardinal series, a fellow with a blue and orange Mohawk, a black Mets jersey (the buttons of which were no use to him) and, apparently, a tab with his local Anheuser-Busch distributor. He was imploring us, the whole of Section 22, to let loose. We didn't really need his help, which irked him when one of his exhortations fell flat. "You sons of bitches," he grumbled before moving onto UD 24.

I'll miss that guy next week, but enough of him for now. I didn't come to see him. I came to see the World Bleeping Series. I wondered if it would be tangibly different from any other postseason game. It was. Besides being colder, it's longer. The between-innings stuff takes forever. But you put up with it because a) it's the World Series; b) the Mets are in it; c) would you rather this be going on in St. Louis?

Don't know what they showed on TV — I don't dare record these things — but I loved that the Mets brought back everybody who played with them this year for the introductions, at least everybody who isn't with another team. I'm thrilled to report for Laurie's sake that Victor Zambrano got a nice hand. Even Jose Lima was cheered. The coolest was when they stuck a familiar face from behind the home dugout on the DiamondVision. It was Pittsburgh Pirate rightfielder Xavier Nady. He went without official comment (is there a rule against it?) but a big round of applause ensued and swelled.

Bringing back Davey Johnson to throw out the first ball, alongside Joan Hodges, was what brought me to my feet the longest. I was there the night in 1992 when Davey first came back for an Old Timers event (then known as the Upper Deck Heroes of Baseball). The Mets were playing Pittsburgh that night. Leyland was the opposing manager then and trotted out seven pitchers in nine innings to beat us 3-2. Willie Randolph played second for us and went 0-for-5. This was by far the happier homecoming.

I loved when they unfurled the giant American flag (where do they put it when they're not using it — Yosemite?) and really loved it when Simon & Garfunkel came out to do not the national anthem but their own "America," as in having gone to look for. I guess they were our hometown answer to Bob Seger singing "America The Beautiful" at Comerica the other night (up 2-1 in Series games, up 2-1 in area legends). The mere mention of "Michigan" as "a dream to me now" rated a boo, while the Use Mass Transit pleas must have filtered up to Paul and Artie because I swear I heard them say they were "counting the cars on the Long Island Rail Road". That, however, could be my commuter's imagination.

How do you top a performance like that? How about Tim McGraw ending the actual "Star Spangled Banner" by shouting "New York, You Gotta Believe!"? Well, that gave me more chills than the wind. Believe we did and rewarded we were from there.

Going to see the Mets in the World Series at Shea Stadium is about exactly the way I pictured it when I dared to imagine it in the middle of the playoffs. We got a win, we took the lead, there was once-in-my-lifetime pageantry, I dropped a pretty penny on programs, pennants and pins and, quite self-absorbedly, I can say I saw the World Series at Shea Stadium. By attending Game Three, my final 2006 record, regular & post, was elevated to a blessed .500 at 14-14.

Yes, that's my final game for this World Series. Next year I'll want to do it again, but for now — at last — I'm no longer out in the cold.

Granted, I'd like to be leading two-oh going into Game Three, but I like our chances with the World Series one-one coming to Shea tonight. I also like John Maine. A lot.

Let's shake off Game Two. Whatever it is Kenny Rogers did or didn't have on his hand, we can assume he was waiting seven years for this chance. Glavine pitched well, Rogers pitched better. Let's just put it behind us. At least we've seen him. Besides, if Kenny Rogers' postseason has been a shock, you have to take El Duque's return in Game One as at least a mild surprise. Guy doesn't pitch for weeks and he gives us seven solid innings before turning it over to Aaron and Billy (a 1-2-3 ninth at last!).

This thing's turning right back in our favor. Wright has begun to hit. Beltran's still hot (fouling off that impossible curve ball from Wainwright, staying alive and stroking that walkoff triple on the next pitch, of course he's still hot). Chavez we know can field. He's bound to poke another one through the infield like he did off Verlander to win Saturday night.

I guess it all comes down to Maine. He pitches very well at Shea as he proved in Game One of the NLDS and Game Six of the NLCS. He's got to avoid mistakes to Monroe and Inge, who are killing us, but he's also got to stay aggressive. He has a little American League experience and that can't hurt (though if it were that impressive, I imagine he'd still be an Oriole; I wonder what Kris and Anna are doing tonight...oh yeah, same as La Russa and Molina: watching us). We wouldn't be here without him and Perez, and I like the both of them in Games Three and Four. But let's just focus on Game Three. That's what at Shea tonight.

Jose will get on and Lo Duca, bad thumb and all, will move him along, and the rest you already know. We play our game, we can win. And all of us, we're the tenth through 56,000th man, as in man, I can't wait to get out there tonight! My first World Series game. The Tigers think they know loud? Forget it. This is the Mets' den. I'm so excited, I'm shaking again.

Gonna be a cold one. Gotta go start layering.

Let's Go Mets!

Both teams look like garbage, Dad. All's I know is Da Bears could be kicking some major butt right now.
—Denise Swerski

I never realized how boring this game is.
—Homer Simpson

I'd hide under the sink except Tommy Lasorda beat me to it.

Endy Chavez himself could not save this matchup from sailing out of Consciousness Park.

Where's that 1988 division-clincher when we need it?

It's not who's not playing in this World Series. It's who is. The Cardinals I completely begrudge and the Tigers, scattered familiar personages notwithstanding, I simply do not know.

No doubt Detroit is populated by deserving fans pulling for swell fellows, but given my weekend-long dwelling upon of the events of last Thursday night (Bunt? Nah. Maybe. Nah. I dunno.), I am not in the mood for introductions at this late date. That's Pudge, and there's Casey, and I think that guy helped lose 119 games, and Leyland as ever appears three Marlboros from a lung transplant...yeah, that's about it.

Good luck Tigers, whoever you are.

Surprisingly, La Russa's only the second-smarmiest bastard I've encountered thus far. Even he takes a back seat to that smug, self-congratulatory SOB CEO who bought his employees ergonomic chairs and a puppy with Mastercard. I hope he and Tony the Genius go into business together and are charged with sexual harassment by Yadier Molina.

And that Molina falls down a hole.

I'm doing my duty, Judy. I'm watching. I'm not saying I'm not dozing off here and there, but I've got it on. Maybe something interesting — like Kenny Rogers washing his mysteriously filthy left hand again — will occur and I'll be compelled to revise my initial impressions. But compelling is the last thing I'd expect from these teams.

(And to think somebody told me he was impressed by my complete lack of bitterness the other day.)

Now, you listen to me! I want trading reopened right now. Get those brokers back in here! Turn those machines back on! TURN THOSE MACHINES BACK ON!
—Mortimer Duke

The first time I woke up today (my attempt to hibernate the entire winter away proving as futile as any nine Met batters against Jeff Suppan), I found myself thinking about 2000. No, not the World Series — the election. There was going to be a recount right? I mean, seriously, all those people in Palm Beach County didn't intend to vote for Adam Wainwright.

Just one more swing…that's all I want.

Two bits of housekeeping:

1) Congratulations Cardinals. Congratulations Tigers, too. I am reminded again how hard it is to get where both of you have gotten no matter how much you do to get there.

2) This was our 205th consecutive day of blogging. It was our pleasure, believe us, but even unshakable Faith requires a bit of a break. FAFIF takes a holiday this weekend but returns Monday and on a recurring if not necessarily daily basis through the long, dark, cold, gaping maw of an offseason.

Seriously, they can't get everybody back on the field? It's just one swing.