Takin' care of business for the 97th time in 162 attempts, the Mets ended their regular season.

Their next assignment is to turn the season into something extraordinary.

Even more so than it already is.

The television overlords have granted us a comfy interregnum, until Wednesday at 4:09 PM, to find out what awaits. For now, we know we disdain the Dodgers more than mosquitoes. They are our opponent, no thanks to the Diamondbacks whose comeback from down 7-1 stalled at 7-6 against Trevor Hoffman and the Padres. Yes, I'll admit it now — I wanted San Diego in the first round, or at least I didn't want Los Angeles. It's no longer relevant, though. The Dodgers it is, the Dodgers, they will have to be beaten starting late Wednesday afternoon. The Padres will now go to St. Louis, where the Cardinals fans were shamelessly chopping their arms off to thank the Braves for eliminating the Astros and saving the Redbirds from themselves.

I guess we've seen Roger Clemens' final start again...not counting when he takes the ball in the California Penal League.

Meanwhile, a moment to reflect on what ended today.

The New York Mets finished the regulation portion of their schedule with a 97-65 mark, the fifth-best in their history, trailing only 1986, 1988, 1969 and 1985 (whose dollar-short end Ron and Keith were Snighfully ruing Sunday, 21 years after the fact). The 2006 version of us outdid our 1999 predecessors by a half-game. These editions struck me as clearly the two best of the past 18 years, which tells you a couple of things:

1) The 1999 Mets really collapsed with a thud! before their amazin', amazin', amazin' turnaround, because that was a wonderful team and it didn't get to 100 wins.

2) 100 wins is hard to reach, especially if the 2006 Mets couldn't get there. We were so good all year long, but all it took was two limp weeks to confine us to double-digits.

Doesn't matter, I guess. Every team is 0-0 now. Twenty-two of them are 0-0 in 2007. Eight of us are 0-0, best of five. Still, I like that we have the best record in baseball. Perversely, I don't mind that we share that distinction with the New York Yankees, partly because we were two down with two to go in that department but mostly because we don't have to shoulder the "the team with the best record never wins the World Series" burden.

Was not thrilled with what I watched from Detroit, where the Tigers hissed away their divisional crown to Jeff Keppinger and the Royals. No great attachment to the Tigers here (none at all, actually), but I wanted Minnesota to take on the Skanks because I thought the Twins had a good shot in five games to take them out. Oh well, go Tigers, even Kenny Rogers (who walked in the other team's tenth run in extra innings, geez Louise.)

This has nothing to do with me not wanting Us to play Them. Rooting against the Yankees is an independent pursuit. In our universe, they do not interest me. I simply don't like them on merit, whereas the only team I have in it for in the context of what counts is the Dodgers. That's the business to be taken care of next. Something tells me the American League playoffs will escape most of my notice as of Wednesday at 4:09 PM.

Watching and listening to out-of-town baseball over the last weekend of the season produces a window into the soul of clubs you don't otherwise think about. Did you realize Tim Salmon was retiring from the Angels? That Geoff Jenkins will be leaving the Brewers? That Luis Gonzalez's imminent departure from the Diamondbacks rated the painting of a purple "20" in left field in Phoenix? That there are still fans in this world who give Barry Bonds a curtain call without benefit of a home run?

That kind of private celebrating and mourning shouldn't be surprising, particular to a devotee of Met finales. Last year at this time, it was us and Mike. The year before it was us and St. Todd Zeile (and to a lesser extent John Franco, Art Howe and the Montreal Expos). We were also the fans on last-Sundays-past to go koo-koo for the guy who collected his hundredth ribby or topped .280, stuff that followers of contenders would roll their eyes toward.

I suppose I'm too new at haught and arrogance to do that. The Nationals' goodbye to Frank Robinson moved me beyond anything I thought possible. Good for the Washingtonians who have had only two years with him and good for Frank, whose hardwired crankiness and surliness, it turns out, was just a façade. He's a sweetheart! I've always admired him (what's not to admire?) without being particularly fond of him; he was a '69 Oriole, for cryin' out loud. Maybe it was the enormity of his career or his thoughtfulness in congratulating the Mets, but I was touched by his pregame remarks. I can't think of another immortal in his position — taking off the uniform long after stopping playing — embracing the game so lovingly upon his farewell from it.

Finally, there were the Mets, the first-place Mets on the last day of the season, scoring six in the second and winning one more. We clinched our division 13 days ago. Since then we've had the slump, the calf, the cuff, the personal reasons and another dozen distractions and/or pressing questions. But y'know what? We just won four in a row and we have at least three games ahead of us. To borrow from Steve Zabriskie, this particular dream season is not over.

Just one more note. There's something I like to say every chance I get, but at this particular juncture in the calendar, it almost never comes up. Huzzah, it does this year:

Let's Go Mets.

In the course of a season, one makes choices. Whether one can enforce his choosing is another matter.

For example, it was quite human-natural to decide whom we wanted to play when — when, not if; ah, 2006...do you really have to end? — we made the postseason. That it was a nonbinding referendum was beside the point. If our choices had any impact on any of our fate, we'd be brandishing 44 rings (baby).

In any event, I'm sure we all made hypothetical choices. We sure didn't want to play the Cardinals, the only team with a real chance to knock us off. Until we probably wanted to play the Cardinals, barely hanging on as we speak. We also didn't want any part of the pitching-rich Astros, preferring to play some hitting-impaired outfit like, uh...the Astros. The Giants and all that experience (creaky bastards). The Reds and all that scrappiness (callow bastards). The Diamondbacks and Webb (and nobody else).

Bring 'em on!
I mean keep 'em away!

It doesn't work. The Brewers were on my radar a long time ago as dangerous. They fell off it almost as long ago, but you know what? I still wouldn't want to play them in the playoffs. Unless they were who was put in front of us. Then it's, you know, let's beat the living crap out of the Brewers.

All of which brings us to our last hypothetical of the regular season. We know we're not going to be playing an N.L. Central team in the first round and we know we won't have anything to do with San Francisco, Arizona or Colorado. And because we won't play anybody from the East at any point (au revoir at last, Philadelphia — who knew waving the white flag would very nearly succeed?), that leaves us one from Column LA and one from Column SD.

Dodgers or Padres? Padres or Dodgers? By tonight, we'll know how the NLDS sets up. Right now, it goes like this:

• The Padres beat the Diamondbacks, we play the Dodgers.

• The Padres lose to the Diamondbacks but the Dodgers lose to the Giants, we play the Dodgers.

• The Padres lose to the Diamondbacks while the Dodgers beat the Giants, we play the Padres.

What to do, what to do? And for whom to root, for whom to root?

I'm not good at this. I know I'm supposed to be wanting to keep Houston from sneaking in for several reasons, starting with Clemens the Juicer, continuing with that fucking funhouse full of yahoos and ending with my longstanding personal animus for all things Astro. But they were playing the Braves last night, and the Braves are still the Braves (technically speaking). Plus, damn my editorial impulses, the Astros have been quite a story. Wouldn't it be something to see this Houston-St. Louis thing go into double-secret overtime? Then again, this is no occasion to be kibitzing from the balcony. Self-interest is all that counts. I don't want to deal with Houston in the second round if there is a second round for us.

And now that I've said that, I don't want it posted on the bulletin board in the home clubhouse at Busch Stadium. Or that of the Western Division team that might beat either one of them.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I'm not good at this. I don't think it's healthy to take sides in battles that don't superdirectly concern you as long as you have skin in the game. That make sense? Well, consider our so-called choices.

I don't want to play the Dodgers. They are one of the three teams, along with the Phillies and Astros, that stuck around in the last month who reminded me of us when we were just dangerous enough to do marvelous things in '99 and '00. They have an odd mixture of Hall of Fame locks and candidates (Maddux, Kent, Garciaparra), all-time gadflies (Lofton, Drew, Furfuckingcal) and guys whose names half the time escape me but always seem to be doing something to somebody (like that catcher and that closer and who knows who else). Plus there's the requisite recent ex-Met who is lurking in the weeds and ominously blowing bubbles, Marlon Anderson. He'll want revenge. Beware storylines like that and like all those ex-Red Sox showing up but not Pedro. The ghosts of '88 also figure to hover.

I don't want to play the Padres. The ex-Met factor is off the charts, of course (Cameron sure has gotten hot), but there's a more frightening reason: They don't frighten me. We saw them seven times this year, three times less than two months ago plus I've seen them a good bit on Extra Innings, yet I still fail to retain who's on that team. Try as I might to get into a tizzy over Jake Peavy and Chris Young and Woody Williams and that fuck David Wells, I keep defaulting into "yeah, but they're Padres," which is stupidthink. Trevor Hoffman became righteously reviled here for a week in July, but can you really hate Trevor Hoffman based on an exhibition? Before his unhelpful All-Star meltdown, I carried a vague admiration for Trevor Hoffman based on his not being Mariano Rivera. As for their bats, besides our old Mikes (and Manny Alexander), there's Brian Giles and that first baseman for whom I accidentally rooted for a portion of one plate appearance when Piazza was visiting and Klesko, I think, but maybe not that irritating shortstop who's been hurt but definitely that second baseman whose father was once traded for Al Leiter. He really killed us in April (the second baseman, not Leiter). And that other catcher who fills in for Piazza like clockwork late in games. And I'm sure I'm leaving out tons of guys who can hurt us.

I'd avoid the Dodgers and the Padres if there were a more appealing option, but taking our division title and going home would actually rather suck. So later today, after the two Western qualifiers sort themselves out, I'll be waiting at the proverbial airport to theoretically chauffeur to Shea the National League Wild Card winner. Finally we can stop being hypothetical and start rooting for us and against our definitively determined Division Series opponent.

Whatever is said about aces who are hurting, third starters who are in personal transit, rookies who are grating on veteran nerves and first basemen who are mysteriously sitting from "soreness" (say, isn't what Delgado has what Beltran had before it was a quad?), we just showed for the 96th time in 2006 that we're a team I'm pretty certain nobody would freely choose to play.

But it's not like they have a choice in the matter either.

Luckily, YOU can choose to purchase a Faith and Fear t-shirt. Just a couple of days left to place your order before they go back in the vault. We're like Disney that way.