"I've been waiting to say this to you for a long time. ... Deep down in my stomach, with every inch of me, I pure, straight hate you. ... But goddamn it do I respect you." -- Wes Mantooth.

In other words: Nice game, Smoltz.

If the Braves lost today, they would have been 10 out. Sure, only May, and Atlanta has a habit of snoozing until summer and then laying waste to the league. But still, one imagines there would have been a hint of panic in the air -- double-digits behind a team that doesn't appear in the least bit scared of the Braves anymore? So could Smoltz step up? Three hits over six innings. On three days' rest. Yeah, he could step up.

Still, while the brooms didn't get to wave, we all feel like it would be an excellent idea to hide our five starting pitchers (whoever they may be at the moment) in an armored car and we discovered we actually can hate Angel Hernandez more than we already did, not a bad weekend of baseball: Did we really think we'd take two out of three with Trachsel, Zambrano and TBD pitching? And while that certainly wasn't the way even the most rabid Zambrano detractor wanted to see his Met career end, we did witness what I bet was Kaz Matsui's Beltran Moment and saw definite progress (however scary it might have been) from Jorge Julio, who could wind up in a lot more critical role for us when the pitching gets sorted out.

So. A much-needed off-day, and then it's time to fix the Phillies' wagon. If there's a hole in Ryan Howard's swing, Pedro and Glavine will find it. Homecoming of sorts for Billy Wagner. Pat the Bat, inevitably. The oddity of a Phillies game without a Vince Piazza sighting or talk of Mike growing up in Norristown. Those close fences whispering to Beltran and Wright and Delgado and Floyd. Third base whispering to Reyes after he rifles one up one of those deep alleys. Should be fun.

We may come back for the sweep (after the last couple of days I won't put anything past this team) or we may wind up dropping the finale, but one thing's for sure: We'll still be talking about that top of the second.

Even before the zaniness began, we'd seen one of the rarest plays in baseball, the kind you can win bar bets on: What's the only situation in which a baseball team can, in effect, decline a penalty? When a ball is put into play on a balk: The team at bat can either take the balk or the outcome of the play. The Braves did no such thing, but if Jordan had hit the ball up the middle, they certainly would have. So much for our double play (nicely turned, too), and a sure sign that we were entering Goofyland.

I doubt Paul Lo Duca knows about the spring night David Cone became too occupied with screaming at an umpire to consider that runners were continuing to circle the bases. Of course that was against the Braves, on April 30, 1990. I also doubt Lo Duca remembers the hideous summer day that ended with Michael Tucker gouging Mike Piazza's thigh and getting a ridiculous safe call from Angel Hernandez, the worst umpire in the major leagues. Also against the Braves, natch.

A demented mash-up of those two infamous calls? Well, it would have to be against the Braves. And Angel Hernandez would have to be manning home plate. So there was Lo Duca and there was Brian McCann being called safe -- it pains me to say that it looked like the right call. There was Lo Duca firing a live ball into the earth (Coney just held it while Gregg Jefferies tried desperately to get his attention), so mad you could almost see the cartoon lightning bolts zipping out of his head, with Ryan Langerhans taking advantage of his largesse to take third. Who was at the plate? John Smoltz. Who was the opposing pitcher on April 30, 1990? John Smoltz. Who pays Michael Tucker's salary these days? The Mets. If they'd panned up to a luxury box and found Mark Lemke, Dale Murphy, John Franco, Cone and Jefferies shaking their heads, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised.

Baseball: It's even crazier than you think it is.

It was the elbow, all right.

His teammates knew, his manager didn't. Once again, when you want to feel empathy for Victor Zambrano — and he deserves it, based on Michael Morrissey's account in the Post — you're at a loss. You credit him with sucking it up and pitching better than he ever has as a Met (he made Andruw Jones look completely foolish) and for going out and being determined to do his job, especially on an early afternoon after a long night when six-sevenths of the bullpen got work.

But you're a pitcher and your livelihood is in your elbow and your ultimate value to your team is in that elbow and you come back to "man, what are you thinking going out there?" How could you not let your manager know you're hurting? (Come to think of it, how could Randolph and Peterson not know something that Pedro Martinez and Darren Oliver did?) How could you go out there and, according to David Lennon in Newsday, end your season by tearing your flexor tendon when you had to sense you were in danger of doing yourself perhaps irreparable harm?

Of course Victor Zambrano doesn't occur in a vacuum. I imagine if I were a soft-spoken sensitive soul from another country who has never gotten anything close to an even break from the fans of the team that I pitch for, I'd feel compelled to show them. If that was his motivation or it was the natural instinct of an athlete to compete and not let the guys down or an underestimation of how much pain he was in, then it's understandable if not exactly excusable. Lisa Olson in the News lays out the "heartbreaking" particulars in chilling terms:

Blame the snarky media, the impatient fans, the organization that might not have done its best due diligence. In the end, there's a man who once had great promise — "best stuff I've seen in a long time," said [Cliff] Floyd — who may never pitch again.

Since we all tend to take everything Pedro does or says as the Gospel Truth, I think we owe him the courtesy of considering his statement on his friend Zambrano as reported by Morrissey:

Martinez said Zambrano has been hurt all year and opted to pitch yesterday "because of the damn pressure you guys put on him. Before you guys really hurt a guy, you need to do a little research," Martinez said. "We're human beings, and we're trying to do a job."

The media has a job to do but they, too, don't do it in a vacuum. Victor Zambrano has pitched badly more often than not. He's also been hurt on more than one occasion since he's been here. It's easy for me to sit here and type that guys should sit if they ache, but that's apparently not how it works. They all have guaranteed contracts but they force themselves out there. Beltran did. Wright did. Zambrano did. Some hurt more than others. When Beltran recently took a few days to get it together (because he nearly fell apart last year by pushing it), the "whispers" start over how tough he is. Ludicrous.

Anybody who's watched Victor Zambrano since August 2004 could have ascertained that this was not a pitcher performing up to his ability. Anybody who saw him leave the mound late in Spring Training and then read that he had such a bad case of the flu that they had to tend to him intravenously could figure that this was not somebody at the top of his game. Yet there he was, pitching in Washington on April 13. Not pitching well, but pitching. The rationale, that perhaps his injury and his illness had taken a toll on him, was eighth-paragraph stuff for most of us. Oh, it's Victor again. How's Kazmir doing?

Let's not pretend he was going through life as Walter Johnson before waking up with an owwie. Victor Zambrano could be maddening on the mound, as maddening for losing the strike zone as for our could-having-sworn he had such great control of it just an inning or a start or a week ago. The Are you there God? It's me, Victor persona stood in dispiriting contrast to the confidence of Pedro, the steeliness of Glavine, the matter-of-factness of Trachsel, the determination of Bannister, the effortlessness of Benson, the emotion of Seo. C'mon Victor! We care! Don't you?

He did. He cared about pitching, he cared about contributing, he cared about not letting down people who didn't care all that much what happened to him if he was going to go three-and-oh on yet another batter. Now he's headed for the Disabled List and surgery and when or if he'll be back, who knows? The same people who were so upset to see him take the ball every fifth day will be angered by his inability to do the same.

As human beings, we'd feel sorry for a guy in so much pain that he pushed himself until he was crying. As Mets fans, we don't feel anything for a Met in that position until it's too late.