By walking off the field freshly triumphant after 13 innings, the Mets continue to provide free advertising for the most relevant blog of them all, and everything is fairly wonderful, but I'm surprisingly bugged that in his six May starts, including last night's sublime pitchers' duel, Pedro Martinez's won-lost record was 0-1.

That's not Pedro Martinez. That's maybe Pedro Feliciano. Or Teddy Martinez in mop-up duty. Pedro should have been Maydro. According to Metsblog, he posted a 2.14 ERA in the merry, merry month. How on earth is that 0-1 material? At worst, it should be 0-0-6 because I continue to be in Pedro's (or K-Dro's) Corner (or Korner) from last Friday night. He said then he didn't lose. He's right. He doesn't lose. At least he hasn't in 2006 from this vantage point.

I don't usually get caught up in pitchers' records because they're subject to so many variables. The only number that ever mattered was 20 and twenty-game winners are an extinct species in these parts; Frank Viola was our last. If starters, almost by design, almost never finish, decisions are bound to be community property with the bullpen. So why dwell on an ND when you can revel in an Endy? Besides, Pedro needn't win another game to gain induction into Cooperstown five years from the minute he retires. But he's entitled to those he's earned on our behalf.

There aren't enough words or awards to shower on this man. What he has done for this franchise is positively Keithish (the fierce first baseman, not the lovably loopy analyst). Yesterday, Lee Jenkins wasted a lot of space in the New York Times picking over the carcass of the Scott Kazmir trade as if we're all donning sea-green armbands every time he starts in St. Petersburg. I'm with the informed dissenters who are convinced that if Kazmir stayed, Pedro never would have come, that the overhaul of this team would have never taken place the way it has. When you consider where we were pre-Pedro, 2005 and 2006 to date have marked a remarkable renaissance for what was, twenty short months ago, a floundering franchise.

That's not to excuse a transaction that even I, who didn't hate it, can't defend any longer. It's just to say I like very much what's happened to the Mets since the end of 2004 and if we had to, in essence, give up a budding stud to get a transcendent one (along with a first-place future to be named not that much later), then I chalk Scott Kazmir up to the cost of doing business.

On the First of June 2006, I'm not worried about departed Devil Rays or decrepit palace intrigue. I'm not even overly overwrought about Pedro officially being 5-1 instead of the 11-or-so-0 he deserves to have next to his name...though his teammates not hitting Brandon Webb a lick is no shame. Like our ace, he was as crisp as a bag of Baked Lays. But Brandon Webb's not my cause.

Mets got the win, right?

Milledge threw out Counsell at third on a speeding bullet, right?

Jose Valentin owned second base on both sides of the ball, right?

Endy Chavez took drama lessons from David Wright, right?

Duaner Sanchez promises to take good care of Pedro's W, right?

Then all is right with the world.

Not bad for a night's work: a pitchers' duel from a bygone era, some pretty defense, clutch relief, a whale of a throw and a(nother) Met walkoff. And 13 innings in roughly the time to play one moderately long game of regular duration.

Brandon Webb was first sighted in this park three years ago, beating us in his first-ever start. Of course, that put him in a class numbering somewhere in the thousands, so it was a shock to realize how good this matchup promised to be. Brandon Webb? He's 8-0? Unscored upon since seemingly forever? Really? Strange things happen out in the desert when you stop paying attention.

The Webb hyperventilating sure wasn't some heat-induced delirium, though: With that sinker of his, it's a wonder he ever loses. Considering he doesn't walk anybody, waiting for the sinker or two per start that won't sink is a pretty tenuous game plan. Luckily, enter Pedro J. Martinez, who's rarely seen an occasion he can't rise to. (By the way, a pox on these interviews with players during the game. Is nothing sacred?)

Other random semi-insights and asides before we head into an off-day:

• I'd pay for a DVD of "Paul Lo Duca's Greatest Tantrums." When Lo Duca loses it, he gets his money's worth -- I'd put him in the Pissed-Off Pantheon with the likes of Dallas Green and Dennis Cook. After Carlos Beltran finished his third minute of writhing around on the ground (eeek), SNY cut over to Lo Duca and found him still trying to make Paul Emmel's hair catch fire by glaring at him. (No way was that a swing, by the way.)

• Oh what a throw from Lastings Milledge! That seed was the defensive equivalent of a no-doubter home run -- the moment the ball left Milledge's hand, I let out a little yelp of happy anticipation, much the same sound you make when you see a ball leave the bat at that certain angle and velocity. Seeing Wright's glove pop backwards when the ball arrived on the fly was quite something, too. If Milo can do things like that on even a semi-regular basis, I'll forgive him whatever mustard he wants to anoint his game with.

• What was up with the back of Brandon Medders' head? Does he sleep on the rosin bag? Did the bullpen catcher peg him with it?

• I still don't know why Jose Valentin can't bat without his helmet flap folding the top of one ear over, but he can do everything else. That move to third on the ball hit to his right, after he saw the ball was hit slowly enough that baseball conventional wisdom didn't apply, was the epitome of cagey veteran. The only downside? If he keeps this up, we'll be too patient with apparently washed-up pinch hitters for years, remembering how wrong we all were about Valentin. (Seems like a fair deal right now, too.)

• It's official: Johnny Estrada is the worst bunter in major-league history. And he's a catcher! How many bunts has he seen from two feet away that he can't manage one himself? I'm glad he didn't get it down, but for Chrissakes....

• When Ramon Castro came up, Emily asked what would happen if somebody got hurt, seeing how the Round Mound of Pound was our final position player. I ventured that they'd move whomever could fill in best to the position vacated by the injured player, then stick a pitcher in the outfield and move him between left and right depending on who was up, shades of Orosco and McDowell in the Ray Knight/Eric Davis game. (Morning-after add: A move Davey swiped from Whitey Herzog, who'd sometimes do it just to conserve pinch-hitters.) And, I offered, it would be kinda fun to see. In theory, of course.