Kaz Matsui shouldn't have been a New York Met. It was wrong for him, it was wrong for us.

This was not Reggie Jackson and George Steinbrenner, one of whom was a liar and the other was convicted, thus they deserved each other — as an overwrought, overbuzzed Billy Martin so memorably and accurately framed it. We didn't deserve Kaz. Kaz didn't deserve us.

We both deserved better.

To this night, when we learned that our long international nightmare was over, I never understood how Kaz Matsui became a pin cushion for Mets fans. I mean, yeah, I get that he didn't succeed and those who don't succeed aren't generally treated royally, but how could you boo that face? I spent 2-1/3 seasons just feeling sorry for the guy. I'd like to believe the negative reaction was to his presence and performance, and that it was nothing personal, though I'm not sure why I'm still worried about it.

Kaz Matsui never uttered a cross word (at least one that was translated) about his tormentors in the stands. He never let on that he didn't like how he was being used (not that he gave his managers much choice). He never sat off in a corner of the dugout by his lonesome, George Foster style. The other night, after Milledge's second homer, Kaz was jumping up and down and congratulating a guy he presumably barely knew. That, I thought, is a good teammate.

That said, there was no good reason for his being signed to play here. Given the money ($8 mil a year for three years), the domino effect (shifting Reyes to second) and the allocation of resources (Jose had just staked his claim to shortstop, so WTF?), you could argue that it was the dumbest high-profile free agent acquisition in Mets history that didn't involve Vince Coleman's signature.

Even if the Mets weren't the only MLB team that saw something special in him based on his stellar Japanese career (and his potential Asian-American fan appeal), they simply didn't need him. This wasn't the '93 Braves enhancing a rotation of Glavine, Smoltz and Avery with Maddux. You can always use more great pitching. You can only do so much with two shortstops, especially if the new one isn't Alex Rodriguez.

The Mets had no business trying to convert Reyes to second. Once that was deduced, it was a shame Matsui couldn't pull off that switch. He was as inept at second in 2005 as he was at short in 2004. Definitely looked fine defensively this year, but he never came close to mastering Western pitching on a going basis. Maybe getting the whole package was too much to ask for, though at these prices, you're entitled to inquire.

I'm a little sad to see him go not because I was anticipating a Matsui resurrection in the second half and not because he left behind such a stacked résumé of Mets accomplishments. Actually, I'm not sure why I'm sad to see him go. I guess it's because he did show flashes of ability and he did seem like such a nice fellow and he did deserve better. But since he shouldn't have been here in the first place, this is better.

In late 2003, Kaz was the cornerstone of Jim Duquette's Catch The Energy, let's get athletic rebuilding program. Tonight he was traded to Colorado with two sacks of cash for Eli Marrero. At this point, we would have accepted Eli Whitney and a cotton gin to be named later.

To recap, Kaz Matsui is a Rockie. Anderson Hernandez and Jeff Keppinger are Tides. And your everyday starting second baseman in everything but name is Jose Valentin, who's become pretty darn good at it, hitting and fielding. Even a month ago, did anybody see that coming?

Welcome to Flashback Friday, a weekly feature devoted to the 20th anniversary of the 1986 World Champion New York Mets.

Twenty years, 43 Fridays. This is one of them.

If a 1986 Met had high-fived a portion of the crowd after a game-tying home run, it would have become de rigueur behavior. Lenny would have done it. Wally would have done it. Everybody right through the order to Rafael Santana would have done it. If a pitcher had hit a home run, then it would have become the thing for the pitchers to do. They'd all swing for the fences, all hit home runs and all high-five the crowd.

And it would have been great.

If you are one those duddies comma fuddies always looking for reasons as to why baseball isn't as good as it used to be, I've just reluctantly provided you with ammunition for your codgerrific arguments. But the example runs counter to intuition...

Why, back in MY day, players would ingest no substance more performance-enhancing than tree bark. They'd get all barked up and hit natural home runs. Then they'd put their heads down and trot briskly about the bases and wait until they were on the team bus to manfully shake hands with the third base coach.

Bourgeois! Or words to that effect!

I think of myself has someone whose day has not passed, that every day I'm alive is my day. Yes, I enjoy a good flashback every week or so, but I like what's next even more. I want to believe every season will be the greatest year baseball ever had and, if possible, the greatest year the Mets ever had. We've been presented with evidence to the contrary, I suppose, on the sport itself this but we also keep getting good vibes where the 2006 Mets are concerned.

Like Lastings Milledge delivering dramatic home runs and Lastings Milledge delivering dramatic high fives. Both were stunning to watch once I got to see the highlights, but I get the feeling we wouldn't have noticed the slapping of civilian palms all that much in 1986. Ebullience and exuberance were a part of a game then.

Yeah, there was always some ramrod-assed Red or Astro fuming off to the side, but let 'em, I said. You wanna stop the Mets from being so happy about winning? Beat 'em!

Ya can't!

I never got what was supposed to be the problem with the curtain calls. They were our little custom. They didn't start in '86. They didn't even start in '85. I remember them as far back as 1980 when Steve Henderson hit that eternal homer against the Giants. Last year, Walkoff Mark (happy anniversary, bro!) was kind enough to send me the play-by-play of that at-bat. Bob Murphy described, with no small degree of surprise, that the fans were calling Hendu back onto the field so they could acknowledge him. Steve came out and a tradition was born.

If you look up 1982 in the record books, you'll find the Mets were in the cutout bin. A miserable 65-97 year it was, but it had its moments. When the Mets got off to a fairly hot start, the curtain call was in full effect, y'all. I specifically remember Charlie Puleo being asked to take a bow after being removed by George Bamberger in the eighth, and Puleo sheepishly complying. The Mets were going well and the Mets fans appreciated all of it with all their might.

Weeks later, far from Shea, Terry Leach wriggled out of a jam left behind by Brent Gaff. Leach pumped his fist on the Dodger Stadium mound. The Dodgers — the defending world champions with a pennant race of their own to worry about — got all huffy about it. Dugouts began to empty. I was stunned. Leach succeeded, Leach was happy, Leach showed it. What's the fucking problem? That's what Mets do.

The process works a lot better when you're not the 1982 Mets. By 1986, the Mets had plenty to celebrate at any given moment and they did.

The high-fiving, the curtain calls, the rally caps, the commercials, the videos, the fights, even the Cooter's arrests were all of a piece. These were our boys not only playing great but feeding off our energy, a spark generated by how great they played. It was a vivacious cycle. We were, all of us together — players and fans — a power source. We were plugged into each other. Beyond many wins and few losses, that's what made 1986 so special.

That was also what made Shea Stadium special...and why I still think it is. It's not the rich architecture, the awesome sightlines or the immaculate sanitation that does it. There's a real, honest-to-goodness crackle to our summer home. If it's not always present, it's easy to summon. When the Mets do well, they are beloved and they are shown that love. The Lastings lunge is only the latest iteration. I know I could feel it in the heart of the Valentine era. No other place produces grand slam singles and such with such surprising regularity.

In whatever form it's taken, the Met Fan-Met Player paradigm dates to 1962. It crested in 1969. It exploded in 1986. It lives today. It's what makes baseball worth loving. It makes loving fun.

Wha? Grim? What is there to possibly be grim about after El Duque took a gleeful, terrible revenge on the team that just got done trading him? Why, the old man carved that lineup up like they were a bunch of El Rooques. Carlos Beltran smacked his 15th homer, putting him one behind last year's total, though he probably should have got credit for an extra homer, considering his shot was hit so hard that fans out in right probably saw it arrive before they heard it struck. Heck, young Mr. Milledge can even juggle.

I enjoyed it. I really did. But it was like enjoying the sunshine as dark clouds gather and the TV keeps beeping with a hurricane warning. I apologize in advance for this, but I'm gonna go over some news of the last day or two -- not because I think it'll be new to most of us, but because it's going to be the background for a lot that's to come in the next weeks or months. We'll be familiar with it soon enough; may as well start now.

Back in April Jason Grimsley, a journeyman middle reliever with the very Diamondbacks we just beat, was told by his wife that some men were at the door to see him. The men were federal agents. They told Grimsley they knew he'd just received two kits of human growth hormone in the mail, and asked him to fetch them and come with them for a talk. He did, and they talked for hours. Hours in which Grimsley said he'd taken steroids, HGH and amphetamines. He said he'd stopped taking steroids when baseball instituted a new testing regimen, but kept going with HGH, perfectly aware that no urine test could detect it, that blood tests for it weren't totally reliable, and that the collective bargaining agreement didn't allow for blood tests anyway. He talked of the drug culture in the game, saying Latino players and players from the California teams were sources of amphetamines, saying that sleazy doctors at wellness clinics were sources of HGH, and naming names. Here's the affidavit -- take a look at all the stuff that's blacked out.

Those names won't stay blacked out for long -- and they don't just include players, but the ubiquitous "conditioning coaches" whose role seems to increasingly triangulate between trainer, hanger-on and middleman for dirty business. Deadspin is already working its sources to fill in some of the names, and while its guesswork is still just that, it's informed guesswork. And it already points -- on Day Two -- to a possible connection that, if true, would be a crushing blow to the game.

And there will be more. Much more. For in Grimsley the feds found a perfect tour guide for the Steroids Era -- he came up in '89, with the hideousness of this era just beginning to bloom, and he's played for the Phillies, Indians, Yankees, Royals, Angels, Orioles and D'Backs, not to mention minor-league stints with the Brewers, Astros and Tigers. That's a third of MLB organizations right there.

And you know what? It's more frightening that Jason Grimsley is the face of HGH than it is that Barry Bonds is the face of steroids. Because Jason Grimsley is anonymous. He's the interchangeable middle reliever, the guy you run through a dozen of during the season in a grouchy quest to find one or two who don't totally suck. If those guys are on the juice, how far does it go? Look at this list: Rafael Palmeiro is the exception, not the rule. This list is minor-leaguers and guys on the end of the bench. Wanna say that the stars are clean, that they don't need to juice, and it's the guys scrambling for jobs who yield to the temptation to go dirty? Good luck with that.

Grimsley was never a Met, but we're not immune. Five guys in The Holy Books -- Grant Roberts, Jorge Toca, Wilson Delgado, Felix Heredia and Matt Lawton -- have already been nailed, as have four Met minor-leaguers. How many Mets would claim places in The Dirty Books, if all were somehow revealed?

Try not to think about it. If you can. Don't start thinking of Mets since '90 or so and wondering. If you can.

I'm not going to put my suspicions in print, because there's too much of that stuff in Blogland already, but there are Mets from the last 15 years whom I cheered for and whom I'd now bet any amount of money were dirty. And there are more and more Mets from that period whom I don't openly suspect, but whom I wouldn't be shocked to find occupying the pages of TDB. And there are more and more Mets about whom I no longer feel safe assuming anything at all. Which points to the worst part of all this: The internal debate is moving, almost too quickly for us to keep up, from "I wonder if So-and-So was dirty" to "I'm pretty sure that at least So-and-So is clean."

It's vile, corrosive stuff, this doubting, and in the midst of El Duque's superb performance I found myself looking around the field, wondering. Wondering at chiseled physiques, at rebounds from injury, at performances defying age. Wondering about things and players I'd never wondered about before. Until finally I was just wondering.

ESPN has a poll up about the issue now, and two numbers on it stand out: 93% of fans believe Grimsley's statement that "boatloads" of players are using HGH, and 58% said if their favorite player turned out to be dirty, they'd feel deceived. (Hell, if my favorite player turns out to be dirty, I might never believe anything again.) Put those two numbers together and you have a train wreck, and not a far-off one, either. It's right around this next bend. Don't think for a minute we're going to walk away unscathed.