Hate to break it to those who see irreparable cracks in the plaster with each occasional pockmark (which is like all of us), but the Mets are fine. Some nights indeed beg the question, "What, exactly, was that bullshit?" and demand the manager deliver an early-morning tongue-lashing. But those nights, when they're followed by these days, tend to be more infrequent than they seem.

Good teams win games like today's. They occasionally lose games like last night's, but they put them behind them more often than not. More often than not, they win all kinds of games. Since the Interleague hiccup, cresting when our erstwhile fifth starter was grilled up like Filet of Alay, the Mets have played 14 games.

They took three of four from Pittsburgh.
They split four with Florida.
They took two of three in Chicago.
They took two of three in Cincinnati.

That's 9-5, a .642 clip. Even if they're not necessarily playing up to their national magazine cover notices, that's a pace that wins you 104 games over 162. That's winning most series and losing none. That's against a cross-section of the undermanned, the feisty, the crummy and the dangerous. That's who's available to be beaten and they've been beaten 9 of 14. That's good stuff.

I wouldn't necessarily have the foam finger I've had surgically attached to my right hand removed if we had lost the getaway game to Cincinnati, but the resilience and stubbornness on display at Great American is a prime example of what separates us from the Reds-raff. We're the team that found ways to head off leadoff rallies inning after inning. We're the team that threw balls to the right bases and made convincing enough tags to sway flighty umps. We're the team whose fourth and fifth relievers could be at least set-up men for many others. We're the team that salvages Chavezes and destroys opponents' dreams with them.

Feels good to be on the right side of these things as often as we are.

On August 5, 2004, Victor Zambrano started his first game as a New York Met, struggled into the sixth inning but earned a win. David Wright hit his third big league home run, part of a National League warning shot six-RBI onslaught. Vance Wilson went deep. Ricky Bottalico threw 2-1/3 scoreless innings. Richard Hidalgo drove in a run.

The Mets beat the Brewers 11-6. And I missed all of it.

That was the last Mets game to completely elude my eyes and/or ears. Since then, I've caught at least a little, usually most, probably the entirety of every contest the Mets have played, 311 up to and including Wednesday night's generously rain-delayed affair in Cincinnati. Sure, it was a long precipitation pause, but Mother Nature was doing me a solid. I was in Baltimore until 7:52 PM when I boarded a northbound Amtrak. We weren't due past Trenton — into solid FAN territory — until after 9:20. I had no guarantee there'd still be a game to glean through the Central Jersey static.

But there would be, and much closer to home. My surprisingly effective Sprint PCS Web connection gave me a score:

Mets 4
Reds 0
Inning 2
Rain Delay

Hot damn! The Mets are winning and I'm going to be a part of it all. I could sit back and relax until my regional choo-choo pulled into Penn in time for me to jump on a 10:34 LIRR. Once east of the tunnel, it was only the fourth inning. What a midsummer's bounty: an afternoon in Camden Yards; an early evening dinner in Charm City; a heaping, unanticipated scoop of Amazin'ness for dessert. And we were winning.

Were.

One of the first things I heard was Jose Reyes stretch a single into an out at second. One of the last things I heard was Jose Reyes turn an out into a runner on third...except Jose did that with a lousy throw. In between, Trachsel earned no win, the Mets scored no run and the rain did not fall.

My streak is alive, but the Mets lost. It's not nice to fool Mother Nature.

What, exactly, was that bullshit?

The Mets came out smoking, roughed up Aaron Harang, and headed into the clubhouse with a 4-0 lead when the rains came. As it became apparent that this was a serious storm and would be a long delay, I began to fret that that 4-0 lead would be erased in favor of a doubleheader tomorrow.

If only.

I don't know what team that was that came back out to play when the rain finally stopped, but I don't want to see it again. Up and down the lineup, they took at-bats like a squad with a double-digit lead on getaway day: six pitches in the 3rd, seven in the 4th, eight in the 5th. Three innings, 21 pitches? Ridiculous bordering on unprofessional, and by the time they seemed to be paying attention again, it was 4-4. Fittingly, the game was then lost on a double error: Reyes' too-aggressive bid to get Scott Hatteberg at third, compounded by his making a bad throw and getting nobody. The miscue seemed to unnerve Sanchez, three runs came in, and that was that.

The more you think about it, the more it's infuriating. This is the kind of hare-and-the-tortoise loss that lets 11.5-game leads erode if there are too many of them, and exactly what Willie Randolph was warning against a few weeks back: the dangers of playing half-assed baseball because you think the rest of the regular season is a formality.

It isn't. Here's hoping Willie closes the clubhouse door and makes that excruciatingly clear.