If simulation equals stimulation, consider me titillated.

Pedro Martinez, who threw 80 pitches to bat boys who stood statue-still after Saturday's game, pronounced himself as havin' it goin' on, and Willie Randolph seconded that assessment. Facing kids with VICTOR 06 on their backs may not be the same as mixing in offspeed stuff to Marcus Giles, but as with everything that regards Pedro Martinez, we'll have to take his word for it.

Chances are we'll be aces up by next weekend. One ace, anyway. The second needs to countenance the third out of the seventh inning one of these days. Really, the guys we need to front the rotation when it counts more urgently than it does now are Pedro Martinez and Tom Glavine from April 2006. If they're not available, I'll settle for healthy autumnal variations of themselves. They haven't gotten this far in their careers without being able to fake it now and then.

As for the rest of our pitching, geez, what are we gonna do? We obviously need lots of other guys. I've made a wish list:

• We should get an extraordinarily crafty righthanded vet. I mean one who's been through the wars, especially late in the year. A guy who can, I don't know, look like he's going to shrivel up and blow away in the first inning and then right himself and give you at least seven solid. Momentum like that is priceless in a big game.

• Maybe another veteran, one who's pitched in New York for at least five years. He doesn't have to be flashy. In fact, he needn't be that at all. He should just be dependable and have the right combination of guts and guile to grind it out. If he can lull the opposing batters into a hypnotic trance, all the better. If he has a recent track record of overcoming difficulties and posting wins, that's a great sign.

• We could use a hard thrower with these guys. A young gun. Not a raw rookie, but one who everybody agrees has a live arm and has begun to show it on a consistent basis. Works fast, slings it, isn't afraid. Keeps improving would be a nice touch.

• And it would be nice to have an X-factor, someone who's really coming on. Few have seen him yet, not really, but what he's displayed is dynamite. All he needs is to get a little comfortable and the hitters will be contorting themselves more than we can imagine.

Those would be the ideal pitchers from whom to choose to place behind Pedro and Glavine. Boy, for the chance to acquire a quartet like that, I'd give up...

...absolutely nothing. Because we have them already.

You're NUTS! if you think I'm endorsing the trading of Lastings Milledge for anybody in July. I mean anybody, and that includes summer rentals, projects, innings-eaters, certified third starters and the almost certainly unpryable Mr. Willis of Florida — a fine, fine, fine, fine pitcher, to be sure, but is he a dead, solid lock to:

1) put us over the top, which would be the only reason to trade our bona fide best prospect?

2) not flail around while becoming accustomed to the pressure of pitching for a New York team with much/all on the line?

3) not go into one of his Dontrellesque funks that he's been known to fall into for starts at a time when he's not particularly effective?

I believe in Dontrelle Willis. I just don't believe in him enough to be the Dontrelle we all envision exactly when we need him to be on short notice. Almost nobody is that pitcher. Frank Viola, as sure a bet a lefty stud as a contender ever brought in at the deadline (defending Cy Young winner, Long Island native, St. John's alum, World Series MVP), wasn't when we got him in 1989. There's an adjustment period for everybody. The Diamondbacks got Schilling in 2000 and he wasn't a differencemaker until 2001. The Blue Jays won having hired Coney in 1992 but he had his struggles, and I'd argue they might very well have won without him.

The other half of this equation is the future. Would Dontrelle Willis, theoretical Met starter in 2007, be awesome? Probably. But would Lastings Milledge blossom as a Marlin and torture us 19 times a year for the next five years if indeed there are Marlins? Probably. Do you really want to watch him and his mates do that to us? I don't. I want to watch more of him here, if not now, then next year. It's taken us a zillion years (and that's an exact measurement) to not only sport an overwhelmingly talented outfield but to have someone ready to step into it.

Milledge showed me enough to make me believe in his long term more than I do Willis' near term. He's our leftfielder for '07 and beyond if Cliff says goodbye or, if sentimentality gets the best of everyone and Cliff stays but Xavier is moved in the offseason, our rightfielder. This is not "ohmigod, how can you even think of trading Alex Ochoa?" This is the guy who showed more tools than True Value Hardware and continues to be 21. Was he up here only to be showcased and dangled? That I don't believe.

I've just spent several paragraphs swatting down a trade that's on the outer edges of hypothetical. I can't see Jeffery Loria sending away his only proven and beloved player when everybody else on his roster is making $5.15 an hour. If I were Loria, I wouldn't do it, but that doesn't mean I'd do it from our end. We're not the Marlins.

We're the Mets. We got here not on a wing and a prayer but via a fairly spectacular assortment of talent and personalities that has served us to near-perfection. While Pedro has been hip checking and Glavine's been crashing into the fifth-inning boards, the rest of our starters, even when changing on the fly, have been reasonably good skates.

Sure, Stevie Somnambulant bores the green off of the grass (have you ever seen a single, solitary Shea patron representing TRACHSEL 29 on his back?), but save for the rain delays that drown him, he accounts for himself quite nicely. Maine we saw as capable of marching through New Hampshire and annexing Vermont Friday night. Pelfrey is 2-0 and a potentially exciting antidote to Roy Oswalt (a.k.a. Cliff's bitch, I hope) Sunday afternoon.

And on Saturday, Orlando "El Whatever He Wants To Call Himself, I Still Don't Care For The Lingering Associations With His Past Employer" Hernandez demonstrated exactly the kind of stuff in innings two through seven that you'd want on your side when the leaves turn brown and the stakes pile high. He's had his sweaty Wrigley Field moments but he's more than compensated for them with icy outings that render managers like Phil Garner clueless. Or cluelesser.

I like a good Metropolitan improvement project as much as the next fan, but I'll take them in a) December and b) when we desperately need improving. As July 31 approaches, let's remember we're in first place by a time zone or two because we already have the players and the pitchers who got us here. I'll take my team the rest of the way as well.

Way to complicate things, El Duque.

Of course this is good complicated -- better complicated would be Mike Pelfrey following El Duque's fine effort with one of his own, leaving us with three viable candidates for two spots. (And Brian Bannister not far away.) And with Pedro having pronounced himself good to go, what next? If I were playing GM, I'd send Pelfrey down to Norfolk with a taste of the Show and a return date in September, unless something happens between then and now -- which it probably will, starting pitchers being starting pitchers.

(Of course if I were GM, Jose Valentin would have been unemployed by mid-May. I know nothing.)

I'll leave deeper analysis of this one to my co-blogger, as I was out of action for most of it. (After catching a snippet of the Fox broadcast, I did note that as baseball games go, this wasn't a hard one to sum up: El Duque settled down after a rough start, Nady hit a three-run homer.) Anyway, Emily and I were at a party on Rockaway Beach, boy in tow, and keeping close tabs on the game had to wait until we left for the subway. Which we did in the bottom of the 7th inning, Mets up 4-3.

Since we were starting from Beach 94th, I had hope that I could hear the rest. And, indeed, the long wait at the elevated station at Beach 90th for the Shuttle and at Broad Channel (another elevated station) for the A worked in our favor, at least as far as hearing a good chunk of a baseball game was concerned. The Mets were batting in the 8th by the time we were settled in on the A that would take us back to Brooklyn Heights. That meant time was short, but the A runs on an elevated track until Grant (if memory serves), so there was still a chance.

Except Phil Garner had to use EVERY FRICKING PITCHER IN HIS BULLPEN, wasting precious time as the A kept on rolling. (And before you ask: With a fractious three-year-old who hadn't napped, stepping out to hear the rest on a platform wasn't an option.)

Aqueduct Raceway: Inning change, here comes Wags. C'mon Billy, an out per station and I'm golden.

88th Street: Preston Wilson is no more. Crap, not going to make it. Maybe Luke Scott will hit the first pitch.

80th Street: Luke Scott not cooperating. And it's raining.

Grant: And underground we go. But wait! Provided I turn my little radio to ear-bleeding levels and jam the earbud practically through my skull, I can still kind of hear the FAN every few seconds!

BZZZZZZZZZ pitch to scott WHIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNEEEEEEE fouled back SKKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEE WOWWWWWWWWWWW 1-2 on scott HOOOWWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLLL KZKZKZZZZKKKKKZKZKZKZKKZKZKZKKZKZKZKKZKZKZKZKKZKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!

(Oh, this is ridiculous.)

My timing may have been lousy, but the Mets' was just fine.

When the rains finally stopped, the reign began: John Maine was terrific tonight, though it took a great catch by Cliff Floyd (who should be sick more often, apparently) and a nifty block of home by Paul Lo Duca to elevate him to terrific from just very good. Rookie pitchers, particularly ones being rebuilt after a falling-out with their previous clubs, tend to follow the one step forward, two steps back model, but Maine's seemed to grow in confidence with each gradually better outing, and it seemed obvious from the gun tonight that he had good stuff. Which was good for all sorts of reasons: Who knows what awaits our bullpen this weekend, between El Duque and another rookie in Pelfrey and rain expected at least through Saturday?

The breather was appreciated. So too was the possibility that we might do just fine at the trading deadline by keeping all current hands on deck. I'd trade Milledge and Heilman for Dontrelle Willis in a heartbeat, but that's unlikely to happen; I wouldn't trade anything for Livan Hernandez. (OK, maybe Jose Offerman and Michael Fucker. And Jose Lima too, to ensure Omar can't bring him back in September.) I'm well aware of the dangers of falling in love with a current team and seeing beloved players' fundamental flaws as quirks, but it's not a wild leap of faith to think that there's a 2006 keeper among Maine, Pelfrey and the soon-to-return Bannister -- maybe even two. Shake things up for an obvious upgrade? Sure -- our current rotation isn't exactly scary in a playoff situation. Trade away chips for a different maybe? Let's be careful, please.

Oh yeah, the cranes. It didn't get a lot of notice, but the IRS signed off on the city's plans to sell $1.6 billion in bonds to pay for new stadiums for us and some other local team. Which means the heavy equipment out there in the parking lot should soon be doing more than testing landfill -- and Shea has just over 800 days left of life, as marked by Merengue Nights, rain delays, grand slams, complete-game shutouts, visits from trainers, right fielders lost in firework clouds, and all the other bits and pieces that go into baseball games satisfying and un-.

What do you think?

I think it depends who shows up. If it's Uncle Fluffy, we've got problems. If it's the President, in his last campaign, his last debate, for the last job he'll ever have...if the President shows up, I think it'll be a sight to see, I mean a sight to see. What do you think?

I think you're going to enjoy yourself tonight.
—Toby and C.J., "Game On"

Just like that, the Mets are a sight to see again. They are the main attraction, to say nothing of the Maine attraction, of the National League. They are bigger than Merengue Night (against which I no longer carry a grudge, at least not from my couch). They are 10-4 since the last time they were spectacularly inept. They're 20 over for the first time this season. They're 13 ahead of nobody in particular. And they're not coasting. If anything, they're rounding into that montage — you need a montage! — portion of Major League in which they do everything right...except they're already in first place.

It won't get aired as a Mets Classic, but given the choice, wasn't this the kind of game you'd like to see over and over again? Most years, you only see it in your dreams. This year, we see it right in front of our eyes on a fairly recurring basis.

What's not to like?

You like pitching? You have to like quasi-emergency mudder John Maine, who in his first three starts had surged from outta his league to outta gas to outta luck. Friday night, fourth start, outta this world. Great command. Very good stuff. The Astros, who have a nasty habit of waking from first-half snoozes, remained asleep at the plate. If the Maine trajectory continues as such, it'll be Orioles fans cursing the Kris Benson trade as useless and uncalled for.

You like defense? Jose Valentin made an early excellent play up the middle to dampen Houston's expectations before they could be generated. Cliff Floyd scaled a wall and nabbed a homer off legendary no-hit spoiler Chris Burke. Carlos Beltran and Paul Lo Duca (with an assist from Carlos Delgado's bowlegged stance) teamed to nail Eric Munson on one of the dopiest (down 0-7 with two out) tagups I've ever seen with one of the funnest throws, blocks and tags the sport has to offer.

How about hitting? Valentin has mastered the bases-loaded home run. Reader Sean Quigley points out Jose was born* on October 12, 1969 — the same day the Mets won their first World Series game ever. I guess, then, we can stop being surprised that we became his destiny; he was clearly meant to be a Miracle Met (even if there's no truth to the rumor that his full name is Jose Koosman Clendenon The Glider Valentin). And Mr. Delgado, he's emerging from slumpdom one powerful swing at a time.

It was a night for little things to happen as they should. A neighborhood play that was too blatant to be allowed wasn't, which set up Valentin's grand slam. The run that didn't score on a homer was the result of littlish ball: double, efficient groundout, liner to center. Just before Delgado's dinger, Beltran put his head down and hustled to third when other Mets in other times would have stopped at second. The manager was either brilliant or intuitive enough to keep El Duque out of the rain. That might not pay off Saturday, with more moisture in the forecast, but it sure cashed out handsomely Saturday. And Maine was allowed to finish what he started, and he finished with flair. The game was over around 10:15, which is astounding considering rain stopped it from starting until after eight.

Last year, I blanched every time the Mets strung together two wins because the temptation to read into it a roll was too overwhelming. The Mets of 2005 along with any of the hopeful editions that preceded them had a way of tentatively teasing then decisively disappointing. The Mets of 2006, at this juncture, clearly lack that capability. It is such a joy to partake in a baseball feast like tonight:

• We demolish the barely defending National League champions.
• The Braves get tangled up in the Phillies, though I confess I have a hard time telling them apart.
• E-Rod provides more enjoyable highlight reel material; the Blue Jays should designate Shea Hillenbrand for assignment more often.

If Maine and Pelfrey are as pitchy keen as they seem to be and if Pedro recoalesces into one piece and Omar doesn't do more than check his caller ID for the next ten days...well, I think I'm going to enjoy myself for many nights to come.

*Weirdly, Orlando Hernandez's birthdate, which nobody believes, is October 11, 1969, the same day the Mets lost their first World Series game ever. And Hernandez's replacement as starting pitcher on July 21, 2006 was John Maine, born May 8, 1981, making him the third Met to enter the world on a day when I attended a Mets game. The other two are Richard Hidalgo (July 2, 1975, recently immortalized with the help of another loyal FAFIF reader) and the last player Art Howe will ever manage unless someone can't hire Dave Bristol, Joe Hietpas (May 1, 1979). Some slow night, I'll weave all of this together, but right now it weaves well enough alone.