sinister (sin'i-ster) adj. 1. Suggesting or threatening evil; a sinister smile. 2. Presaging trouble; ominous; sinister storm clouds. 3. Attended by or causing disaster or inauspicious circumstances. 4. On the left side; left. [Middle English sinistre, unfavorable, from Old French, from Latin sinister, on the left, unlucky.]

On the night of August 24 I became the proud possessor of a ticket for Monday night, Sept. 18 -- Mets vs. Marlins. Given our magic number of 22, one had to wonder: Could that be a Wonkaesque golden ticket, a mezzanine-row seat for the first clinching in 18 years? Seemed possible. But then our magic number hurtled toward zero, and that ticket lost its maybehood and eventually took on Just Another Game status, not that there's anything remotely wrong with that. Unless, of course, something went wrong.

Cue Pittsburgh, where something did indeed go wrong.

The fact that our clinching was delayed by X number of days won't matter much at all -- the sight of a gaggle of leaping, shouting, champagne-spraying Mets will blast Gorzelanny and Duke and Maholm right out of our collective conscious. Heck, if anything we've taken mild solace in the fact that the same thing happened to the mighty '86 team. A good sign: The once-maligned back end of the rotation stood strong -- El Duque was masterful, and John Maine quietly pitched a very good game, avoiding gopher balls despite not having his best stuff. (Pedro...well, something tells me he'll answer the bell when it matters. It doesn't quite yet.)

The Pirates won a moral victory? Good for them. We had to go home to clinch? Fine. (And possibly good for me and Greg.) None of that worries me. What does worry me is our sudden inability against lefties. Because games are running short, and it's awfully late to be cavalier about October problems. (Fortunately, when it comes to lefties the potential playoff team that's most worrisome is the Phils, with Wolf, Moyer and Hamels. We can't see them until the NLCS. Though if we do....)

OK. Deep breath. Going to be positive. Everything's gonna be fine. So, any pointers for sneaking a bottle of bubbly into Shea? Because repeat after me: Brian Moehler is right-handed. Brian Moehler is right-handed. Brian Moehler is right-handed....

Everybody cleared out? Sanchez? Bay? Ronnie Freaking Paulino? We wouldn't want to hurt a single human being.

Not so fast there, Randa.

KA-BOOM!!!

Pity, I really liked PNC Park. Of course I saw it when the Cardinals were the visiting team and I had nothing invested in the outcome. It was much prettier then. But you know the rules. When we get swept somewhere, that place must be destroyed. We did it with historic Fenway Park and we have to do it again.

KA-BOOM!!!

There go all those brooms, straight up in the air. Fibers are floating everywhere. (Who's fer stickball?) Way to go Pirates fans, spoiling...what? A weekend? We're still 13-1/2 games in front. Hey, look! It's a Steelers game! Run along now.

KA-BOOM!!!

There go all the bottles of Korbel snuck in from two states away. All those receipts for gas and airplanes, too. Sorry traveling Mets fans. At least you got to see a really great stadium before it was eviscerated in a fit of well-deserved pique.

KA-BOOM!!!

There go the concessions and advertisements. That's a lot of Pup-Peroni. And Primantis. Mmmm...doggie treat sandwiches with cole slaw...

KA-BOOM!!!

There goes that scoreboard with all the zeroes posted by all those lefties. Maholm, Gorzelanny, Duke: If you want to make it to arbitration eligibility so Kevin McClatchy can trade you before you want to get paid your worth, I suggest you grab your mitts, cross the Clemente and call your agents. You were just waiting in Pittsburgh to become free agents anyway.

KA-...KA-...KA-...?

There goes nothing, specifically the Mets' collective performance over the last three games. It didn't blow up because it didn't show up. Maybe Charlie Samuels shipped the bats directly from Miami to Shea. Great foresight.

So one Met win or one Phillie loss and...like I have to tell you anymore? You know the magic number better than your social security. The Astros, not surprisingly, did us no favors (for all of you who rooted so heartily for Philadelphia to win for aesthetic reasons, please remind me how great that was if we're staring down the barrel of Randy Wolf and Ryan Howard in a few weeks). The Red Sox, shockingly, did stave off their own elimination this afternoon which means even if they are stomped upon tonight, the A.L. East cannot be clinched until at least Tuesday. The Yankees play tomorrow but Boston doesn't. Just for that, they can have Fenway back.

Now the wishes of thousands come partially true. By losing Sunday (and Saturday and Friday), the Mets come home in front of their adoring — though maybe not as adoring as we were 48 hours ago — masses with a chance to clinch first in New York and create an unforgettable love-in 17 years and 148 games in the making.

Don't blow it.

Clinch today. Clinch in Pittsburgh. Clinch in front of Xavier Nady. Clinch in front of Jeromy Burnitz. Clinch in front of Ty Wigginton and Marvell Wynne and Tim Foli and anybody else who used to be a Met. Clinch and send them a check.

Clinch today. Clinch on your own. Or clinch by the hand of Wandy Rodriguez. Clinch when the Astros beat the Phillies if you can't beat the Pirates.

Clinch and call Keith Hernandez's car service and get home. Clinch and trot out onto the field Monday night as division champs.

Clinch today. Clinch on the afternoon of September 17, 2006, not because of the neat symmetry of clinching on the 20th anniversary of clinching our second-most recent to date National League Eastern Division championship (though that's well and good) but because of what might very likely happen on the night of September 17, 2006.

Clinch today. Because if you don't accomplish that small task with a magic number of 1, then another team, whose magic number is momentarily 4, will clinch before us. They get to play their 2006 patsies (speaking of dogs) during the day and again in the evening. A win for them is a loss for the team directly behind them. Who doesn't think it's quite possible to probable that the Yankees will sweep the Red Sox Sunday? They do that and they've clinched on September 17.

We must clinch September 17. First. In the daytime. Before them. This is not negotiable. This is not "gee, it wouldn't be as much fun to clinch while they're in the clubhouse" or "gosh, I have a ticket [and I do] for Monday night" or, heaven help any Mets fan, "Zach Duke is on my fantasy team." This is one of those few times in the course of this extraordinary season when there is a MUST win. For us. For Houston. Whoever. Preferences are no longer an option.

I do not want to live in a world in which we are not the first New York team to be division champion this particular season.

I do not care how it is done.
Clinch.
Now.