I'm not a doctor, I don't play one on TV, I don't pretend to be able to make diagnoses while watching TV which also means I'm not the Majority Leader of the United States Senate. But never mind that right now. What's important is what condition Carlos Beltran's condition is in. Because when he went down on the Minute Maid grass in the ninth inning after making one of the Web Gemmiest, game-savingest catches you'll ever see in a critical moment, all I could think was...

...so much for winning the World Series.

My lack of medical training notwithstanding, seeing him not being on carried on a stretcher or lifted onto a cart was a positive sign. Seeing him walk through the dugout was encouraging. And hearing him afterwards on WFAN, all things considered, was very good news.

He says he can't bend his left knee. That doesn't sound helpful for a centerfielder and third-place hitter who uses his knees a lot. But if I had just run into what he had run into, there'd be a lot I couldn't bend. Carlos Beltran's condition is better than the condition my condition is in. Ed Coleman said he sounded fine. Indeed, the should-be MVP of the National League was quite with it, answered things calmly and, from the sound of the audio, without his teeth clenched. (Maybe Bill Frist can divine whether, in fact, he was clenching his teeth.) He's going for tests and, well, we'll see. (X-Rays In: Negative. It's called a bruise for now.)

The beauty of a 16-1/2 game lead with 28 games left is he can ice it, whirlpool it, tape it, whatever it takes. In the short-term, it barely matters. Endy Chavez will never lose playing time on this club because there's always an outfielder who's going down. Appendectomy? Achilles? I just saved Billy Wagner's bacon by crashing into the chain link fence of that funhouse yahoo excuse for a regulation baseball facility? It's Endy to the rescue. I'm not worried about tomorrow or this coming week.

Of course we need Carlos Beltran for October. I'm not a doctor, but I'm going to cross my fingers and be confident that we can be hopeful that our luck will hold out. We got Tom back last night. We got Cliff back tonight. We got a lot going for us. Much of that is Beltran's doing.

It was, incidentally, nothing like that disaster in Petco Park from last August except for one thing. In San Diego, Willie gave Jose Reyes a rare day off. In Houston, Willie gave Jose Reyes a rare day off. If Beltran is our MVP, Reyes is his facilitator. Stop resting him twice a year.

Oh, and I hate the fans of Houston more than ever. Yes, there was some obligatory applauding the guy who had given his body over to baseball when he showed he wasn't dead, but I'm sure I heard booing. People who boo Carlos Beltran yet value Roger Clemens? I can't say it enough: Bunch of yahoos. Hey, I'm sure there's a football game going on somewhere down the block. Maybe you'd be happier there. Or at a two-way rifle range.

Minute Maid is a farce. Maine pitches beautifully but is burned on a Lance Berkman pop fly to left that goes into something called the Crawford Boxes. Does anybody check with MLB to ascertain whether dimensions are regulation anymore? (The answer is no.) This series is now about more than reducing our magic number even more. I really hope we beat these SOBs in their useless, overly humid, backwards, nothing-to-do cowtown with their rodeo fans and their tightwad management.

You wanted to keep Beltran? Then you should have given him the no-trade clause he wanted. He only led to you to the edge of the promised land and you treat him like dirt. Yes, there were idiots here who did that last year. It's inexcusable, but it was a plurality, not a majority. I'm not a doctor and I'm not a hearing technician, but I could tell last season and this that it's an overwhelming percentage of Astros fans who can't get over Carlos Beltran, their rent-a-player who gave them everything he had, leaving them because he couldn't get the deal he wanted from Drayton McLane.

I've been trying to put this in a Met perspective. The obvious correlation is Mike Hampton, ironically an ex-Astro. Hampton came for one year, the last year on his contract. He was very effective for most of 2000, especially the NLCS. The Mets negotiated a little with him but he never showed much interest in sticking around. I think he's reviled here — though not nearly as much as Beltran there — for the schools crack, because it was so transparent. Did Beltran ever say anything that stupid about Houston or give the impression that he was going to dedicate his life and future to Harris County, Texas?

Mets fans booed Ken Griffey for vetoing a trade that would have brought him here. I was among them. It was kind of silly. But Ken Griffey was never a Met. Carlos Beltran was an Astro. He didn't make lifelong proclamations of loyalty to Houston the way Johnny Damon did with Boston, and Beltran didn't go to a blood rival of the Astros, if in fact the Astros have a blood rival (besides apathy). Him making that catch was very sweet. Of course he won't play Sunday, which is too bad, because I'd love to see him do more damage to their dwindling playoff chances.

Oh well. If not him, then there's a couple dozen other Mets who can pick up the slack.

I'm too worked up to salute the delightful dozen right now. Before the next game, I promise.

The day portion of our day-night magic number watch has scratched another notch off the countin' wall. I won't exactly say, "thanks Braves," but, uh...never mind. A digit is a digit. This afternoon's Phillies loss means we have but 13 left, at least until evening.

13.01: Fonzie. Until we started growing great Mets in the Dominican Republic and the Old Dominion State, was Edgardo Alfonzo the greatest homegrown everyday Met in team history? Using the handy guide provided by The Hundred Greatest Mets of the First Forty Years, only Buddy Harrelson (ranked 8th) and Darryl Strawberry (4th) are ahead of Fonzie, who's in 9th. But Buddy didn't hit much and Darryl was known to take it easy now and then. Fonzie, No. 13, did some of everything and most of it extraordinarily well. Maybe not the greatest homegrown everyday Met as a matter of Met lore, but probably the soundest. Even if we never see him in his rightful colors or number again, he remains secure in my personal holy trinity: Tom-Doc-Fonzie.

13.02: Anderson Hernandez Can't Hit. I know he's not the Edgardo of the Valentine Years, but he is experienced, righthanded and, if I've been reading the Tides stats correctly, not completely washed up. Seems like a good guy to have around as long as there's a big, stretchy roster to enjoy. Has Omar just forgotten that he signed him? Can't we bump some suspect off the 40-man? No. 13 doesn't deserve to end his season, maybe his career, wearing No. 9 in Norfolk. Bring him up. Now.

13.03: Precedent! Theretofore washed-up scrubeenie Lee Mazzilli was brought up from Tidewater in August 1986, donned No. 13 and contributed to a world championship drive. Say, anybody know why the Tides started being Norfolk and stopped being Tidewater? I think it was around '93. You can tell the old-timers by their insistence on calling it Tidewater. Bob Dole referred to the Los Angeles Dodgers as the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1996 and came off as out of it. I imagine he got Fred Wilpon's vote.

13.04: Tornado Warning. The geography of the Dodgers came up in the first place for Dole because he was trying to make a cheap political point on the back of future Met Hideo Nomo's no-hitter in Coors Field, still — pre-humidor (or "humididor" as Keith would say) — one of the remarkable feats in pitching. I saw the Mets score 13 runs against the Rockies in 1995, but that was at Shea.

13.05: My Opponent Has Nothing To Say. Once upon a time, Channel 13 wasn't public television but a commercial outlet broadcasting in New Jersey. On the eve of the 1957 governor's race, each candidate bought an hour of time, one at 10 o'clock, one at 11 o'clock. The one who spoke first finished with a playing of the national anthem and an airing of the test pattern. Viewers thought that meant the broadcasting day was over and clicked off their sets. The one who spoke second ended up talking to himself and losing. That candidate was zillionaire Malcolm Forbes, so it's hard to say he didn't wind up winning in the long run.

13.06: This Seat is Taken Of course should my Alfoznorian dreams come true, he'll have to grab another number. I don't think Billy Wagner is giving up 13. If he had a sense of Mets history, he would, but Billy Wagner's not about that.

13.07: Every Ninth Inning is Christmas. I, like my co-blogger, asked Santa to slip No. 13 onto Billy Wagner's torso for us. That was after I decided Aaron Heilman wouldn't be the best option as long as the fireballing lefty was out there. Remember how great Heilman was last September, though? Him and Bert and Juan Padilla? Would have been interesting to see if that would have worked. Moot now, and not just because Padilla is off on the 60- or 600-day DL. A year after we got all funked up by Shingo Takatsu, I'm not giving back Billy Wagner.

13.08: He Loves Bulletin Boards. One thing that makes me alternately fond of and nervous about Billy Wags is the way he speaks his mind regarding the teams for whom he used to wear 13. Earlier in the year, he wasn't shy about sharing his opinion of what a bunch of losers the Phillies were. I read this morning he took extra glee in retiring the Astros last night. He's still sore at Drayton McLane for letting him go. I feel ya, bro.

13.09: Would You Trade Billy Wagner for Albert Pujols? Not a real tight analogy but close enough: The Mets sent their closer, No. 13, Neil Allen to the Cardinals for their all-world first baseman Keith Hernandez in 1983. Hernandez seemed so reluctant to come here that Joel and I imagined him saying, well, just give me my Mets uniform with my number, 37, and I'll see how it fits...you can do THAT much for me, can't you? You can't? God, I hate the Stems.

13.10: Going Up? A lot of buildings avoid 13th floors, which is a good way to perpetuate fear and belief in dark magic. A company I worked for had its executive offices on the 13th floor. They perpetuated fear and a belief in dark magic.

13.11: Don't Blame Felix Millan and Kenny Rogers. The Mets have played two postseason games on October 13. They lost the first game of the 1973 World Series and the second game of the 1999 National League Championship Series. October 13 this year falls on a Friday during the NLCS. There may or may not be a game scheduled. I'd rather be eligible to play on October 13 than stay home and avoid ladders and mirrors.

13.12: The Dark Ages, Indeed. Roger Craig wore No. 13 in order to break a losing streak in 1963. Roger Craig taught Mike Scott how to scuff a baseball. Rain postponed Game 5 of the 1986 NLCS, slated for October 13. Anthony Young never stopped wearing No. 19. AY's 12th consecutive loss in his string of 27 came on September 13, 1992.

13.13: Pushing It. I don't believe there's anything unlucky about 13. But I'd hate to think saluting the current magic number while there's a Met game and a Phillie game yet to be played this Saturday gets in the way of immediate good fortune. See you later...I hope.

Last year when Labor Day arrived Emily and I packed the kid into the rental car and we headed for Long Beach Island. It was a lovely week filled with lovely weather, lovely friends, lovely kid activities on a lovely beach, and really, really, really unlovely baseball. That was the week we went 1-6. The week Shingo Takatsu served up a huge, fat, juicy meatball to Miguel Cabrera. The week Braden Looper managed to blow a save in Atlanta not once but twice on the same night. ("All I want for Christmas is Billy Wagner," I typed. Hmmm.) The week our flickering postseason hopes went out.

Today we're getting in the car to go to ... Long Beach Island! Same beach house, even. (This year it reportedly has high-speed Internet, so you won't be rid of me so easily.) The weather's not looking lovely, at least for the beginning of the week. That's OK. Because I'm relaxed about the baseball .

Case in point: Last night Emily and I were lounging around watching the game. We remained calm when Glavine imploded -- not particularly helped when Delgado followed a nice stab of a liner with a speed-of-continental-drift move in the general direction of Chris Burke, just missing an inning-ending double play. No matter -- as you've taught me this year, it's about Ws and Ls, not style points. We watched the Mets coolly take the lead on a smash by Wright (whom I seem to recall was slumping once upon a time) that Jason Lane played off his lower back. The Astros, not to be denied just yet, tied it at 6. Still we remained calm.

Digression: What was up with that ridiculous poll on what fans want most in the new park? Who wouldn't pick legroom/better seats? More concessions is too iffy -- definitely a case of quality outweighing quantity, as more opportunities to buy rock-hard/wet-tissue-paper pretzels is not a selling point. More restaurants? Again, nice in theory; possibly dangerous in practice. More parking? Not essential for part of the audience, and it's not like a crappy day at the park was ever redeemed by a really great parking spot. Better, roomier seats are the safe choice, because it's pretty hard to screw them up. How boring. So I got to wondering out loud: Couldn't they have done better? Why not a question to make people pay attention? Something like...I dunno...Should the new park have hookers? They'd wear bright green so you could see them from far away, kind of like vendors but not to be confused with vendors, because if a bunch of drunken frat boys goes several sections over in pursuit of a neon jersey and finds the Pepsi guy, it's gonna get ugly.

At this point Emily raised a very important point: Could you trust the Mets to supply good hookers? What if what was available turned out to be the Aramark equivalent of hookers? An excellent question, and proof that my wife remains wise even when not exactly in her element. Just the thought of an Aramark hooker had me imagining Fran Healy declaring without a hint of shame that if you haven't tried an Aramark hooker, you sure don't know what you're missing.

Huh? What's that? We should really move along? Why? ... Oh. Jeez, you're right. I do seem to still be talking about hookers. You're right, I really should stop. OK, sorry. Um, where were we?

(For the record, of course I don't think New Shea should have hookers. I just thought the poll was silly and needed a little livening up. Though I bet Keith would have had something amusing to say on the subject.)

Anyway, before the 7th I calmly told Trever Miller that we were coming to get him. (I don't think he could hear me, being in another time zone and all.) I was wrong. Wrong, but not worried. Chad Bradford survived a night when his pitches were sailing a bit high, thanks to one to Orlando Palmeiro that was perfect. So before the 8th I calmly told Russ Springer that we were coming to get him. And I was right. Wright with the double after narrowly missing a monster HR, Valentin with the go-ahead run, Endy with some insurance. Insurance that made Billy Wagner's extended confrontation with Lance Berkman far less worrisome. Entertaining, even.

So off I go to the beach. No Shingo Takatsu or Braden Looper or Fran Healy in sight. Just the best baseball team on the planet, racking them up and counting them down.

Glavine looked good. Then he looked bad. Wagner was a little shaky but all right in the end. In between, Bradford, Mota and Heilman got the job done. None of the Mets' pitchers, however, was as effective as that kid from the Caribbean League, Ernesto. He blanked the Phillies, but that didn't help us because he also whitewashed the Braves.

Our bullpen and bats got our magic number down to 14. A tropical storm ensured that's as far as it would get.

Add Houston to the growing list of teams I don't want to win the Wild Card. Part of that is a longstanding distaste for the Astros on many levels. Part of that is the disgust associated with anything associated with Roger Clemens. But most of that is I don't want to listen to that bush bzzzzzzzzz crap and hear those yahoos whoop it up under that unnaturally closed roof. We fear no team, but I'd prefer to not start getting nervous over competitive environs. I don't like Minute Maid Park. I don't like Minute Maid juice.

Willie, no doubt ignoring the milestone the Mets reached Friday night (last year 83-79, this year 83-50), is using these games to see what he's got. Glavine didn't have it after the third, but the skipper wanted to see him handle a fifth after being out for more than two weeks. With a lead in the stratosphere, why not? Same with Perez last night. Seeing Glavine, no doubt needing to build his endurance, is humongously vital these days. Still, I'd have hated to have lost to the Astros and hated to have missed a chance to lop off another digit.

No worries. One more is gone. 14 remain.

14.01: Gil. To have been around for any of Gil Hodges' Mets managerial tenure, to have a tangible memory of it, you couldn't be any younger than 41. Yet No. 14 for the Mets continues to be understood by every generation of Mets fan as the manager in Mets history. He was voted the All-Amazin' manager in 2002 and that was voting that was notoriously short on long-term perspective (witness the election of Lenny Dykstra over Cleon Jones to the outfield). Hodges is, simply, immortal here.

14.02: Inimitable. Every now and then, a manager who comes off as stern but avuncular (or avuncular but stern) is appointed and he is compared to Gil Hodges. I heard it about Roy McMillan in 1975 and I may have even heard it about Art Howe in 2002 (though I may be thinking of a joke I made). Nobody's allowed to wear 14 anymore because nobody can be compared to 14. My favorite story about him comes from his Washington Senators days. He knew 4 of his players had broken curfew during Spring Training. He called a meeting and announced that he wasn't going to embarrass anybody in front of the team, but you know who you are and I expect a check for $50 from each of you on my desk in the morning. The next morning, it is said, 7 different Washington Senators paid the fine.

14.03: Pitchers Who Could Hit. On September 12, 1969, Gil Hodges directed his Mets to a doubleheader sweep of the Pittsburgh Pirates, 1-0 and 1-0, the famous incidence of Jerry Koosman and Don Cardwell each driving in the only runs in games they won. Koosman won the opener, earning his 14th win of the season. Cardwell's victory in the nightcap was the Mets' 87th win...or 14 more than they had the year before.

14.04: He Could Pitch, Too. When I think of living, breathing Gil Hodges, I see him walking through the Mets clubhouse, fully dressed in No. 14, urging us to take our banking business to Manufacturers Hanover Trust.

14.05: Not Bad At All. The other image comes from The Boys Of Summer by Roger Kahn. Gil is managing the Mets. His 19-year-old son, Gil II, brings a friend and gets permission for the two of them to work out at Shea. The friend changes into spikes with white tops, a no-no, the son tells him. "You can't use them here. My father's a kind of conservative man." The friend says that he doesn't seem so bad. "He isn't," says the son. "He's just kind of conservative."

14.06: Boys Of Bummer. In addition to permitting Mike Piazza's 31 to circulate to Brad Penny but not Greg Maddux, the Dodgers let 14 rattle around in their wardrobe. Mike Scioscia wore it when he hit a 9th-inning home run off Doc Gooden in Game 4 of the 1988 NLCS. And Fred Wilpon's still googly eyed over that franchise?

14.07: They Wouldn't Have Had They Known He'd Be Back. Two Mets wore 14 between Hodges leaving the Mets as a player and returning as a manager: Ron Swoboda and Ken Boyer. Boyer would have 14 retired on his behalf by the Cardinals. Swoboda switched to 4 in deference to the 1964 MVP and later earned a rather superfluous mention in Frequency. I take that back: No mention of Ron Swoboda is superfluous.

14.08: Context. Gil Hodges, our immortal, our No. 14, our Mets Hall of Famer (inducted 1982), isn't up to Cooperstown snuff. His numbers look a little pale compared to other immortals. If I was to tell you that when Gil Hodges retired in 1963, his 370 home runs were the 10th-most in baseball history, is that something you might be interested in?

14.09: You Want Quiet? In 1991, Marino Amoruso authored a biography of Gil Hodges called The Quiet Man. Seven years later, a veritable mute named John Olerud was playing Hodges' old position for Hodges' old team and reached base 14 times in 14 consecutive plate appearances.

14.10: Another Laugh Barrel. Steve Trachsel has 14 wins. And he's deserved every last one of them.

14.11: I Remember It Like It Was Four Months Ago. On May 5, 2006, the Mets defeated the Braves 8-7 in 14 fabulous innings. It took 4 hours and 47 minutes. And I adored every last one of them.

14.12: The Longest Time. I've been to a pair of 14-inning games. On March 31, 1998, the Mets beat the Phillies 1-0, and yes, that was the Bambi Castillo affair. On June 9, 1999, the Mets beat the Blue Jays 4-3 and yes, that was the Bobby Valentine fake mustache and glasses caper. Gil Hodges would have fined Bobby V a hundred bucks for that stunt, but I revere them both.

14.13: Wayne Manor Was Conveniently Located. When the Batmobile zoomed out of the Batcave, it passed a sign noting Gotham City was 14 miles away.

14.14: Wayne Garrett Was Conveniently Located. Gil Hodges gave Wayne Garrett his first Major League job. In the three seasons Wayne Garrett played for Gil Hodges, he hit 14 home runs.