This year vacation's hardly a vacation, Metwise: LBI's cable system has SNY and the WB, the FAN is audible, and there's high-speed Internet access. Add that up and subtract Braden Looper, and you've got a recipe for the perfect vacation, at least in my book.

And you can't beat a 2:05 start for one's first day at the beach. Broil for long enough to get some color, get smashed around in the surf, dabble with sand castles, come in at the day's halfway point before you go from "some color" to "burned and regretful," take a leisurely stroll to the deli for a sandwich and a Barq's and whaddya know -- there's a ballgame on! If not for the whole having to work/Emily has to work/kid has to go to school thing, a fellow could get used to things down here.

Combine vacation and a whatever-it-was-this-morning-game lead, and today's game seemed more like a classic that one could appreciate than a missed chance to gnash teeth over. El Duque was good, but Roy Oswalt was at least flirting with Destiny. (Oswalt strikes me as one of those guys you dislike if he's on the other team but come to regard as gutty or gritty or some other baseball compliment if he's on your team.)

The whole game read like one of those improbable wins the '69 Mets achieved (I'm thinking in particular of Steve Carlton striking out 19 but losing on two Swoboda HRs), typified by that sixth-inning rally: Flyout, walk, walk, HBP, perfect suicide squeeze, intentional walk, groundout that should have been an infield hit. Not only did the Astros win despite getting one-hit, that lone hit (Aubrey Huff, leading off the second) had nothing to do with the scoring. Conjuring a run without a hit is tough enough; try doing it twice.

At the end, when Cliff had almost had a single and Delgado had a cosmetic home run and Green almost had a single, Joshua was aghast that we'd lost and began to cry. I explained that you couldn't win every day, and he countered by saying, "But I want them to win the game every day." Sensible enough, and led me into a soliloquy about how it wouldn't be fun if you always knew you'd win and the Astros have fans and just think how happy they are and sometimes you just have to appreciate a really good game and other associated bullshit.

What the heck. When your magic number's hurtling toward the single digits before Labor Day, you can afford to be magnanimous.

The skies, they drench, but the magic number, it drips. Saturday afternoon, it dripped from 14 to 13. Though it was possible more could have been done about it, it only dripped from 13 to 12 Saturday night. Mets won but so did the Phillies. Not a biggie, though. Who wants the Braves to sweep anything? Both they and Philly could feel diminished while we (pending our MVP's knees) just get enhanced.

12.01: Manager of the Year. While it's not as impressive in some minds as guiding a crew of teal children to almost .500, Willie Randolph, No. 12, has done the best managing job in the National League in 2006. Joe Girardi will get the award because what he's done is also impressive but also the sort of thing that gets voters' attention. All Willie has done is exceed expectations and overcome obstacles and succeed to the maximum level in the toughest market in America. He's not a touch-feely guy but I find myself respecting him more every week.

12.02: Another Trivia Question Already. The player who used to be known as the first Brooklyn Cyclone to reach the Majors should also be thought of as the last Met to wear No. 12 before Willie Randolph. Danny Garcia hit .227 as a Met in 2003 and 2004. Willie Randolph, in 1992, hit 25 points higher. Willie's always been a winner.

12.03: Forever Linked. When the Mets acquired a reluctant Shawon Dunston for the 1999 stretch drive, his eyes lit up when he was handed his uniform. 12? That's Ken Boswell! I'll bet not even Jack Heidemann, who followed Kenny into the number, knew that.

12.04: He Liked It A Lot. Shawon Dunston's leadoff plate appearance in the bottom of the 15th inning of Game 5 of the 1999 National League Championship Series lasted 12 pitches. He singled and scored the tying run. The Mets won when Robin Ventura also singled. Dunston was making "I love you, man!" speeches in the visitors' clubhouse two nights later, a Met fan who grew up to be a postseason hero. In 2000, he was a Cardinal...and we booed him like the Houston crowd boos Beltran. (No we didn't.)

12.05: A Comfortable Margin. The Phillies kept our magic number at 12 by beating the Braves by 12, 16-4. On consecutive Saturdays in July 1985, the Mets beat the Braves and then the Astros by that identical score. We were in the middle of a run in which we won 30 of 37. We finished 98-64. And there was no Wild Card.

12.06: Know Your Limits. In 1969, 1972, 1986 and 1990, the Mets forged 11-game winning streaks. Each attempt to extend those skeins to 12 failed, by scores of, respectively, 7-2; 2-1; 7-2; and 7-4.

12.07: Good As Over. In the 12th game of the 2006 season, Pedro Martinez defeated the Atlanta Braves 4-3 for his 200th victory, raised the Mets' record to 10-2, increased the team's lead in the East to 5 games and, in my eyes, clinched the division. Seriously, I never had any real doubts after we started that strong.

12.08: A Real "This Date" Buzzkill. Remember that great Mets game 12 years ago today? If you do, you're a stone liar or a Strat-O-Matic junkie. The strike of '94 was in full effect.

12.09: Sandpapering Over Our Differences. On October 12, 1986, Mike Scott worked his scuffy magic and defeated the Mets in Game 4 of the NLCS, 3-1. Except for Jim Bouton gaining fresh perspective for the latter portion of Ball Four, have the Houston Astros ever served any purpose?

12.10: More Like It. On October 12, 1969, the New York Mets recorded their first World Series victory, 2-1 in Baltimore. The winning pitcher was Jerry Koosman, No. 36. Kooz won 3 World Series games as a Met. 36 divided by 3 is 12.

12.11: Privileged Character. Why is 12 a dozen? There's no special name for 11. 13 is a baker's dozen, which strikes me as coattail-riding. And how come no 6 contiguous states outside New England are labeled with a formal title? I don't mean Mid-Atlantic States or the Upper Midwest. I mean something that's accepted as a defined multistate geographic entity. (Delmarva doesn't count.) When I was a kid, I'd occasionally see my hometown referred to as Long Beach, Long Island. Is there another region that gets to stand in as a quasi-state jurisdiction? You could address mail to Long Beach, L.I. and it would get delivered. They don't say "Syracuse, Upstate," do they? And what's the deal with this airline food?

12.12: Punch The Clock. Negotiations that go down to the 11th hour imply a 12 o'clock deadline. But as Kent Brockman once pointed out, the 11th hour is, literally, 10 o'clock.