Every few hours, I like to check and see if our magic number has decreased...

...it has.

All day it's been like this. We keep reducing our number every 3 hours and we have 8 left, therefore, at this rate, we'll clinch by this time tomorrow.

Not really.

An alert to our affiliates along the Faith and Fear network: We cannot clinch this weekend. Repeat, we cannot clinch this weekend. Even an optimal quartet with the Dodgers, by no means a given, combined with a Phillies' 4-game drop on top of what they lost tonight wouldn't do it because, while you were flinging rocks and garbage at the Braves' team bus, the Marlins were winning and pulling into a tie for second.

Boy were they ever.

8.01: Halfway There. In Miami, Anibal Sanchez threw the 4th no-hitter in Marlins' history. He joins Al Leiter, Kevin Brown and A.J. Burnett in having turned the trick in the past decade and change. Keep it up and they'll have 8 no-hitters by early 2017. And of course we'll never have any.

8.02: Why Couldn't Have McCovey Just Hit the Ball Two Feet Lower? On October 8, 2000, a line-drive double off the bat of Jeff Kent eluded Robin Ventura's leap. Bobby Jones had to settle for a 1-hitter to clinch the National League Division Series for the Mets. Not a bad little consolation prize.

8.03: Do You Have a Nephew Named Anthony? On July 8, 1969, Cub centerfielder Don Young misplayed two balls at Shea, turning a 3-1 Chicago lead into a 4-3 Met win on the afternoon many point to as the day the home team became a legitimate contender. If it wasn't that day, it was the next night when Tom Seaver no-hit Young's teammates but not his replacement, Jimmy Qualls.

8.04: Eric Byrnes Looked Safe to Me. NBC chose to televise the Mets-Cubs game of September 7, 1984 and Doc Gooden did not disappoint. He no-hit the Cubs, with his biggest scare coming when Ray Knight couldn't handle a fairly routine ball off the bat of Keith Moreland. What? They ruled that a HIT? YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! The next day, September 8, Flushing Meadow hosted a dramatic day and night of U.S. Open action, none of which mattered to me except that I called the Copper Top pub on Fowler Avenue and asked if they were showing the big Mets-Cubs game via satellite. "No," the woman who answered the phone told me. "We're watching tennis." So was Walt Terrell: Rick Sutcliffe beat him 6-love and the Mets dropped 7 back. The next day, the Mets took the rubber game and native Chicagoan Brent Musberger smirkily played "Cubsbusters" during The NFL Today, because all our win got us was 6 back with 3 weeks to go.

8.05: Of Course He Would Debut in Spring. Preternaturally sunny Gary Carter, our greatest No. 8, was born on April 8, 1954. He would grow up to catch no no-hitters for the Mets.

8.06: Daddy, What's an Expo? Montreal joined the league of Major cities on April 8, 1969, defeating the Mets in New York 11-10. The Montreal Expos would gain their 1st no-hitter a mere 8 games later when Bill Stoneman tossed one at Connie Mack Stadium. Their 2nd no-hitter came against the Mets on October 2, 1972 at Parc Jarry, also Stoneman's. The Expos, Connie Mack Stadium and Parc Jarry no longer exist. But the defunct franchise has 2 additional no-hitters to tits credit, by Charlie Lea in 1981 (caught by Gary Carter) and Dennis Martinez (a perfecto against L.A. in which 5 past or future Mets — none of them then-Dodger Carter — accounted for 15 outs) in 1991. The Expos and Marlins, connected mainly by hellbound Jeffrey Loria, have combined for 8 no-hitters.

8.07: An Exclusive Club. When Sanchez retired Byrnes, the entire Marlins' dugout emptied to congratulate him. So did the Dolphin Stadium stands. My bad — the Dolphin Stadium stands were empty. Paid attendance for the 4th no-hitter in Florida Marlin history on a night when the team was fiercely and miraculously competing for a playoff spot: 8. Check the highlights; I'm exaggerating only slightly.

8.08: It's Complete. Growing up, I saw Yogi Berra wear No. 8 for the Mets. I saw him coach for the Mets. I saw him manage the Mets. I saw him withstand a torrent of criticism as he guided the Mets in the last-place summer of 1973. And I read all his allegedly nonsensical statements about when it's over and when it's not after he made them, as a Met in prelude to the magnificent pennant-winning autumn of 1973. Imagine my surprise to learn we were just a detour for him and that the most famous thing he ever did was jump into Don Larsen's arms on October 8, 1956, wearing somebody else's No. 8. No Met catcher embraced any Met pitcher for any similar reason during Yogi's 11-season rest stop with us.

What a difference a day makes.

The weather forecast for LBI today: rain. But around mid-morning, Emily and I realized there were shadows outside. The sun was out. And a couple of hours after that, the Mets started playing baseball. A whole lotta baseball.

Yes, a rainout is a gloomy thing, perfectly designed to make children (and some 37-year-olds) rail at the hostility of the cosmos. But lots of rainouts are followed by a decidedly ungloomy thing: a doubleheader. A whole day of ballgames. (OK, yeah, it's probably harder to win both ends of a doubleheader than it is to win two games in a row, making them a mixed blessing. Dude, don't be a bringdown.)

If you live at least vaguely near your team's hometown (or even far off, thanks to Extra Innings, MLB.com and XM), a doubleheader can become a pleasant companion for an entire day, following you from TV to portable radio to car radio to XM radio to laptop video to whatever you have. We caught the first few innings of Game 1 on the beach (portable radio that cost like $5 before some years-ago vacation), in the house (SNY) and then in the car (WFAN) on the way to pick up our friend Eddie in Long Branch. Game 2 tagged along with us on the car radio, on three overhead TVs at Barnicle Bill's in Rumson (some biiiiiiig houses in that town), and on the car radio again. With glad tidings all around.

Of course it's easy to enjoy having a doubleheader riding shotgun when the sun's shining, you win both games and your magic number drops into the single digits (with 8 a possibility pending the outcome of Houston/Philadelphia). But I'd like to imagine that it would have been a nice day even if we'd split or (perish the thought) dropped both games. Because this is the time of year when I start realizing that there's a lot more baseball behind us than there is ahead of us, and I begin to cling to what's left. I thought this year would be an exception, what with October back on the calendar and all, but it doesn't feel that way.

Ah well. The Nationals are eliminated. We cut the Braves' tragic number from 8 to 4. We've got pitching depth. Beltran is fine. Shawn Green looks like he's settling in. And the forecast? It's most definitely for sunny days.

So, what did you do today?
Oh, beat the Braves twice. Pretty much buried their fading Wild Card hopes. Stuck two tomahawks in their figurative head.
Anything else?
Lowered our magic number a couple of times. It's 9 now. Got another huge game out of Shawn Green. Saw Beltran come back and look fine.
That it?
Pretty much...oh yeah, Oliver Perez. He threw a shutout rather handily.
You don't seem that excited.
No, it's all good...
But?
But it was only the Braves.

9.01: Also, They Sparkled. Catch the rising stars. Catch the rising stars. Mets, a part of you and me. Mets, for all the world to see. Watch them shine on Channel 9.

9.02: 21 Hours of Otherwise Dead Air. WOR-TV showed its respect to Lindsey, Ralph, Bob, Gil, Yogi and everybody else by putting absolutely nothing else worth watching on the Very High Frequency of 9. Joe Franklin? The Million Dollar Movie? Bowling For Dollars? Well, that was pretty good when Murph was hosting. Howie tells a great story which I'm sure I'll screw up. Murph welcomes a contestant named Joe. Joe says something like, "Hi Bob. I'm Joe Bowl and I'm a mechanic from Paterson, New Jersey." Bob replies, "Joe, why don'tcha tell us what you do and where you're from?"

9.03: Will Lara Cohen Acknowledge Carlos Beltran's 42nd Homer? Todd Hundley hit home runs at such a prodigious rate in 1996 and 1997 that No. 9 rated his own fan club. Tim McCarver and Gary Thorne interviewed the president, a 12-year-old girl who proclaimed that Todd was "more than just a handsome face."

9.04: He's On First? Todd Zeile played 1,498 games at third base in his career, but none when he wore No. 9 for the Mets.

9.05: Can't Say He Didn't Warn Us. Jose Vizcaino, who drove in the winning run in the same 2000 World Series game in which Todd Zeile blasted a double that resulted in an out, managed 9 hits in 9 consecutive at-bats as a Met, April 23-25, 1996.

9.06: But I'll Miss Roger Grimsby! When I was in 1st grade, we had a health professional of some sort come talk to our class. She wanted to know what each of our bedtimes was. "Bedtime?" I thought. "You mean they really have those?" She started announcing bedtimes. "6:30." Kids raised hands. "7:00" Kids raised hands. It went on like this to the health professional's approval; those were healthy bedtimes. Uh-oh, I better come up with something plausible, something that doesn't reveal that, in fact, I stay up for Tex Antoine's weather and Johnny Carson's monologue, something that won't make me stand out like a freak. So when she got to "9:00," I raised my hand. And she says, "Now that's too late." Right then, I knew I was screwed for the rest of my life.

9.07: It Didn't Run Westbound. Does anybody miss the 9 train? Wasn't it essentially a pretentious version of the 1?

9.08: How Splendid Could a Shutout Be If Alay Soler Has One? Oliver Perez throwing 9 scoreless innings against Atlanta was wonderful. It could make the trade that brought him here a smashing success on the order of the Dave Williams heist. But if the postseason ends with Chris Woodward or Julio Franco striking out, expect lots of moaning about Xavier Nady.

9.09: At Least. This cats-have-9-lives jazz is understating the case. I don't know how many times I've seen my kitties get smacked in the head and just keep going. They are more resilient than the Atlanta Braves of 1991-2005.

Nothing like eating the Braves' lunch for lunch. Dave Williams continues to make a compelling case for the postseason (I hope somebody's paying attention). Carlos D went L Ong. Shawn Green stopped pressing and started hitting. Guillermo Mota has always been a great Met.

But most of all, winning the opener of the doubleheader means the magic is back.

10.01: Endless Love. The case has been made here for Carlos Beltran, but Endy Chavez has played like a most valuable player's most valuable player. No. 10 has done everything right and nothing wrong since he returned from slugging in the World Baseball Classic. Maybe the WBC was a good idea after all.

10.02: Endless Rust. Chavez may change its image, but when I see No. 10, I think of Rusty Staub and that enormous billboard of a back of his. He could have been a 3-digit player.

10.03: It Felt Like He Was Here a Century. Rusty was the quintessential Met pinch-hitter, but the all-time leader in that category fell 10 short of 100 pinch-hits. Steady Eddie Kranepool's first pinch-hitting appearance was for Jay Hook on April 27, 1963, his last for John Pacella on September 30, 1979. He grounded out to short the first time, doubled the last for his 90th hit in a pinch, proving Krane was nothing if not a learner.

10.04: A Saddened America Needed a Distraction. Less than a week after Eddie collected the last of his 1,418 Met hits, Bo Derek notched her 1st. Blake Edwards' "10" opened October 5, 1979.

10.05: Cornrows Were No Excuse. For the last home opener Ed Kranepool would ever play, on April 10, 1979, 10,406 showed up at Shea.

10.06: Some Golden Boy. In 1980, when the Bo Derek hairstyle was so popular that its ubiquity rated a story in the Long Beach High School Tide, Mark Bomback led all Mets' pitchers in victories with 10. Boom-Boom won his 9th game on August 10 and his 10th game on October 4. By then, I preferred Susan Anton over both Bo and Bomback.

10.07: Two Lousy Feet. Deepest centerfield in Pay Stadium will be 408 feet from home plate. I don't know how I'll adjust to staring out there and not seeing a big, white 410 on the fence. It's the perfect Met distance: 41 times 10.

10.08: I'm Your Handyman. If he's still with the organization in 2009 and something isn't working in the new ballpark, ya think Rick Peterson will offer to fix it in 10 minutes?

10.09: Pow! Hawaiian Benny Agbayani punched 10 home runs in his first 73 at-bats of 1999. He socked 4 in his next 203.

10.10: What Else Would I Think Of Whenever I Buy Beer? Schaefer may have been the 1 beer to have when you were having more than 1, but Rheingold featured the 10-minute head. Advantage Rheingold.

"Game's called."

"No game."

"Rainout."

"They're not playing."

"It's called."

Mets fans are the most helpful people there are when they see you walking in the direction of their stadium and they're walking the other way soaked. It was just before 7 o'clock that I stepped off the 7 (and around various tennis detours...what a waste of good stickball balls) and got the official and unofficial word that the Mets would deny the Braves another night of therapy to treat their impending sense of loss. So while I appreciated total strangers providing the firsthand buzz from Shea, I was heading straight toward that deep blue something anyway.

That's 'cause this was to be a night for some serious blog-on-blog action. It was the night half of Faith and Fear was going to link to Mike of Mike's Mets and turn a virtual acquaintanceship actual.

And we did. Everything but the game.

Mike would be a total stranger to me in a blogless world. He's way the hell up there in Connecticut somewhere, that state I'm always missing in those Tri-State Area quizzes (New York, New Jersey and...wait...I wanna get this…is Inertia a state or do states of mind not count?). Connecticut clearly needs to shape up when it comes to baseball. Last month, when the Yankees and Red Sox played that series to end all series — which for once it did — the Times cited a survey of Connecticutians that indicated only 12 percent of their geographic ranks chose the Mets as their favorite team. The rest copped to being arrogant thugs or overly precious.

No wonder we're taking applications from Pennsylvania, Delaware and Quebec to fill that third seat on the Tri-State. But don't hold his neighbors' misguidedness against Mike. His blog provides the best straight-ahead analysis, pregame and postgame, of any I've come across. Mike's Mets has surged ahead of Stew Leonard's chocolate chip cookies on my list of excellent products to emanate from Connecticut.

Because of his blog, Mike wasn't a total stranger to me when the night began. Still, we were delighted at the chance for a face-to-face, all of which would have to take place outside the soggy confines of Shea Stadium. We met by the main subway entrance and — since Mets fans know enough to eventually come in from out of the rain — hopped another 7 to Grand Central and my favorite loitering spot in the city, the Grand Central dining concourse.

Over sesame chicken, we swapped tales from the cyberfront, deconstructed why virulent statheads tend to annoy us, recounted how Steve Phillips' tenure made us cringe and wondered when spelling became a lifestyle choice. As the food court began to clear and we became outnumbered by the reality-challenged (one of whom wore a Mets cap and offered to sell me an umbrella), we got up and consulted our train schedules. He headed to his ride home on the Metro-North and I across town to mine on the LIRR. We're going to try get a game in next homestand, weather literally permitting.

I'd have preferred we had done our live chat with Andruw Jones face down in a puddle, Jeff Francoeur tripping over him and Matt Diaz sprawled atop both of them while a baseball sat untouched six inches from their collective grasp. Come to think of it, visiting teams stay at the Grand Hyatt next door, so who knows how the Braves spent their rainout? (Their call; I'm no John Smoltz.) But even without a chance to boo the Braves back to fourth place, I enjoyed realizing again the kind of trackbacks this marvelous medium here yields. You meet some of the nicest folks from blogging. I found it amusing that Mike mentioned a couple of readers who probably "hate" him for things he's written. Nonsense, I thought. Get to know a good Mets blogger and there's nothing not to like.