So the other day ESPN.com invited readers to rank the major-league teams from #1 to #30, using one of their whizzy mechanisms where you drag numbers onto pictures. (Which is very cool until you work from worst to first, get to about #6 and realize you forgot the Reds.)

So here's how I ranked them, with voters' consensus rank in parentheses. (Caveats: I did this quickly, and I don't know jack about most of the American League. Because, honestly, who gives a shit.)

30. Royals (26)
29. Orioles (27)
28. Devil Rays (29)
27. Pirates (28)
26. Nationals (30)
25. Rockies (25)
24. Reds (23)
23. Rangers (19)
22. Diamondbacks (22)
21. Mariners (24)
20. Astros (16)
19. Giants (18)
18. Marlins (20)
17. Brewers (21)
16. Cubs (9)
15. Braves (17)
14. Padres (15)
13. Blue Jays (13)
12. Indians (14)
11. Cardinals (5)
10. Dodgers (7)
9. Phillies (10)
8. Mets (4)
7. Angels (11)
6. Red Sox (2)
5. Yankees (1)
4. White Sox (6)
3. A's (12)
2. Twins (8)
1. Tigers (3)

So.

I don't apologize for thinking the Yankees and Cubs won't be that good. (The Cubs won a division on paper, so what -- ask Steve Phillips, Mo Vaughn and Roberto Alomar how that turns out. Besides, they're the Cubs.) I don't think the Cardinals deserve an asterisk or anything, but 5th best in baseball? C'mon. I admit I'm probably too high on the A's because of a lingering Moneyball crush and it's just too hard to keep track of a team that uses a DH 3,000 miles away.

But what you're really wondering is this: Eighth? Really, Jace? The average ESPN voter has more faith in our team than you do?

Um, I guess so.

Look, I still rated us the best team in the National League. But I admit to being nervous, and it's not just a longtime Met fans' innate pessimism.

It's the pitching.

Tom Glavine and Orlando Hernandez are capable, but they're awfully old. Mike Pelfrey and Philip Humber could become stars, but they're awfully young. John Maine and Oliver Perez could take a step forward, or a step back. (Given Perez's career, by now he's got enough steps for a whole dance routine.) Dave Williams and Jason Vargas and Aaron Sele are the pitching equivalent of spaghetti hurled at a wall. And Pedro? His projected date of return ranges from August to never.

I'm not sure what percentage of that glass is full and what percentage is empty, but it makes me anxious. I wouldn't be shocked if Glavine got to 300 wins and a few more for lagniappe, El Duque was serviceable, either Pelfrey or Humber had a breakout, star-making year, either Maine or Perez or both took steps forward, the spaghetti starters weren't needed beyond spot starts, and Pedro arrived like a conquering hero come summer. In that case, print my playoff tickets and hold my October calls, please.

But I also wouldn't be astonished if Glavine was merely serviceable, El Duque spent a long time on the shelf, Pelfrey and Humber scuffled while learning their craft in New Orleans, Maine and Perez took steps backwards, the spaghetti starters channeled Lima and Gonzalez, and Pedro never arrived at all. In that case, we could lose a lot of 7-6 affairs, and October might be spent listening to Tommy Lasorda tell us to get out of the tree.

Maybe the sight of pitchers running along the warning track and reading the 35th story about Moises Alou just fitting in will make me perk up a little. Maybe. For now, though, it's freezing and I look at our pitching staff and I think, We could be second or third and we could be 15th, so yep, that averages out to around eighth.

Change my mind, please.

The swings Darryl Strawberry and David Palmer took at each other last night during a bench-clearing brawl in the first inning were sissy swipes compared to the real punch Gary Carter displayed.

Sissy swipes? Did somebody actually use the phrase "sissy swipes" in a baseball game story at some point in the past quarter-century? Without irony?

Yup. That's how Jack Lang of the Daily News led his report on the Mets-Braves game of July 11, 1986, one in which Palmer "plunked Strawberry in the butt" after surrendering a three-run homer to Carter. Though "Darryl dropped his bat, threw his helmet and started for the mound," Lang reassured his readers that "no one got hurt and it was all over in a matter of minutes."

Kind of describes the game story as we knew it when newspapers were our primary conduit to baseball information.

Jack Lang, you've probably heard, passed away last week at 85. If I hadn't been paying attention, I would have thought Lang was still writing for the News. Or the Long Island Press even.

Without looking it up, I couldn't remember any particular piece Jack Lang wrote in his more than 25 years on the Mets beat. That's not a knock on Jack. He had a job to do: sum up the game and, if deadline permitted, gather a few quotes. Rereading his story on the 11-0 drubbing the Mets put on the Braves in their championship season, there are no quotes (Friday night game, late start for NBC, Saturday paper) but I got the flavor of what happened all over again.

By 1986 the reader almost certainly knew the score by the next morning. Lang could sum up the feel of the game in the first paragraph and then get to the meat of the matter in the second and third:

Carter hit a three-run homer and a grand slam his first two trips as the Mets treated Sid Fernandez to a fun festival in walloping the Braves, 11-0.

Carter drove in the Mets' first seven runs and that was much more than El Sid needed as he rolled to his 12th win — the most by any NL pitcher this season. Fernandez had three hits, two doubles and a single, and Len Dykstra had another three-hit game.

There. The game in a nutshell. Colorful and concise. We know about the fight, we know about the offense, we know about the pitching. Just lay a bed of we've got the teamwork/to make the dream work underneath it and it's 1986 again.

Not having others' game stories from the July 12 papers with which to compare it, I couldn't tell you if the reporters from Newsday, the Post or the Times covered it better or worse or if they, unlike Lang, plumbed the depths of David Palmer's psyche. I don't recall knowing until I read The Bad Guys Won! that Palmer was nursing a grudge against Carter that dated to their Expo battery days. Wrote Jeff Pearlman many years after the fact:

With bodies piling on top of them, Hernandez turned to Palmer and in a calm tone asked a simple question: "Dave, why would you do that?"

Palmer yelled back: "Carter and all that bullshit! I hate that guy!"

Amid the mayhem Hernandez was unmoved. "Look, if you hate Gary, why hit Darryl?" he said, bodies flying left and right. "It's not right."

Palmer had to admit, the man had a point.

The point about Jack Lang is he was a constant for us as Mets fans. Lang started covering the game when television was a novelty and stayed at it until sports talk radio was proliferating, easing up for good a bit shy of the Internet age. He was there when "sissy swipe" was considered neither patently offensive nor wholly outdated and he remained until you could print "butt" in a family paper. He bridged more than a couple of eras and by late in his career could still tell you what you needed to know about last night's game particularly if you didn't see it or hear it.

It's different now. Results seem to get buried in all but wire service game stories, not without cause. Does anybody still wait for the News to get a score? For any paper? If you missed the game you can get the score without really trying. You can get an instant AP writeup on any number of sites minutes after the game is over. You get the likes of us picking it apart and putting it back together. Lang's paper and its competitors are online like everybody else.

It's not just sportswriting that assumes you know what you actually need to know and figures it's role is to tell you something you didn't know. Political coverage, especially when there's no election in sight, chooses to dwell on mood and attitude before informing you what the guy or gal running for office actually said. In Sunday's Times there was an interesting interview with Garry Shandling in which the most newsworthy tidbit — that a collection of The Larry Sanders Show DVDs will be released in April — wasn't to be found until the reader got well down into the jump page.

No, it's not just sports that's written with more latitude than it used to be. But it is sports that we care about here. I wonder if we are truly better served in today's marketplace than we were when Jack Lang was on duty.

On the face of it we are. The speed and accessibility and range of voices is not to be underestimated. 1986 wasn't exactly prehistoric times but back then there was no discussion of the game to take you through the night on the radio. There was no ticker flashing scores and details on your cable television. There was no computer connecting you to anything that would help you fill in the blanks on those three hits by Lenny Dykstra. You could catch the score on WINS or WCBS, you could get a few highlights on one of the 10 o'clock or 11 o'clock newscasts or you could call Sportsphone if you were really desperate. WFAN and ESPNews and every dot com we count on did not exist.

We are better off for that. More is very much better in terms of delivery. More is often better in terms of insight and perspective. More is sometimes better in that all these vehicles that weren't around when Lang was on the beat mean we get baseball news and opinion all year round.

Then again, it can also be inane as all get out.

Wally Matthews in Newsday last Wednesday:

Perhaps if Willie Randolph were still a player, and not the manager who led them to within a victory of the World Series, the Mets would show him a little more respect and a lot more money.

The rest of his column (a column, not a news story it should be noted) excoriated the Mets for cheaping out on their manager, for not getting a deal done during the winter, for blaming him for the Mets losing to the Cardinals in the NLCS.

There can be no other explanation for why this is not getting done.

Ken Davidoff in Newsday last Thursday:

A winter of discomfort will not carry over into the Mets' spring. Willie Randolph will not be a lame-duck manager this season.

Randolph and the Mets agreed in principle yesterday to a three-year, $5.65-million extension, three people familiar with the situation confirmed. The extension will kick in immediately -- Randolph's $700,000 contract for 2007 was torn up — and run through 2009, with a team option for 2010.

Oh.

Without knowing who was whispering into whose ear in the course of November, December and January, I couldn't say how serious any "discomfort" became between Randolph and ownership. They apparently entered into something called a negotiation. The negotiation ensued and a resolution, Willie's contract, was agreed upon.

Willie Randolph got his millions. The Mets got their manager. Wally Matthews got his word quota filled even if it read very shakily before the Randolph deal was announced and as a total waste of space afterwards.

Seriously, read it. There's nothing in there that any blogger or commenter or poster on any Mets board couldn't have dreamt up if he or she were so inclined. There is nothing professional about Matthews' accusations and assessments ("there can be no other explanation..."). There is nothing from sources, even unnamed sources, to suggest the organization and its skipper were heading for the meltdown the columnist implies. It was all just insipid speculation whose shelf life was mercifully short even by the standards of today's reduced newscycles.

Columns that grasp at any passing breeze weren't invented with the connection of the first T1 line. Across the breadth of Lang's long day on the beat there was bad sportswriting as well as good sportswriting. Yet it's discouraging to realize that in an era when we the fans are superserved — regularly serving ourselves — we are often badly served by the credentialed media in whom we're supposed to invest our trust. In Matthews' case, it wasn't just an opinion that you could take or leave. He was presenting as fact an impending crisis based exclusively on his innuendo about the Mets' supposedly unreasonable stance toward Randolph. And if you read or listen enough to the pros, Matthews' methodology is hardly isolated.

Somehow, especially since I like to believe we become more enlightened the more we progress as a society, I find this more offensive than the most vicious Dick Young broadside against the integrity of a player we loved but he didn't particularly like. Dick Young died in 1987. Everybody in his profession should know better by now.

Before Opening Day, before Spring Training, before Pitchers & Catchers, there has been revealed the first physical evidence that we will indeed be granted another baseball season.

There is light in the late afternoon.

It's a surprise every winter. Light takes an extended holiday in December and half of January, long enough so that you think it will be in short supply forever. But maybe a week ago, the darkness began to noticeably yield. Come 4 o'clock every day, the sky suddenly showed signs of generosity. Come 4:30 there was still something to see. Come five, streetlights and headlights were cooling their heels until we absolutely needed them. Keep an eye out the window: it's going to stay a little lighter a littler longer every day for a while now. And where there is light, surely there will be our game.

Light is the gift we receive from above. It is our signal that everything will eventually turn out fine. If you could do anything to spread the light, I'm guessing you would.

A loyal Faith and Fear reader has alerted us to a fundraising drive going on for the Starlight Starbright Children's Foundation, an organization devoted to improving the lives of seriously ill children and their parents as they persevere together through unimaginably tough times. The impetus for this particular initiative was the devastating loss suffered by a Mets fan family of good standing in the online community. Their daughter Miranda was born fighting. She gave it her all for 36 hours. The fight ended far too quickly.

Our loyal reader and other terrific Mets fans in the acquaintance of this family are determined there be light spread in the wake of this terrible darkness. They have established the Baby Miranda Memorial with the Starlight Starbright Children's Foundation. It's a way of remembering one child while trying to make things better for another.

You can read more about Starlight Starbright here. You can find out about the Mets' involvement with the foundation here. And if you choose to, you are invited to join in the tribute to Baby Miranda here. Your contribution, however slight, will do one of the best things possible. Where there would otherwise be darkness, you will help spread the light.

If it's the final Friday of the month, then it's the first installment of the special Top 10 Songs of All-Time edition of Flashback Friday at Faith and Fear in Flushing.

Bud Harrelson was breaking his hand. George Theodore was colliding with Don Hahn. Jon Matlack was not avoiding a line drive.

In the spring of 1973, the Mets were a bruised and budding calamity. Reasons to believe in them would not reveal themselves for several months. But on WGBB 1240-AM Freeport, I found a more immediate repository for my faith when I heard "One Of A Kind (Love Affair)" by the Spinners. I liked it so much that it stands today as the No. 10 Song of All-Time.

I had to believe in the Spinners. They were showing me the time of my musical life.

They weren't the only ones. In those final months of fourth grade, I bought fewer baseball cards than I had in any of the three preceding springs. Taking the time to think about "One Of A Kind (Love Affair)" has reminded me why. It's because I was buying 45s like I never had before and never would again.

In April, May and June of 1973, I collected 26 different 45s. I bought them at Delman's, at TSS, at Alexander's and, in the case of "One of a Kind (Love Affair)," Tilben's, Long Beach's premier retailer of records, cameras and prehistoric electronics. The day I had to have the Spinners' latest release was during the Memorial Day weekend visit of my mother's older relatives from Florida, Cousin Lee and her husband Victor. He was talked about as not the loosest soul with a dime. It was literally true. Vic and I were walking by Tilben's when I insisted on going in and finding three 45s I'd been wanting, one of which was, as advertised, one of a kind. The bill came to $2.40. I was carrying exactly $2.30. I asked Vic if I could borrow a dime. He relented slowly, making it clear that I'd have to pay him back. I could tell he was kidding but wasn't kidding. I tried to give him the dime when we got home. He didn't take it. Probably wanted to.

I never saw Lee or Victor after 1981. In the meantime I still have that 45. As the years and the media have progressed I have multiple recordings of the song on LP and tape and compact disc and anthology and box set and MP3. But the 45 is the 45. It is, because of the format in which I originally bought it and because of those magical months when I bought it, a record in a way that none of my other Top 10 songs are. I hear "One Of A Kind (Love Affair)" and I can see the black circle spin on what we used to call a record player. It's a pleasing sensation.

In defending his licensing of "Our Country" to Chevrolet, John Mellencamp — once a virulent opponent of such sellouts — says Chevy is a better record company than Columbia ever was for him, that these days it's the best way to get his music heard. Record company? It occurred to me I have no idea who puts out the music today. When I was collecting 45s, the round colorful label with the oversized hole in the middle was half the fun of owning the record. Bell, Epic, MAM, Fantasy, Kama Sutra, Tamla, Chelsea, Vibration...they're still mixed in there with the presumably better known Columbias and Capitols, Apples and Elektras, Deccas and A&Ms. I can see them all, too, and not just because I still have every last one of them sitting in a box at my feet as I type.

Each label was like the back of a baseball card. The Spinners, I learned, recorded for Atlantic. "One Of A Kind (Love Affair)" was 3:31 long, written by Joseph B. Jefferson (the songwriter's credit, like the last two-thirds of the title, appeared in parentheses) and produced, arranged & conducted by Thom Bell. I saw his name a lot on records. Turns out he was the genius behind Philly Soul, a genre I'd discover and rediscover over the ensuing decades until I decided it was my favorite music in the whole world.

My relationship with the Spinners worked pretty much the same way. If you asked me in 1973 to name my favorite song of the year, it probably wouldn't have been "One Of A Kind (Love Affair)". In those early days of my making list after list of song after song, the Spinners were so omnipresent in the atmosphere that I didn't realize just how much I loved them. I was living in a golden age without understanding it until years later.

There isn't a Spinners' radio hit from their halcyon and gorgeous period between 1972 and 1976 that doesn't flat out make me happy. None makes me happier than "One Of A Kind (Love Affair)". I was ten. I didn't know from love affairs. I didn't always know from happy. But I could tell when other people did, and so could the Spinners. Upbeat...hopeful...spring. From the bass drum that opens the affair to the Wynne-ing vamping that ends it, this is indeed a singular trip into matters of the heart.

It took adulthood and a closer listen to realize the protagonist (given voice by the awesome Phillipé Soul Wynne) is having a terrible time in love. Yes, the title implies heavenly activity, "the kind of love that you read about in a fairy tale". The first verse lays out the reward: a "sun that shines on a rainy day — it's a cloud of love". What could be better than that?

But guess what...he doesn't have that! His love has taken a hike. How does he find out? She wrote a line or two upon the wall: "Said I'm leaving you, know I love you too, I can't stay with you." (This actually happened to the songwriter Mr. Jefferson.) He never saw it coming, never "thought about today would come." Nevertheless, to this very day he could never say "a discouraging word 'cause I love you."

Things are quite unrequited now. Yet the song is never sad. To be honest, I never exactly get to the end of the three minutes and thirty-one seconds in full concentration. I'm so enamored with the blend of musical happiness and willful stubbornness in the lyric (you're not discouraged by that kissoff?) that the Wynne coda, devoted to how this kind of love affair makes a blind man talk about seein' again, almost takes me by surprise every time. I'm high, I'm thrown, I'm lost in thought and then I'm back. All in about 211 seconds.

The Spinners outlasted all their 1973 classmates in my box of 45s even if it took another dozen years for me to fully appreciate how amazin', amazin', amazin their pop output was when I was a kid: "I'll Be Around"; "Could It Be I'm Falling In Love"; "Ghetto Child"; "Mighty Love"; "Then Came You"; "They Just Can't Stop It The (Games People Play"): "Rubberband Man"; along with "One Of A Kind (Love Affair)". Others may have had more hits but I can't think of any artist, any vocalist, any band, any group that just brought the goods so regularly. Every one of those 1970s hits is in my Top 500 and there is no contest when it comes to identifying my favorite act of all-time.

That decision began to get made in 1985. There was an autumn day (not long after the Cardinals eliminated the Mets) when I was hit with my first big automotive repair bill. I needed a pick-me-up and decided it was worth dropping an additional five bucks on The Best Of The Spinners (a Carvel ice cream cone may also have been involved). Wow. Every one of those babies came roaring back from their release date and every one of them just washed over me. Sure, some of it was a matter of bringing me back to fourth grade and the Magnolia School playground and all that, but this wasn't pure nostalgia. The Spinners were a living organism. The more I played them through my twenties and into my thirties and now in my forties, the better they got and continued to get.

They're the group that millions love yet are too often left out of the conversation when talk turns to the greats. Did you know that before they blossomed on Atlantic they were on Motown? They were bench players there in the '60s. They were treated like Chris Woodward — Berry Gordy sent them on errands, for crissake. Stevie Wonder wrote them a hit, 1970's "It's A Shame," but by then they were spinning out the door and over to Atlantic, praise be. Bell came in and Wynne took many of the lead vocals and, in the company of Bobbie Smith, Purvis Short, Billy Henderson and Henry Fambrough, indelible magic was made.

"One Of A Kind (Love Affair)" peaked at No. 11 in June of 1973 on Billboard's Hot 100. It went all the way to No. 1 on the R&B chart where it enjoyed a four-week run. The Spinners' only pop No. 1 was "Then Came You," recorded with Dionne Warwicke in '74. Wynne left the group three years later. The Spinners soldiered on with John Edwards fronting. They laid down some shimmering tracks in the late '70s, including the underheard "Heaven On Earth (So Fine)," but their last big score was in 1980 with two post-Bell, discofied remakes: "Working My Way Back To You/Forgive Me Girl" and "Cupid/I've Loved You For A Long Time". Those are all right, but they've never sounded like the Spinners I knew and adored.

Got one up close and personal listen to the Spinners, at Westbury in 1997. Stephanie and I were in the third row for an evening with them and the three surviving Four Tops. A disc jockey from Long Island oldies station B-103 introduced the show by announcing we'd hear first from the Spinners and then from some real "rock 'n' roll royalty." The Four Tops, he shilled, were in the Hall of Fame!

I like the Four Tops a lot but I was livid. Royalty? The royalty opened the show. The group, the bulk of which had been together since 1961, was beautiful. Stephanie liked the canary yellow suits more than I did, but otherwise it was a transcendent performance. It was frigging royal. (And you can take that from the Princes.)

The Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame holds no particular sway over the tagging of immortality the way baseball's does, but come on. Who's been more influential, more constant, more better for more years?

Stevie Wonder wrote for them. Marvin Gaye admired them. David Bowie called seeing them at the Apollo "the best night ever" in his experiences at that particular venue. Hall and Oates covered them generously not long ago. Barry Manilow is considering doing the same soon. Monie Love reinvented "It's A Shame". R. Kelly paid homage with "Sadie". Rappin' FoTay sampled "I'll Be Around". AT&T borrowed it to sell long-distance service. "Rubberband Man" found a new life with Office Max some twenty years after it was featured in Stripes. Elton John teamed with them on "Are You Ready For Love". They were all over the radio in the heart of the '70s and the core of their canon has stayed evergreen on various Jammin's, Mixes and Lites up and down the dial into this century.

They haunt. They soothe. They cajole. They revive. They romance. They reflect. They get a move on. They make lots and lots and lots of us as happy as three-and-a-half minutes will allow. The Spinners will always be my one of a kind love.

The No. 9 record will be played at the end of February.

Next Friday: Proof that the Mets have been around a very long time.

As expected, Cliff Floyd has signed with the Cubs (at Shea May 14-17), making him officially an ex-Met. It's not like we didn't know his going wasn't coming. And now he's truly gone.

Cliff became a Met when the team didn't know whether it was coming or going. The 2002 season was a calamity and the 2003 version would be a disaster, yet there was Cliff, jumping on board our sinking ship after one and before the other. He wouldn't make much of a difference to Met fortunes his first two years, the second of which he framed with one of the most honest Met quotes since "can't anybody here play this game?"

Things aren't looking bright. There's no light at the end of the tunnel.

It was the best traffic report ever given on the long and winding Mets expressway. Cliff knew from what he spoke as the 2004 season crumbled to bits. I suppose it was a coincidence that it was practically moments later that Art Howe was fired, Jim Duquette was replaced and the Leiter-Franco regime was changed. Perhaps it was chance as well that in his eagerness to clean house Omar Minaya shopped Cliff around in the winter of '04-'05. "The New Mets" promotional literature of that offseason spotlighted Beltran and Martinez, Reyes and Wright, Kris Benson even. No mention of their intermittently hobbled teller of truths and incumbent leftfielder.

Cliff stayed. Willie Randolph arrived (and will remain, hallelujah). Maybe it was one more case of the coincidental that this manager teased more health and more hits out of his default cleanup hitter than his predecessor did. Every third quote in 2005 from Randolph was of the "I challenged Cliff" variety and Cliff met every challenge. He was the best everyday player we had two seasons ago. While Carlos settled in and old Mike felt around for a comfort zone and David and Jose learned their craft, Cliff Floyd was the first all-around star of the Willie Randolph era — and, to be blog-indulgent about it, the Faith and Fear era. We liked to refer to him as our Monsta, but he was more like our light. Thirty-four homers, 98 ribbies, serious athleticism in left...the days of the Mets being stuck in the tunnel were over.

Cliff Floyd in 2006 wasn't Cliff Floyd of 2005. The Mets didn't need that much from him. If he couldn't deliver a reasonable facsimile for longer than a spurt here and there, then we'd win with approximately half a Floyd. His '05 protégés grew up around him and the more recently imported talent carried its load. We could afford an off year from Cliff in '06 and still succeed. I guess we couldn't take that chance for '07.

Though the light-and-tunnel remark was briefly his calling card and cross to bear, I prefer to remember another exchange as quintessential Cliff Floyd: smart man, smart player, veteran player, player's player, our player. It was from the NLDS — one of those mostly pointless pregame press gaggles during the postseason, the first one the Mets had been in six years, the first one Cliff Floyd played in since he was a young Marlin.

Q: Little off topic, you guys had such a great season, finished first. Is it enough of an advantage for a team to have that extra game at home? Should there be more of an advantage for a team that had such a good season?

CLIFF FLOYD: That's way over my head, boss.

I have a hunch it wasn't.

FLUSHING, N.Y. (FAF) -- The New York Mets have formed an exploratory committee to "gauge our desire to compete for the National League Eastern Division title in 2008." While a formal declaration of candidacy is expected to follow the 2007 campaign, this decision by the Mets anoints them the frontrunners for the season that is slated to start in a little more than 14 months.

"We're in it to win," says a senior Mets adviser.

The Mets' announcement, made without fanfare on mets.com, both confirms long-held certainties that they would indeed enter the race and confounds experts who predicted they would wait until at least after this year's spring training to make their intentions explicit.

One baseball insider appraised the Mets' timing as necessary, noting "if you're not playing for 2008 by February 2007, then you might as well forget it and start focusing on 2010."

The Mets are the third team to indicate their interest in the '08 N.L. East title, joining the Atlanta Braves and the Philadelphia Phillies as contenders for next year's championship. Each of those clubs formed an exploratory committee earlier this month. Observers anticipate the Florida Marlins and Washington Nationals will also throw their caps into the ring soon, though neither is given much of a chance of keeping up with "the big three" when the '08 derby begins in earnest.

"The Marlins," says one prominent baseball forecaster, "are really positioning themselves for the Wild Card in '09."

Recent polling shows the Mets far ahead of the 2008 East field, though conventional wisdom dictates their lead owes as much to strong name recognition as it does potential for performance. "At this stage of the '08 contest," one pundit offers, "it's hard to look at anything as written in stone. But at the same time, the Mets have to be considered the team to beat."

A high-ranking National League East official indicates the division would like to have a champion in place by the first week of May in order to focus on whatever playoff opponent emerges from the pack in the N.L. Central or West. "Whoever comes out of the first three series of the year in first place," says one well-connected baseball analyst, "probably has a hammerlock on the division crown. That will give them plenty of time to prepare for the fall."

Intense behind-the-scenes maneuvering is already underway. 2008's traditional April opener at Shea Stadium has been moved to mid-March in an effort to "frontload" the schedule and take advantage of the Mets' early advantage in organization and resources. The Phillies, however, have held what one senior aide terms "serious discussions" about moving up their opener to late February, while a counselor to the Braves campaign says Atlanta "does not want to be bypassed" at such a critical juncture in the process. "There is a real likelihood," he says, "that the first game at Turner Field in 2008 could come as soon as December 2007."

The Mets insist they will proceed with "business as usual," with one group of pitchers and catchers reporting to this year's spring training in three weeks and another group to next year's spring training in two weeks.

As I told the players the day before the season ended, "I want you to make up your minds we're going to win it next year, that nothing is going to stop us." -- Davey Johnson on the last days of 1985, in Bats.

At 8:05 p.m. on April 1, baseball will return. The 2007 New York Mets will take the field, and a new campaign will begin. We'll begin the second-to-last season at Shea as the defending champions of the National League East.

That last little syllable on the end there makes all the difference, doesn't it? Those four little letters. That final little sound, the hissing one. East. It's a geographical term -- a cardinal direction.

Speaking of which, the National League champions, no compass point required, will be standing across us on the field when the introductions are made. The St. Louis Cardinals will be at home, at the center of a cauldron of noise, amidst a sea of red shirts. And why shouldn't their fans be excited? They'll be greeting a team that's not only the National League champs, but the World Champs. They'll watch the Cardinals hoist their 10th World Series banner. They'll watch the Cardinals get their World Series rings. And before they can begin their season, the 2007 Mets will have to watch it, too -- the celebration of a title that, had things just broken a little differently, might have been theirs.

And I want them to watch it.

I say that without rancor or vindictiveness or bitterness. I loved the 2006 squad, loved its heart and grit and pluck and all those other great baseball words. I loved watching Wright and Reyes blossom and Beltran win over Shea Stadium and Lo Duca tag Dodgers and howl at umpires and Valentin ("Jo-se, Jo-se Jo-se Jo-se! Other Jose! Other Jose!") find grace in age and Pelfrey and Humber and Milledge give us flashes of promise in youth. I loved it all, from our April romp to those final two heart-stopping October nights, even if the last game had to wind down to that knee-buckling, heart-breaking, season-ending strike.

By now Lo Duca and Delgado and Glavine don't need any more tempering in the fire of defeat. But for the young guys, this is a crucial part of the maturation process: seeing the pennant and the rings and the hearing the cheers and thinking, Mine, mine, this could have been mine. This should have been ours. It reminds me of the 1-0 Cardinals win at Busch in May, the one where Wright couldn't make contact off Jason Isringhausen with one out and Reyes on third. After that game I had to remind myself that Wright was just 23, and one of the ingredients necessary for turning 23-year-olds who can't relax in big spots into 33-year-olds who can is failure. Failure that eats at you and leaves you determined to do anything to keep from feeling those teeth in you again.

This is the next step. Remember it when you watch Cardinal Nation exultant, when you moan that ESPN's shown the Wainwright coup de grace 40 times and they haven't even announced the lineups, when you grouse to yourself that Opening Night is sure starting out on a sour note. Look at the players and see if you can see Lo Duca's neck turning red, or Wright narrowing his eyes, or Reyes shuttering his million-watt smile. It'll taste terrible, but medicine often does. And then we'll have the whole season in front of us. Right, Davey?

After the meeting, I went back to my office to be alone for a while. I swore to myself: Next year, by God, nothing is going to stop us.

Cliff Floyd is apparently going to the Cubs. Extra Innings is apparently going to DirecTV. The Saints are definitely going home. And it's going to snow sooner or later.

Is anything going swimmingly at this stagnant stage of winter? For one Mets fan, the answer is yes.

Eric Brown has gone to St. Lucie. And he's got it going on.

If any of you have channeled your workday boredom down the contents of our sidebar, you may have clicked on a Mets Extra in the Picnic Area called Met Camp. Until recently, it linked you to Eric's diary of his 2005 trip to Mets fantasy camp, an experience he likened to "the Make-A-Wish Foundation for the middle-aged set." He had a ball — such a big one, in fact, that clicking on Met Camp now takes you to his in-progress 2007 journey "back to Mecca".

This time around, Eric has received a transfusion of sorts from Ed Charles, learned to watch what all-time records to not mention to Anthony Young and discovered what exactly is in a jar of Boudreau's Butt Paste. Discover Eric's blog for yourself and find out why he refutes his own assertion that "only a fool climbs Mount Fuji twice." Keep climbing, sir. You're taking one for the team there.

Unless half of us has changed his mind, I think I speak for the entire staff of Faith and Fear in Flushing when I tell you this is a hill neither Jason nor I would ever attempt to scale though we are chronologically eligible. Jason long ago granted me power of attorney to lead the intervention against his ever going over the Tradition Field wall. No such action is necessary to prevent me from doing the same. Suit up like a real Major Leaguer? I can't even keep my insole supports from curling up uncomfortably under my toes.

While Eric Brown's two camp outings make for warm reading on a frigid night, hobnobbing with Doug Flynn, John Stearns and the "indecipherable but energetic Willie Montañez" in a setting whose professionalism likely exceeds that which the 1978 Mets encountered in those post-Mrs. Payson years isn't quite my baseball fantasy. I don't fantasize about playing. I like to watch.

Which doesn't mean I wouldn't pay a premium to live out a certain scenario that has inhabited my wishful thoughts for the past 95 days.

Fantasy camp? Try this:

Turn the heat on outside.

Open Gates A through E, not at some Spring Training satellite but at the home office in Queens.

Let 56,000 of us elbow our way in.

Bring back a certain team from the Midwest to take on the artists in residence.

Blast "Time of the Season" and "The Curly Shuffle" and, yes, "Sweet Caroline" over the very loud speakers.

Make it 1-1 in the top of the ninth...or 3-1 in the bottom of the ninth if absolutely necessary. Hell, I'd take bases loaded, two out and sign for an oh-and-two count if that's all that was available.

But this time — and it's non-negotiable — the last tune we hear must be "Takin' Care of Business," delivered with feeling.

This time we get to be happy campers.

Give me that field and that dream and I'd pass over the money without even thinking about it.

If it's one of those dates in Mets history that won't show up in any "This Date in Mets History," it must be Flashback Friday at Faith and Fear in Flushing.

Here's to the first person to open my eyes to baseball, however inadvertently.

Here's to the first person to share Peanuts with me, the comic strip in which Charlie Brown played baseball badly but constantly. Since Peanuts was popular enough for this person to have several books of it, I figured baseball must be a pretty normal thing to like.

Here's to the first person to share baseball cards with me. They were printed in 1967 and 1968. They had a catcher from the Braves named Joe Torre and a manager from the Reds named Dave Bristol and an outfielder from the Indians named Leon Wagner. They also had a first baseman named Ed Kranepool from the Mets. The Mets. The New York Mets. Hmmm...we live in New York.

Here's to the first person to share a portable television — a Sony — with me so I could watch the final game of the 1969 World Series and games throughout the summers of 1970 and '71 even if this person preferred Marcus Welby M.D. and once asked why I bothered watching the games when they'll tell you the score on the news and isn't the score all you need to know anyway?

Here's to the first person to take me to my second-ever game at Shea Stadium, my third-ever game at Shea Stadium and my fifth-ever game at Shea Stadium — each of them an Old Timers Day yet — despite a complete lack of interest in every game ever played at Shea Stadium.

Here's to the first person to introduce me to a person who had recently given up working at Shea Stadium, recently enough to use his residual pull to gain me access inside the room where they kept all the souvenirs they sold to regular people but he was telling me to go ahead, take what you want (I choked and plucked one measly cap from the trove, but this same other person filled a tote bag with goodies for me which got him in good with that first person enough so that these persons have been married quite a while now).

Here's to the first person I ever knew who was a writer, and because this person was a writer, it's not a stretch to say I wanted to be a writer.

Here's to the first person I ever really knew at all, the one person I've known longer than any other, the only person I know whose ongoing obliviousness to our national and my personal pastime doesn't bother me one bit. She did so much to hook me up with baseball without realizing it, who could ask for anything more?

Here's to my big sister Suzan, who was more mature at 14 than I am at 44. Suzan was born January 21, 1957, but in deference to her sudden distaste for simple arithmetic, I won't mention how many years ago since then it will be come Sunday. But I will say happy birthday. Whichever one it is.

Next Friday: A line or two upon the wall regarding the No. 10 song of all-time.

The way things have always been aren't far from changing. It will be strange, but in the long run, we will benefit.

I'm talking about the at-any-given-moment consensus all-time Mets team. You know, best Met at every position over the history of the franchise. We've never done one up here because it's like ranking an all-Solar System lineup of planets. Mercury bats first, Venus bunts him over, Earth gets the ribby opportunities and you can't pitch around Mars because Jupiter is very dangerous in the fifth hole. Every now and then somebody screws around and the nine-hitter is demoted to another galaxy, but you more or less know how it's going to turn out.

I've seen Mets experts, Mets fans, Mets writers, Mets polls and Mets propaganda proffer all-time Mets teams intermittently for more than a quarter of a century. I'm not here to argue with anything that's been said before; for the most part, they all conform to a certain conventional wisdom, one for which I bear no great iconoclasm. What I'd like to do is consider which elements of the all-time Mets team are due for revision and how soon we can anticipate changings of the respective guards.

CATCHER
Incumbent All-Timer: Mike Piazza
Since: No later than 2000
Prior: Your traditionalists would argue for Jerry Grote's defense and longevity from 1969 until Piazza. Your modernists might nod toward Gary Carter given the offensive impact he brought to bear in 1985 and '86. Todd Hundley made an impressive run for a season or two, but pre-Piazza, consensus formed around Grote or Carter.
After: Piazza's only gone one year.
Current Catcher: Paul Lo Duca
His Prospects: This is a position that has enjoyed some serious starpower, so even though Lo Duca put in a heckuva season in 2006, it's unlikely he'll break into the top three given his advanced age.
Anybody's Prospects: Eight seasons, fortune-changer, great numbers, legend...it will take a homegrown Mike Piazza to top the one for whom we traded. Mike has a lock on this spot for at least a decade, likely longer.

FIRST BASE
Incumbent All-Timer: Keith Hernandez
Since: No later than 1986
Prior: Ed Kranepool was the default candidate by the mid-'60s. As more productive first basemen — Clendenon, Milner, Montañez — came along, Eddie (albeit from a pinch-hitting perch) had them beat on longevity. He always will. It took Hernandez's all-around excellence and obvious impact on the state of things to dislodge Krane.
After: John Olerud squeezed himself between Mex and Kranepool with three fabulous seasons. Perhaps a few more would have made him a serious contender for the top spot.
Current First Baseman: Carlos Delgado
His Prospects: Not unlike Lo Duca, his first year as a Met could not have gone much better. He ingrained himself into club lore by making a difference on a team that jumped from also-ran to division champ. But also like Lo Duca, Delgado joined the Mets late in his career. Two more slam-bang offensive seasons might get him mentioned in the same breath with Olerud and Kranepool as best of the rest, but he's no threat to Keith.
Anybody's Prospects: Though they were far from the same player, the Met trajectories of Piazza and Hernandez were fairly similar. Hernandez is every bit the legend for his tenure that Piazza was for his, so it is hard to imagine first base gets a new leading man. Caveat, though: Keith's brilliance came without dominating power stats, traditionally the province of corner infielders. Get a Delgado-type in his prime and it could become competitive. But then again, there's only one Keith Hernandez.

SECOND BASE
Incumbent All-Timer: Edgardo Alfonzo
Since: No later than 2000
Prior: For Fonzie, there's a bit of lifetime achievement award to this designation as he shifted between third and second for six seasons as a starter. He gained notice at third but really made jaws drop at second. His two best years were in the middle of the diamond. They were so good it's hard to remember who came before, but there is a lineage: Ron Hunt from '63 to as late as '75 when Felix Millan took over for good (depending on how highly you valued Ken Boswell's relative longevity in between). Millan played every day, so he could be your all-timer until the late '90s unless you didn't mind Wally Backman's platoon status. Backman was such a force on those mid-'80s Mets that he made a strong case for himself. Jeff Kent's numbers in '93 and '94 were promising but they dipped dramatically in '95 and he was at third then gone by '96, thus only partially breaching the conversation. Fonzie's '99 and '00 made the whole lot of his predecessors rather moot.
After: Roberto Alomar was the exact opposite of Lo Duca and Delgado and his breakdown left a sizable hole at second that nobody since Alfonzo has filled.
Current Second Baseman: Jose Valentin
His Prospects: In relatively limited duty, Valentin had one of the better power years by any Met second baseman in 2006 and he acquitted himself fine defensively. But at this late stage of his career (a hauntingly familiar refrain when discussing the current Mets thus far), it's hard to imagine he'll a) duplicate 2006 in 2007 and b) triplicate it in 2008 which is what it would take to catapult him into the upper echelon of all-time Mets second basemen.
Anybody's Prospects: If you judge the position by defense (and defense usually lags in all-time team talk, otherwise Doug Flynn would be a major topic of conversation here), Anderson Hernandez could conceivably make a run if he starts to hit and sticks around. In the more generic sense, it would take about five very good seasons to unseat Alfonzo. It doesn't sound impossible, but in the 45-year history of the Mets, how many players have put up five very good seasons at any position?

SHORTSTOP
Incumbent All-Timer: Bud Harrelson
Since: No later than 1969
Prior: Roy McMillan got high marks for his uncommon professionalism as the Mets were wearing out their training wheels, but the shortstop story on this team really begins with Buddy Harrelson.
After: For a quarter-century it ended with Harrelson, too. There were pretenders, those who could flash speed (Taveras), show steadiness (Santana), offer promise (Elster), spread leather (Schofield) and hit surprisingly well (Vizcaino), but none was a keeper in the long-term. Though time has not burnished his credentials, Rey Ordoñez's glove was a magical entity and, given his role on a winning team, made him the de facto runnerup at short through the end of his stormy stay. If he had hit a little and shut up a little more, he might have taken a serious run at Harrelson, but Buddy's longevity and presence were hard to beat.
Current Shortstop: Jose Reyes
His Prospects: Jose Reyes, as Bob Murphy might have said, is why they put erasers on pencils. It takes all the restraint one can muster to not change for the first time since the late 1960s the identity of the all-time Mets shortstop. He followed an encouraging 2005 with a stellar 2006. Not stellar for a Met, but stellar as in one of the brightest stars in the game at any position. His four seasons — two partial, two complete — are not quite enough to bump Buddy's thirteen, but Buddy would be the first to tell you Jose's '06 was the offensive equal of any three he put up in his prime.
Anybody's Prospects: Even if he never has another season quite on the level of 2006, it will take no more than three years in the general vicinity of what he did last season to cement Jose Reyes' spot as the all-time Mets shortstop. Barring injury, look for the change to be indisputable by 2009, 2010 at the latest.

THIRD BASE
Incumbent All-Timer: Howard Johnson
Since: No later than 1991
Prior: The steaming baked potato of all Mets positions, it would be reasonable to term it vacant on an all-time team for the first decade of Met existence. By the end of the '70s, Wayne Garrett had earned it through dutiful service. The first impressive all-around Met third baseman was Hubie Brooks, 1980-1984. It took three astounding offensive seasons from HoJo to nail down his claim to the hot corner...just in time for him to be shifted to the outfield.
After: Johnson's supremacy was seriously challenged in the late '90s, first by Alfonzo then Robin Ventura. Neither lasted long enough at the position to knock off HoJo, though Ventura's 1999 was as spectacular as anything as Johnson accomplished in '87, '89 or '91.
Current Third Baseman: David Wright
His Prospects: HoJo's elevation to the big-league coaching staff in 2007 will give him a front-row seat from which to watch his place in Mets history pushed back a notch. David Wright's brief career has been possibly the best out of the gate by any homegrown Met. Power, average, defense (the throwing yips notwithstanding)...it's David's world.
Anybody's Prospects: For karma's sake, let's use the "barring injury" qualifier. Barring injury, David Wright should arrive on the all-time team by the time Shea Stadium gives way to Citi Field. It's only in deference to HoJo's longevity (not quite as imposing as Harrelson's) that we don't make the switch now. Like Reyes, Wright demonstrates every indication that he will own his spot in this lineup well into the future.

LEFT FIELD
Incumbent All-Timer: Cleon Jones
Since: 1968
Prior: Frank Thomas did hit 34 homers in 1962, but Cleon was the best player the Mets developed in their first two decades. His .340 average coming when it did sealed his spot in left for generations to come. His wonderful 1969 highlighted a 12-year run unmatched to date in left.
After: Truth is nobody's come close to Cleon Jones over the long haul even if there have been seasons. Dave Kingman's best power years were in left in '75 and '76 but he hit his later homers at first and didn't do a whole lot else as a player. Steve Henderson looked like the real thing from '77 to '80 but never put up Cleon stats. George Foster's Met career was a trainwreck despite a couple of good slugging seasons. Kevin McReynolds was more the rubbernecker during his stay. A good '87 and a very, very good '88 were followed only by deterioration from '89 through '91. One-year wonders Bernard Gilkey ('96), Rickey Henderson ('99) and Benny Agbayani ('00) didn't last either. Cliff Floyd's 2005 was classic, but the rest of his Met days were undercut by injury.
Current Leftfielder: Moises Alou.
His Prospects: If he gives us an '07 like Lo Duca's, Delgado's or even Valentin's '06, he etches his name into our consciousness for the good. But at 40 on Opening Day, he won't touch Cleon Jones.
Anybody's Prospects: This was supposed to be Lastings Milledge's job by now and Lastings Milledge was highly touted. Left doesn't look like his bag, baby. It's either too early or too late to figure out what we'll get from him. As for somebody coming along and topping Jones, it's conceivable. If McReynolds hadn't declined or Floyd hadn't gotten hurt (or Kingman hadn't been traded), it could have been done by now. Outfielders, however, aren't the Mets' stock in trade, so until an unknown quantity puts up at least three straight power seasons worthy of a corner outfielder, there's nobody remotely on Cleon's heels.

CENTER FIELD
Incumbent All-Timer: Mookie Wilson
Since: No later than 1986
Prior: Center used to be the Met doppelgänger of third, except further from home. The Mets couldn't find a dependable occupant, save for the first year with Richie Ashburn, until Tommie Agee sewed it up in '68 (a miserable season) and excelled at it in '69. Agee probably owned it, even in the face of a stiff challenge from Lee Mazzilli in the late '70s, into the Mookie Wilson era. Mookie's speed and dominance of the steals and triples categories (despite not being the most awesome of flycatchers or leadoff batters) earned him CF honors for twenty-year keeps. His role in the 1986 World Series didn't hurt either.
After: Mookie withstood a real-time ambush by Lenny Dykstra between '85 and '89. By August '86, a centerfield platoon was tweaked to a rotation of sorts, getting Mookie into the lineup in left when Dykstra manned center. But Lenny never took center away from Mookie. After they were both ingeniously dispatched, it was Juan Samuel time, first literally, then figuratively. A slew of comers and goers made the exploits of Mookie, Lenny, Tommie and Mazz stand taller than they actually measured.
Current Centerfielder: Carlos Beltran
His Prospects: If we are to believe 2005 was the aberration and 2006 the genuine article, Carlos Beltran is already the best centerfielder in Mets history. Not the same as being the all-time CF, however. Carlos needs two or three more Beltranesque years to own the position beyond debate.
Anybody's Prospects: Isn't that what he's being paid for? Carlos Beltran reminded us in 2006 that he's one of the best all-around players in the game, the kind of player we've almost never had, certainly not in center. Assuming there isn't some horrible hangover from that called strike three (and those nagging injuries of his are kept to a minimum), we can look forward to a Citi Field lineup by 2010 that includes three all-time Mets: Reyes, Wright and Beltran.

RIGHT FIELD
Incumbent All-Timer: Darryl Strawberry
Since: No later than 1986
Prior Ron Swoboda's Game Four catch in '69 gave him the upper hand for a while, based mostly on the stuff of legend. Rusty Staub's four seasons after his trade from Montreal earned him right field outright. There was no better stick when it came to driving in runs, clutch or otherwise, for the first two decades of Mets history. Then Darryl showed up in '83. Growing pains notwithstanding, he was instantly the most extraordinary talent to rise from the Mets' system. If he wasn't exactly Joel Youngblood with the glove, he was an authentic superstar.
After: Get serious.
Current Right Fielder: Shawn Green.
His Prospects: A nice rebound full season would be plenty to welcome from Green. Should Milledge find himself with a few more at-bats than expected in right (where he looked decidedly more comfortable than he did in left), it could be intriguing. But Darryl's safe for now.
Anybody's Prospects: Even taking into account that Darryl's eight Mets seasons did not launch him toward Cooperstown, nobody has touched what he compiled or accomplished. Sixteen seasons have not yielded any kind of challenge to the incumbent's primacy. Right remains Strawberry's field prohibitively to 2015 and probably then some.

STARTING RIGHTHANDED PITCHER
Incumbent All-Timer: Tom Seaver
Since: 1967
Prior: Does it matter?
After: One name. Dwight Gooden. If he couldn't do it (and for a while it looked he would), nobody could.
Current Starting Righthanded Pitcher: Pedro Martinez
His Prospects: Well, it would help if he were healthy. For argument's sake, let's say Pedro makes it back midsummer and pitches at the level he did in 2005 and early 2006 for the length of his contract. It would mark his Met tenure as a significant one, but it would leave him way short of not only Seaver but Gooden. And that's best-case. Still, if we're mentioning him in the same breath as Tom and Doc, then it was Pedro well spent. Heck, it was anyway.
Anybody's Prospects: It would be unfair to the Met pitching prospects of today to invoke Tom Seaver as their ceiling. In a world in which one shouldn't forecast too far into the future, I'm willing to say nobody besides Tom Seaver will ever be the Mets' all-time starting RHP.

STARTING LEFTHANDED PITCHER
Incumbent All-Timer: Jerry Koosman
Since: 1968
Prior: Al Jackson was a gutty lefthander who deserved a better fate. Wins were hard to come by on those early Mets teams yet Jackson had more than anybody in those first dark days. Kooz, however, blew all southpaws away with a 19-12 rookie season. He was ensconced from there.
After: Jon Matlack outdid Koosman for a few years in the early '70s and Al Leiter was counted on as titular ace more than either of them, but no LHP hung in as long as Kooz did and no pitcher of either arm could be counted on quite as confidently in big game starts.
Current Starting Lefthanded Pitcher: Tom Glavine
His Prospects: Glavine, health and run support willing, will reach an exciting milestone in a Met uniform, and that will be lovely. But even a 300th win along with two very good seasons to finish up his career as a Met (with hopefully two more postseason trips and performances up to his October 2006 standard) would vault Glavine no higher than also-ran to Kooz. Jerry, after all, was here for twelve seasons, several of them historic.
Anybody's Prospects: Like we said, Jerry was here a long time and with good reason. He is third lifetime in Met wins. He was a star who pitched behind an immortal. Despite the best efforts of Leiter, Matlack, Ojeda and Fernandez, his premier southpaw status hasn't been approached. A Met lefty reaching Kooz territory may happen, but it will take some doing.

CLOSER
Incumbent All-Timer: John Franco
Since: No later than 2000
Prior: With apologies to Ron Taylor, Tug McGraw invented the modern fireman's role on the Mets and he filled it indelibly. Jesse Orosco surpassed his saves total and was on the mound twice when it absolutely mattered in 1986. It was a matter of taste before 1990 as to who you wanted as your all-time closer. John Franco then arrived from Cincinnati and compiled saves in record numbers. It probably took the latter stages of his career to make him universally lovable like Tug and definitely required his postseason setup appearances to match his accomplishments to Jesse's.
After: Armando Benitez is a two-word Rorschach Test to most Mets fans. Some see the most successful regular-season closer in Mets history. Others see mushroom clouds. The fact is he did unseat Franco and was at the heart of some of the most compelling baseball the franchise ever saw. The fact is he also lasted fewer than five seasons, well short of Franco's fifteen.
Current Closer: Billy Wagner.
His Prospects: Yet another 2006 Met who alighted from elsewhere and inscribed his name into the family album with a memorable year in service to a postseason campaign. He certainly had his moments. Though he will have ample opportunity to add to his Met résumé, he too has started down the orange & blue path rather late in life.
Anybody's Prospects: John Franco embedded himself into Met culture as few others have. His status with the front office (combined with his general record of success...not that it was unsullied or without detractors) shielded him from the several regime changes that shook Shea between Cashen and Minaya. Since longevity was intrinsic to the Franco oeuvre, and because one-team longevity among closers is almost anathema in team-building today, it will be difficult for anybody to match Franco. On the other hand, the next closer who drops to his knees and flings his glove skyward will be granted sainthood by millions of Mets fans and that might be enough.