The "161-1" winks are no longer valid. And I'd forget the 160-2 scenario based on precedent.

El Duque was outdueled by El Davies, El Andruw was his old octopus self and the inbred Braves foiled the Mets' bid to never, ever fall out of first place again. We seemed to have taken up permanent residence there after the third game of 2006. Now we're in (gasp!) second.

Maybe it's the Islanders' having shotout their way into the playoffs (it was a Melvin Mora week all around in Uniondale), maybe it's the impending premieres of The Sopranos and Entourage, maybe it's that I'm heading out in a few minutes to pick up Indian for dinner, maybe it's knowing Shea glorious Shea opens for business in 18 hours...but I'm not all that bothered.

We're 4-2 from the road. We could have been 6-0 but there was no way we could have been any worse than what we are now. The starting pitching has been acceptable-plus, often golden, since a week ago tonight. Everybody among the regulars has accomplished something lovely so far and most have done more. A little more hitting or a little more bullpen the last two days would have compensated for the shortcomings of one or the other, but it's a long season. They'll both take care of themselves.

When you're good, losing two out of three to your nominal archrivals at your erstwhile burial ground is just one of those things you learn to breathe through.

Beat the Phillies though, OK?

Yesterday was the first game of the year in which the throw pillows on the couch lived up to their name. With that game-tying line drive intercepted just shy of the end zone (Georgia being SEC country), I threw a pillow clear across the living room.

With that, the 2007 season became real. The f-word that's neither faith nor fear made its maiden appearance of the year. Welcome back frustration. (There may have been a fourth f-word flung toward the television as well...a lot.)

The moment that made it more unbearable than one L after four W's should be was the penultimate out of the ninth inning. After Wright singles and Delgado trots to third, Alou comes up. Moises Alou seems like somebody I would want up here. He's off to a warm start and he's a proven RBI man. Then Joe Buck tells me Alou is a notorious first-ball hitter.

He is?

Moises Alou has been knocking around the National League since 1990, and knocking around the ball quite effectively. But all these years that he's been a Pirate, an Expo, a Marlin, an Astro, a Cub and a Jint, I confess that I'd never watched him closely enough to know all his tendencies. He's a notorious first-ball hitter? Does that mean he's going to swing at Wickman's first offering even though he went to 3-and-2 to Beltran before striking him out, 3-and-2 on Delgado before walking him and 3-and-1 on Wright before David's single?

It does. Moises does Wickman the biggest favor imaginable and swings and pops meekly to center. Instead of working the count and pressuring the closer, there's only a second pointless out cramping our style.

This was a game the Mets didn't particularly deserve to win, not the way they fielded, not the way Glavine was pitching, not the way Smoltz outclassed our lineup. But great teams occasionally pocket games they have little business winning. This ninth inning, not unlike the ninth inning of the last Met loss of any consequence, shaped up as a ninth inning in which we could grab a couple runs off the shelf while the gods were out having a smoke.

Nothing doing. One distressing repositioned lineout later, I was left to ponder Alou the way I was forced to ponder Beltran last October 19. I reasoned then if Carlos got this far in his career by not swinging at curves breaking inside then it was ludicrous to demand he change his habits with a pennant on the line. I'd spend the winter reasoning the opposite, too, but that was winter and last year, so never mind that right now. Point is my, your, everybody's rule is when a pitcher is playing footsie with the strike zone, don't make it easier on him. When it's first and third and you're down by two runs with one out in the ninth, DON'T SWING AT THE FIRST PITCH!

But if this is how Moises Alou has become Moises Alou, maybe he sees something that I don't and maybe he was right to swing when he did. Despite being aware of Moises Alou for 17 years, I realize I don't really know him yet. And that you don't really know a man until he becomes a Met.