Gosh, didn't see that coming.

To borrow an observation from last week's Mad Men, watching Guillermo Mota set down the Phillies 1-2-3 in the ninth was like watching a dog play the piano. It was very impressive. And you knew he was highly unlikely to do it again.

Mets aren't hitting anymore, are they? For a while they had one scalding hot batter at a time — first Alou, then Beltran, then Wright. I kept thinking "if they could just get those guys to do it at the same time..." Instead everybody got together and went quiet. Reyes, too.

It's tempting to say games like tonight always happen to the Mets at the Cit as they always seemed to at the Vet, even if I know it's untrue. Yet the Mets played a virtual prototype of this game last May, including Heilman giving up a key run on a ball that didn't reach the mound. It feels very familiar. Hauntingly so. Maybe it was just one of the 54 you're gonna lose, though at this stage of the season, it's a little late to accept blows like tonight's.

Armando didn't kill the Marlins. They beat the Braves. They remain just close enough to merit concern. The Phillies are either charging or peaking. I'm not yet certain, but I'm certain they're making it hard (maybe it's supposed to be hard, but it's not supposed to be obnoxiously so). I'd rather be four up than four back. But I'd rather be six up. I'd rather Glavine had pitched the eighth. I'd rather Guillermo Mota had been suspended for 50 years, not 50 games.

You can't always get what you want.

How does Armando Benitez continue to stay employed as a relief pitcher?

It may not matter in the long term as in the race at hand. It may not even matter in the short term for tonight. But how does a manager, in this case Fredi Gonzalez, use Armando Benitez in any kind of competitive baseball situation?

I turn on the Braves and Marlins. Florida's up 3-1 in the eighth. Great, I think. Armando's pitching. Uh-oh. One on. Oh dear. Chipper Larry is at bat. No...

3-3.

Let's forget the Braves being six games behind the Mets and that the Mets were beating the Phillies and all extraneous matters of self-interest. I just wanna know why, why, WHY Gonzalez would allow a matchup between Benitez and someone who is so FUCKING OBVIOUSLY going to kick his ass?

We could have had this discussion in 2001 (and I would have found a way to have propped up Benitez because I was never one of his dedicated antagonists). But in 2007? When, if I may use exaggeration to make a point, HE ALWAYS FUCKING DOES THIS?

Don't the Marlins get the same scouting reports as everyone else?

ADDENDUM: I'm not too fond of Aaron Rowand either.

It should be hard. I like that it's hard.
—Matt Kelley to Toby Ziegler, "Twenty Hours in America," The West Wing

The brand spankin' new vibe around the Mets after months of stick-in-the-muddiness is because their lead quietly ballooned to seven satisfying games over the weekend, the race is over and won. I've seen columns that have all but placed the "x" next to our name in the standings. I've heard TV commentators who haven't given us all that much respect for months pencil the Mets in as division champs. There's way less worry in the air than there was a few weeks ago.

Since we were unofficially declared to have accomplished our mission, the lead has inched downward to five. I'd prefer it be nine, but y'know what? Fine that it's five if it has to be five.

It's a division title. It should be hard. I like that it's hard.

I'm going to remember this season, by gum. I'm going to remember how hard it was. I'm going to remember that August bumped up against September and we were still getting all our Pedro Martinez updates from the Florida State League. I'm going to remember that heretofore barely known and lightly considered quantities like Chan Ho Park and Jason Vargas and Lawrence of Oblivion took Pedro Martinez's starts when nobody else would.

I'm going to remember the struggle. I don't want to overdo the pathos, but it's been a task-and-a-half maintaining the same position atop the East day after day since the middle of May. It's been done without Endy Chavez and without Carlos Gomez and without Paul Lo Duca and without Ramon Castro and without Carlos Beltran and without Lastings Milledge and without Duaner Sanchez and without Moises Alou and without Shawn Green and without Dave Williams and without Jose Valentin and without Oliver Perez and without Orlando Hernandez for at least 15 days apiece, usually more. That's in addition to doing it without Pedro Martinez.

I'm going to remember the shortcomings. I'm going to remember that Carlos Delgado didn't come through far more than he did, but I will remember the times he came through because there were several. I'm going to remember the slow burn up the charts by David Wright and the cartoon running start of Jose Reyes and how once he went whoosh! he really went whoosh!. I'm going to remember Beltran up a hill and Chip Ambres out of nowhere and Ruben Gotay crossing home plate on a Thursday and Luis Castillo all asprawl and Ollie in mid-leap and Glavine's wife and Glavine's speech and Glavine's round number and Endy bunting and Gomez bunting and Marlon Anderson picking up right where he left off and Shawn Green tickling the scoreboard and Armando Benitez shaken to his core like the rookie he will never stop being.

I'm going to remember Billy Wagner's fistfuls of sand, thrown with almost perfect precision from the middle of April to the beginning of August. I'm going to remember slugger John Maine. I'm going to remember El Duque's failure to obey the minimum speed limit. I'm going to remember the sidearming of Joe Smith and the resiliency of Aaron Heilman and Pedro Feliciano and Jorge Sosa. I'm going to remember Damion Easley running 360 feet without stopping. I'm going to remember Sandy Alomar and Mike DiFelice catching like pros and Ricky Ledee and David Newhan trying their darndest and even this Brian Lawrence fellow who can hit better than he can pitch, but at least he does something well.

I'm going to remember a horrible Fourth of July in Denver and a listless checkout before the All-Star break in Houston and desperate nights in L.A. and sorry afternoons in Detroit and frightful endings against an assortment of Marlins and Nationals. I'm going to remember Willie Harris and a 5-0 lead in Pittsburgh and pitiful performances versus everyone from Tyler Clippard to Johan Santana to David Wells to J.D. Durbin. Because I remember this stuff, too, I can't automatically forget how hard this has been and pretend that suddenly it's easy, not with a month and change to go.

I'm going to remember, whatever the outcome, 2007. It has been a very different animal from 2006. We won't know 'til it's over whether it was better or worse. That's part of the fun, you know — finding out. I'd like a nice big lead like the one we had a year ago at this time. I'd like Philadelphia and Atlanta buried once and for all. I'd like to join the growing murmur that the Mets are surely on their way to October. I will if and when I know for certain it is merited.

Right now I don't. But that's OK. It's not supposed to be as easy as it was in 2006 and I think we all knew that then as now. It should be hard.

Well, that could have gone better.

J. D. Durbin looked like D.T. Young, Jayson Werth looked like Ty Cobb, Lastings Milledge looked like Ryan Thompson, Jose Reyes looked like a distracted 13-year-old in the infield, Carlos Delgado looked like his post-knee-tweak self, and Brian Lawrence and Chase Utley looked like their usual selves. Which all added up to a big, steaming portion of suck for us to choke down.

Once upon a time I was excited about this game. Something akin to the original-plan lineup on the field all at the same time, Met fans invading Philly for the possible end of the Phils' season, Pedro pitching down in Florida, the calendar getting closer to magic numbers and October plans. And all those things could still prove true this week -- but not if we play the way we did tonight and they play the way they did tonight.

This one looked raggedy from the moment Country Joe West's gift out on Jimmy Rollins couldn't spring Lawrence from a jam. The Phils hit the hell out of most anybody who showed up, and these weren't cheapies -- those shots by Pat the Bat and Utley would have been out anywhere, and Ryan Howard's tracer almost went through the outfield wall. Meanwhile, while they were doing their Ut-most, we looked off at the plate (substitute Conine for Alou in the "Missed Hanging Breaking Ball That Could Have Changed Complexion of the Game" file), deplorably lackadaisical in the field, pissy in the dugout, overly chummy in the bullpen (get back topside, Wagner) and, eventually, outnumbered in the stands. About the only sight I enjoyed was a glimpse of an apparently mobile Endy Chavez (who sure looks like he'll get a chance to claim right field, now that the flu and youth have set Milledge back) and the return of Lo Duca, who was in midseason form when it came to barking at C.B. Bucknor and glowering at anyone who rubbed him wrong, a list that eventually included most everybody.

The Phillies, for all the fight they showed tonight, are battling not just us but time -- and time may prove their toughest antagonist. They have to go on an enormous run, starting right now. We just have to stay afloat. Same goes for the Braves, last seen demolishing the Marlins. You wouldn't think either of those teams can go on such a run, seeing how they've gagged on every conceivable chance to make up ground this summer. On the other hand, you wouldn't think we'd survive the June and July we endured, yet somehow we did. We'd like a relatively bland, excitement-free trek to October, but this has been a season for strange doings. And when Schoeneweis was ducking beneath tracer shots, it was hard to find much comfort in stretch-drive math. Tomorrow is another day. A better day than this one would be nice.