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

Toward the end of the 1995 season, I found myself unusually enchanted by the Mets. It could have been their smiles, their personalities, their promise.

Or it could have been that they were winning regularly for the first time in a Koonce age.

Nothing succeeds like success, and if the Mets were down so long that they could hardly see .500 for half-a-decade, their late-year surge to the cusp of respectability — 34-18 to finish 69-75 and tied for second — was exhilarating. For all the sincere lip service we pay sticking with our team when it is aching with one nameless need after another, we really like winning sometimes. It may not be noble, but it sure feels good.

There's nothing wrong with liking something because it's good. When I get right down to figuring out why I'm so enamored of what I've deemed the No. 3 Song of All-Time, that's the best answer I can divine.

Why do I love "Roll To Me" by Del Amitri? Because it's a great song.

That kind of conclusion will get you a D on an seventh-grade book report. "I liked 'Treasure Island' because it was good. It was good because I liked it." (I only skimmed "Treasure Island," actually, and was lucky if I pulled a D.) But I gotta tell ya, after seven months of digging up happy little nuggets of memory to explain why I fell for widely dismissed and/or forgotten hits by artists to whom not too many cling fiercely, it gives me pleasure and relief to tell you I love a song because it deserves to be loved.

It would be fitting if I ended the Flashback right there. Del Amitri would. Del Amitri doesn't need a lot of time to achieve greatness. Del Amitri's best-known song ran all of two minutes and twelve seconds. That's 2:12 on the label. That's 132 seconds in heaven. You can't read a boxscore in 132 seconds. But you can hear "Roll To Me," be taken aback by its beauty and brilliance and then use some of your leftover seconds to cue it up again. And again. And again.

That was me in the late summer and fall of 1995. I had to hear "Roll To Me" repeatedly. It got pretty decent airplay for a group with no particular stateside following, at least none of which I was aware save for Daily News music critic Jim Farber (who should get a commission for all the CDs he's sold me for twenty years). Hell, first time I went into the Great Neck Sam Goody to find Del Amitri's album, I couldn't find it. I looked under male vocalists. Del Amitri was a guy, right? You know, like Del Unser.

No, Del Amitri was a group, a band from Scotland. Best thing ever from Scotland. Sorry Bay City Rollers, you got served.

It would violate the spirit of "Roll To Me" to dwell too long on it. Two minutes and twelve seconds of song means it better get right to the point. And it does.

Look around your world pretty baby
Is it everything you hoped it'd be?
The wrong guy, the wrong situation
The right time to roll to me

Boom! No screwin' around by songwriter, vocalist and bassist Justin Currie. Hard time, love? I'm here. Talk about direct.

Look into your heart pretty baby,
Is it aching with some nameless need?
Is there something wrong and you can't put your finger on it?
Right then, roll to me

Y'know what I love about these lyrics? They are so adult. Drew Barrymore wishes somebody would write dialogue like this for her, never mind music and lyrics. "Aching with some nameless need" is so simple, yet so grown up. Not sappy, not assclown Michael Bolton boring and sterile. Just to the point.

This is not a song. This is half a phone call.

And I don't think I have ever seen a soul so in despair
So if you want to talk the night through
Guess who will be there

Praise Be to the gods of internal rhyme! "If YOU want TO talk the night THROUGH guess WHO"...I swear I'm in love with this pattern of speech. I do believe there are MCs who would envy that verbal beat.

So don't try to deny it pretty baby,
You've been down so long you can hardly see
When the engine's stalled and it won't stop raining
It's the right time to roll to me

For a song that got pretty hefty CHR and AC spinnage in the fall of '95, peaking at No. 10 in Billboard early November, I don't remember seeing the video all that much on MTV or VH1 (though I kind of recall Beavis & Butt-Head making fun of the band members in being rolled around town in a stroller like ugly babies or something). "Roll To Me" is a throwback to songs that required no video. "The engine's stalled and it won't stop raining"...can't you just see that in your mind? Can't you feel Del Amitri's object of consolation herself frustrated? The car not starting, the rain pouring down? Isn't that what songs should do at their very best, provide you the imagery on your own?

So Look around your world pretty baby
Is it everything you hoped it'd be?
The wrong guy, the wrong situation
The right time to roll to me
The right time to roll to me
The right time to roll to me

There. It's over. That's all you need, pretty baby.

My man Farber asked a simple question in the late '90s when the band released its greatest hits collection:

Why isn't Del Amitri the biggest band in the world? It may well be the best. Main songwriter Justin Currie erects verses and choruses of terrific beauty, linked by the sturdiest bridges this side of the George Washington. His band elaborates those tunes with pert guitar leads, hard drum flourishes and smart bass intrusions, finding hooks in every clang of a cowbell or strum of a six string.

Exactly.

I don't know enough about music to identify those instruments on command, but yes, I can hear them. There's the slightest hint of Latin flavor to "Roll To Me," pretty good for a Scottish trio. But it's not gimmicky. It's timeless is what it is. "Roll To Me" is my favorite song of the 1990s, but it could have been released in any decade in which I've been alive and it would have fit like a glove.

I gave "Roll To Me" its No. 3 All-Time ranking in 1997, less than two years after getting hooked on it. When I showed my original Top 100 list to a mildly interested friend, she was surprised that such a recent pick would land so high. She suggested I'd look back in a few years and regret the placement. I'm happy to report my initial instinct has held out. I've listened to "Roll To Me" a lot lately to prepare for this writeup and I love it every bit as much now as I did in 1995. Maybe I love it more because unlike the other, older songs in the Top 10, I have fewer instant associations of "this is what I was doing" when it came out. My feel for the pop scene, or at least the pop charts, was fraying by the time I was 32, but it was the right time for "Roll To Me," a song that doesn't require me to lean even a little on period context to enjoy it.

Del Amitri has never had anything else succeed on the level of "Roll To Me" in the United States, though as Jim Farber suggested, they have provided lots of worthy contenders. One track in particular that I picked up off The Best Of Del Amitri: Hatful Of Rain was "Kiss This Thing Goodbye." I put it on a compilation tape in 1999 and happened by chance to be listening to it on my Walkman on the LIRR returning from Game Three of the NLCS. The Mets had gone down 0-3 to the Braves and the song's sentiment felt most apropos (though the lip I was getting from some drunk that my black Mets cap proved I wasn't really a Mets fan kind of broke the mood).

When I posted my Top 500 last December, I expected some blowback and was actually kind of amused at the good-natured derision some readers expressed at my choices. That was fine, I was prepared for it. But when somebody actually left this comment...

I am a fan of your blog but your taste in music sucks. Sorry. Del Amitri?

...I was blown away. You mean somebody dislikes Del Amitri? Somebody dislikes Del Amitri enough to use them — not Vanilla Ice, not C.W. McCall, not Vicki Lawrence — as surefire evidence that my taste in music sucks?

Sorry pal. Del Amitri is proof that my taste in music is, once in a great while, exquisite.

The No. 4 Song of All-Time was heard at the end of July. The No. 2 record will be played at the end of September.

Next Friday: Grand. Simply grand.

...your declarations no longer make us laugh. You're to be taken seriously, because you've backed up everything you said.

OK, Pat Burrell. Dumb people may have referred to you as "once terrifying, now vaguely pathetic," but that was a while ago. Those people have been chastened, and never want to see you at the plate against us again. You're every bit the Met killer you once were.

For the vast majority of our existence, the Phillies were the team that should matter more than they did, the rival that wasn't and possibly never would be. In the last couple of years they've finally mattered standings-wise, but not competition-wise: We knew they'd revert to Philliedom, to punching the clock in their curiously listless way while their fans chanted for the Eagles. Somewhere along the line Aaron Rowand and Ryan Howard and Chase Utley and Shane Victorino and Jimmy Rollins -- great baseball players, ferocious competitors and stand-up guys all -- changed that clubhouse. Their Philies are very real, and this series' two black eyes, bloody nose and final knockout blow were the last bit of proof anyone could need.

For the series, Rollins went 9 for 19, 5 runs scored, 2 HRs, 3 RBIs. Utley was 5 for 15, 2 runs scored, 1 HR and 3 RBI. Burrell was 5 for 15, 4 runs scored, 3 HR and 7 RBI. And Howard was 9 for 18, 3 runs scored, 2 HR and 4 RBI. Goodness. That's an absolute beatdown.

As yesterday's game roared along (an absolute classic, though I get the feeling it won't be repeated on SNY), I suggested to an equally nervous Emily that maybe the Mets and Phils should just declare whoever won the Champion of the Universe and then go home until February. Should either or both of us make the playoffs (and after these last four days, that conditional is not just baseball superstition), it's hard to believe there will be a game this thrilling -- or exhausting. Apologies that this is late, but I went to bed at 8:30 and didn't stir until 7. A baseball apocalypse will do that to you.

Once Wagner gave up the home run to Pat the Bat, I knew we were going to lose. Whether it was fatigue or just a bad day at the office, Billy didn't seem to have it and it was painfully apparent this wasn't the day he was going to get a six-out save. (That's not a second-guess, by the way -- if not Wagner, who? There are no good answers for Willie right now.) The Phillies did everything right all series. They played with an amazing, un-Phillielike intensity, and they got all the breaks -- as teams playing at that level will and should.

At least the Mets' twin comebacks -- fueled by a maturing-before-our-eyes David Wright -- took some of the sting away. Yes, yesterday and the three days before that hurt like hell. But once El Duque fell behind 5-0, I think a lot us figured the Mets would throw in the towel, take their beating and slink off to Atlanta saying philosophical things. Instead they came out of the coffin all nails and teeth, throwing punches and roundhouse kicks and biting and clawing, and if not for some terrible luck for Aaron Sele we might now be celebrating our escape and saying that hey, for all that we're still four games up.

Didn't happen. We're two games up with another tormenter still to confront and no shortage of fears. OK then. Jimmy Rollins, my cap is tipped to you and your teammates. It's a pennant race again, with a month of anxiety and exhiliration ahead. Proportions -- and final outcome -- to be determined.