Top of the first. After Reyes pops out, Murphy's on first, Wright's up. Howie says Wright has lashed one down the right field line.

ALL RIGHT! GO MURPH! SCORE!

Murph winds up on third, Wright's on first.

WHY DIDN'T MURPHY SCORE? WHY IS WRIGHT ONLY ON FIRST? HOWIE MADE IT SOUND LIKE A DOUBLE!

Delgado up.

TOTAL DOUBLE PLAY COMING UP. I CAN'T BELIEVE WE HAD FIRST AND THIRD, ONE OUT AND WE WON'T SCORE.

Delgado singles, scoring Murphy, Wright going to third. Beltran up.

BELTRAN'S BEEN ON FIRE...WHICH MEANS I'M EXPECTING TOO MUCH FROM HIM HERE. HE'LL STRIKE OUT. AND I'LL BET DELGADO LOAFED TO FIRST.

Beltran walks to load the bases for Church.

CAN WE STOP WITH THE CHURCH REHAB PROGRAM? HE'S SUCKED SINCE HE CAME BACK. WHERE'S TATIS? GEEZ JERRY!

Church launches a grand slam.

YEAH! YEAH! ALL RIGHT RYAN! YEAH! NOW OF COURSE HE'S GOING TO GO BACK TO SLUMPING BECAUSE A HOME RUN DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING FOR THE LONG TERM, IT'S JUST A LUCKY SWING.

Castillo grounds out. Schneider up.

GOD IT WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE TO HAVE KEPT A RALLY GOING. THAT'S THE PROBLEM WITH HOME RUNS. THEY STOP EVERYTHING DEAD. OLLIE'S NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO PITCH WITH A LEAD. SCHNEIDER SUCKS. WE ARE SO SCREWED.

Schneider homers.

ALL RIGHT! GUESS IT WOULD BE TOO MUCH TO ASK PEREZ NOT TO MAKE AN OUT, BUT THAT WOULD ONLY BRING UP REYES AND HE NEVER DOES ANYTHING WITH TWO OUT AND RUNNERS ON.

Perez flies out.

SIX-NOTHING...NOT BAD. WHAT A SHAME WE'RE NOT GOING TO SCORE ANY MORE AND AFTER SUCH AN UPLIFTING WIN LAST NIGHT WE'RE GOING TO HEAD INTO THE PHILLY SERIES WITH SUCH AN AWFUL LOSS. THE BULLPEN IS SO DUE TO IMPLODE.

Not quite three hours later, the Mets complete a smooth 9-2 victory over the Brewers.

SWEEP! FANTASTIC! WOO-HOO! BUT I HOPE OUR TACKING ON LATE RUNS DOESN'T FIRE UP THE BREWERS FOR OCTOBER IF WE SEE THEM AGAIN. IT COULD BE AN '88 DODGERS SITUATION COMING BACK TO BITE US. AND WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME FOR EVEN THINKING ABOUT OCTOBER? I HOPE WE DON'T LOSE TOO BADLY TO THE PHILLIES THIS WEEKEND.

One of the unfortunate side effects of being a Met blogger is no matter how hard you try to keep yourself from doing it, you rehearse posts in your head as the game nears its climax. Thinking about Daniel Murphy and Jose Reyes, about Endy Chavez at the plate and in the field, about David Wright in the field though not currently at the plate, about Nelson Figueroa and Duaner Sanchez and Brian Stokes and Pedro Feliciano and Joe Smith and finally Luis Ayala, I kept falling back on "valiant," which they'd surely been. One problem with "valiant" is that it's pretty shopworn; another is that it generally implies defeat. But that's where we seemed to be in the 10th, with Ayala pitching on essentially one leg, barely able to follow through and increasingly unable to hit the strike zone. There was Brad Nelson (whose physique is classically Brewer) nearly hitting one out for the tie, and the accursed Gabe Kapler working a walk, and then Rickie Weeks almost ending the game with a screamer down the line. There's no "W" in "valiant," I thought gloomily, and you can't spell it without the "L." I realized there was a title for a blog post in there somewhere, and was prepared for the grim task of finding it.

Except Ayala somehow wiggled free, managing to bait an overeager Weeks into swinging at a final pitch in the Miller Park dirt. Just another heart-in-the-throat New York Met win.

Early in the game, I told Emily I hoped Jonathan Niese didn't read the papers, because then he might not know that the Met brass were divided on whether the lefty-devouring Brewers were really the best matchup for him. They weren't: At first Niese's biggest enemy was a self-inflicted case of nerves, and he briefly got his Bannister on in tiptoeing out of trouble in the second and third, but that fourth inning was concentrated essence of ugly, a tattooing that he won't soon forget. One start isn't a career, of course, but against the Brewers Niese was more Brett Hinchliffe than Nelson Figueroa. Speaking of Mr. Figueroa, there he came riding to the rescue out of a bullpen whose members have somehow morphed from untouchables to untouchable. Figgy would have even held Niese's unlikely lead under intense pressure if the Brewers hadn't dropped their second parachute of the game into the Bermuda Triangle between short, left and center. (Fortunately, they balanced that with two horrible slides that led to key outs and amusing rants from an increasingly agitated Keith Hernandez.)

I mean, seriously: If you pegged our bullpen to begin this series with zero earned and six hits over 10 innings against that Brewer team, please tell me you're reading this after buying your Million for Life ticket. And if you did buy that Million for Life ticket (which costs $30 -- isn't that too much for the suspension of disbelief required to play the lottery?), use the proceeds to buy some beers for some Mets, will ya? Like every member of that bullpen. Like Carlos Beltran, who ought to plow into the home-plate ump every night. Like Endy, delivering sac flies and rifle throws when one of each were required. Like Daniel Murphy, who increasingly deserves one just for being Daniel Murphy. Like Jerry Manuel, who left Nick Evans in when the situation seemed to call for Murphy, preserving him for later. And, of course, like Ayala, everybody's favorite one-legged temporary closer. Which, finally, brings us back to this post's odd title. Hey, if Luis Ayala can coax three strikes out of a busted groin and a vanished release point, I'm sure he can contort "valiant" until it's got the right consonant.