Dr. John

Game 68 - Mets

Mets 8, Twins 1
Record: 38-30

Now that's more like it. I knew the Mets were still capable of this kind of win, and I said so this afternoon, but even I was starting to wonder where these wins were.

A pleasant but unsteady 2-0 in the 6th became an eminently more comfortable 4-0 when Paul LoDuca hit a two-out, two-run single -- the likes of which had been a curious stranger in these parts for weeks. When Pedro Feliciano allowed yet another inherited runner to score in the 8th, he not only tarnished John Maine's rock-steady performance, but he allowed the demons to start knocking at the door of our collective psyche. It's the kind of thing to start me drinking. More. And nobody needs that.

And then, out of nowhere, Ricky Ledee crushed an up-and-over pitch up and way over the wall in right-center. The flood gates opened, and the climate in Mets Township turned breezy with many a deep exhalation. 8-1 feels good, really good, I now remember.

In truth, it was a well put-together game all around for the Metmen. The Twins had to come up with an array of defensive gems just to keep it close. But what made the difference here was that instead of ruing these early missed opportunities after failing to secure the lead down the stretch, the Mets kept fighting throughout. 15 hits, eight runs, one win.

Now we recall that it can be done. Next step: remembering that it can be done on a nightly, or at least nearly nightly basis. With Jorge Sosa facing Johan Santana tomorrow night . . . [gulp] . . . we're left to hope against hope for an end to the predictable recoil.