Woonderson!

They're one person, I've decided. It's just easier that way. Charlon Woonderson is the best darn IF/OF/PH we've had since I don't know when. Wearing No. 184 (or sometimes 418), he comes in wherever and whenever required and gets the job done.

• Need to get a guy on? Woonderson!

• Need someone to drive him in? Woonderson!

• All out of second basemen? Woonderson!

• Is a great play in order? You know who to call.

Rando's Commandoes, who first reared their beautiful heads in mid-April, are still at it halfway through the season. Willie's bench has not let him down, certainly not Charlon Woonderson, the personification of versatility…squared. He has made us forget about ol' whatshisname, not to mention that other one who disappeared though I hear he's coming back Saturday.

This team ain't flawless — sometimes it's downright flawful — but you can't blame the reserves, particularly the ones (I mean one) who have (has) been playing with regularity lately and accomplishing things with assuring consistency. The Marlins learned about all the manager's men Friday night, particularly in the eighth when Woonderson, with an assist from co-commando Ramon Castro, manufactured the winning run. With Beltran and Martinez around, the inclination is to follow the money, but where would the Mets be without their afterthoughts?

Woonderson is terrific. Castro, even if he doesn't have the cachet of a Tank, gets timely hits and receives the ball competently. Jose Offerman, though his being here seems like a gag, hasn't been retired yet (two hits, one hit by pitch). Brian Daubach bears a striking resemblance to Vince Vaughn and he was the only who looked remotely like a swinger on the West Coast. I hear Gerald Williams likes children and animals and is a friend to everybody even if he isn't a shortstop.

Not a bad group considering they've been pressed into service in unexpected spots and practically none of them was as much as a slow roller in our collective consciousness when the swallows returned to Port St. Lucie in February. We were all about McEwing and Phillips and Valent and Galarraga and Ron Calloway and Kerry Robinson and maybe even Luis Garcia (I just found out he opted for free agency at the beginning of June, satisfying my curiosity over why he wasn't called up to play some first).

Oh…and Cairo. I keep forgetting about Cairo, returning from witness protection at last. That reminds me:

Go down Victor

Let me play first

Regarding other precincts, it's imperative that we thrash the Fish the rest of the weekend. They're allegedly the team to beat in this division. I don't think so but why take chances? I feared them after they peeled themselves off the Soilmaster at True Playa and took two from the Braves. Might that have been the big turnaround the Baseball Tonight types have been telling us has been on its way since April? Not to read too much into two games, but our winning or, better yet, sweeping (as if we ever win on Sunday afternoon at home) this series would go a long way toward keeping that from happening.

They're a talented bunch but they don't seem that deep. I'll take Woonderson over the 99th Greatest Met of the First Forty Years and whoever he's waving a towel with these days. In any event, we have, for at least a night and a morning, pawed our way above the Phillies. Would be nice to hit the Fourth in third. We're getting to the point where it's beginning to matter.

Not to look ahead (“Today is our most important game of the season because it's the one we play today” or words to that effect –B. Valentine) or too far off to either side, but the Nationals are presenting a problem. I listened to them play the Cubs Friday afternoon. If they lost, we could've been at that moment 7-1/2 games out of first. But if the Cubs lost, we'd pick up ground on them, the only non-East Wild Card contender. This is getting complicated, but it beats the simplicity of being, say, 30-49.

Anyway, the Nationals won as they tend to do often, something beyond our control until Monday. But there are Fish to filet in the meantime. I'll be in the mezzanine Saturday afternoon cradling my Carlos Beltran bobblehead doll. Actually, we get most of the doll when we pass through the turnstiles, and then they'll mail out the missing 5% of his right bobblequad when it's completely healed.