All is right with the baseball world. The Mets have assumed their rightful place of honor as kings of the National League.

Bless you, Mike Hampton. Timo Perez. Mike Piazza. Al Leiter. All who contributed to the NY Mets' first trip to the World Series since 1986, bless you.

I tried to warn you, Will. It didn't have to end this way. But to prevent CVS from running out of Kleenex, I have no desire to prolong your agony. I'm not going to mention the stupidity of starting Daryl Kile in Game Four or pinching hitting Mark McGwire with first base open or simply pitching Rick Ankiel.

In fact, I have come to offer you a second chance to jump on the Mets bandwagon before the subway car leaves the station.

The time for petty bickering between the Midwest and New York is over. Because Will, admit it, your last column was mere bravado. You didn't really believe your side had a chance, did you? And deep down in my heart, I actually believe St. Louis and its surroundings to be a gee-Will-ikers swell place. Plus it provides me with beer.

So, it's time to unite forces. There is a higher power now to oppose. God willing, we'll have the courage, strength and spirit to meet pure evil on the field of honor and win the day.

The New York Yankees.

As this column is being written, Seattle is leading the Yankees, but it doesn't matter. The Yanks are making the Series. You can bet your last giant Arch on it.