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.

This is a call to arms. Though the Mets appeared to have that in abundance, we can spare no resource. It is time for the Yankee reign of terror to end.

No more Jeter. No more Mariano. No more Bernie, Roger or Andy.

And, no more King George.

Death to tyrants! Sic semper tyrannis. We must all hang together, because the Yankees have been hanging us separately for the past four years, but really the past 100 years.

There's a billboard in Times Square sponsored by Adidas. It reads, "New York Yankees--25 World Championships--We'll Try to Do Better Next Century." I say, burn down the Adidas shop on Mass. Ave. for flying this filth.

But more importantly, this is a new century. We have an historic opportunity to install a new leader of the baseball universe. It doesn't have to be Tino anymore.

Baby, it's Timo Time.

The Mets have clearly demonstrated their superiority of talent over the past month. Piazza is stinging the ball again, hitting everything hard and far. After a season-long absence, Robin Ventura has found his stroke, giving protection to the great Piazzaman in the lineup. And sparkplug Timo Perez is always on base. Always.

The real strength of this ballclub is its pitching. The lefty-lefty duo of NLCS MVP Hampton and Leiter is dominant. When it's time to go to the bullpen, nobody is deeper than the Mets, who can toss out Rick White, Turk Wendell, John Franco and a surly Armando Benetiz to slam the door.

This is a team worthy of a baseball championship. They have been through ordeals of every sort throughout the 1990s. They have overcome their test of fire(works) in Vince Coleman and their test of stupidity in Kenny Rogers.

The Yankees have demonstrated that they are ripe for assassination. The lineup that used to work the count so carefully and nickel-and-dime teams to death is no longer so consistent. Joe Torre cannot throw out Pettite, Clemens or El Duque and always receive a command performance. Their once-mighty bullpen is down to Jeff Nelsen and the great Mariano Rivera.

In other words, the Amazin's can do this. Ya Gotta Believe. Will, you can be a part of this. Heck, you Red Sox fans should be a part of this too.

Because believe me, Piazza has a little treat prepared for Roger Clemens. Just pray that he starts at Shea.

And so I write before you a vindicated baseball fan. I promised last week that the Mets would advance. They have. Now I ask for your support in our most sacred quest.

Let us all give the Yanks a real Bronx cheer.