Fleeting fame

Ah, the swiftness of the unassisted triple play. It was a Mets’ ninth-inning rally, as the go-ahead run (Francoeur) stepped to the plate, that was brutally slashed at the knees as Eric Bruntlett leaped and knocked down 1, 2, 3 with just one grab.

By now, I’m sure you’ve seen the countless replays, the billion comments about how it is the third in as many years (wow!), the 15th all-time (nooo!) or the second game-ending one of all-time (you don’t say!). Still, the stunned look on everybody’s face is even more sweet.

It was hard to feel anything if you were anybody but Bruntlett at the end of yesterday’s game (except for maybe Chase, who arguably got an easy shot at the history books snatched from him on his day off). It’s the kind of play that leaves everyone — winners and losers — at a stand still with a “what just happened” look plastered on their mugs.

Great, great. Now to the real concern.

Lidge is a liability. If it wasn’t for the split-second change in fortune, he’d managed to let (assisted by an error) all the game-winning pieces into play for the Mets. And this is far, far, far from the first time.

How much longer do we let his inconsistent hand hold the ball in the clutch? Maybe that’s OK when you’re floating atop the NL East, but what about October? Hand over the task of the final out? The responsibility — one he took on with 40-plus saves notched in his belt less than a year ago — of closing out the World Series? I don’t think Manual is sleeping soundly on that thought.

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