ESPN

Bobby Valentine announced his 2012 Boston Red Sox coaching staff, and it certainly has a lot of Mets influence.

One-time Mets prospect Alex Ochoa will serve as first-base coach and Tim Bogar will serve as bench coach. Bogar previously served as Boston's third base coach.

Holdover hitting coach Dave Magadan also played for the Mets. The staff also includes Jerry Royster as third base coach and Bob McClure as pitching coach.

David Waldstein of the Times, who covered Bobby V's Mets, tweets:

Funny thing about the Red Sox coaching staff. Valentine managed 1B coach Alex Ochoa and bench coach Tim Bogar with Mets ... Mets cut Bogar in spring training '97 which marked beginning of tension between Todd Hundley and Valentine. Hundley and Bogar were tight... and Hundley lashed out publicly, saying that it would never be forgotten (as Bogar sat on top of lockers and listened in)... They were mad that Bogar was cut so late in spring training making it hard to hook up with other team (he did, in Houston).

Read more at ESPNBoston.com.

Looks like Bobby Valentine is getting back into major league managing.

ESPN's Karl Ravech tweets: "Sources say Gene Lamont no longer a candidate to be Red Sox manager. Valentine not yet offered job but appears imminent."

UPDATE: ESPNBoston.com's Gordon Edes tweets: "Bobby Valentine will become 45th manager of the Red Sox, according to sources. He is expected here midafternoon Wednesday."

Like seemingly everyone else around these parts, I know Bobby Valentine pretty well. When I was the Mets beat writer for the Post back in 2000 and 2001, Bobby V was the team's manager.

I was 25 when I got the job and covering Valentine was like going to graduate school for a reporter. You always had to know who he was talking to and what he was talking about. Any success I've had since, can be largely learned to the experience I gained over those two seasons.

It wasn't easy covering Valentine and we had that our moments when we didn't see eye-to-eye. He was nearly twice my age and felt he knew more than me about the sport (which, of course, he did), while I was an aggressive reporter from a feisty tabloid.

More than once, I had to remind him that asking a question is not not necessarily questioning a move. Over the two years, I never became "one of his guys," but I was also not in the smaller camp that hated him. We had what I would describe as a solid relationship.

It was relaxed enough that when he met my wife at the Thurman Munson Dinner that he held two fingers in front of her face. I was a little befuddled by this, but my wife was quick and said, "Yes, Bobby, I can see." I think Valentine's nature is playful.

He likes to be liked, which is probably his biggest drawback. If there are 10 people in a room and nine think he is a genius, he is concerned about the 10th. From my experience, the 10th person is usually wrong on Bobby V. But V can't let it go.

Valentine is the smartest manager I have ever been around. At The Post, my sports editor often wanted me to question moves that Valentine made, but there was a problem with that. From the press box in the seventh inning, what looked liked a bad move -- bringing in a lefty for instance -- was often explained with how it impacted three corresponding tactics. In my two years, I could only remember one time -- taking Glendon Rusch out in some random game in Montreal -- where I didn't feel Valentine's reasoning lived up to his decision.

Valentine was always getting into it with someone. He and Rickey Henderson had their moments, too, and brought me into their tete-a-tete. In May of 2000, Henderson hit one of his trademark off-the-wall singles. After the game, you first go into the manager's office. Valentine tried to cover for Henderson, as much as he could.

When Henderson spoke, he said, if given a do-over, he would have done it again. When I relayed this to Valentine to find out his reaction, he stood up from his desk and just went to the bathroom.

The next day, the headline on my story said: "Rickey: I'll loaf again." (In fairness, I wrote in the lede that Henderson "styled," but an editor changed it to "loafed" without asking me and then put it in the headline). Rickey was not happy with the story and wanted to talk to me about it. He got very mad, saying if he were not such a nice guy it would be me on my behind. It got so loud and heated that the Associated Press wrote about it, calling it a "shouting match," though all I did was listen. The Mets would release Henderson later in the day, which happened to be Valentine's 50th birthday.

Another time, the Mets were going to send down Jersey Bobby Jones. In trying to find out if Jones was going to Triple-A, I asked some innocuous question of Jones and he went on a classic rant, calling Valentine "a joke." Jones was sent down, but things were so dysfunctional between GM Steve Phillips and Valentine that Phillips would call Jones back to the majors later in the year.

You guys all know Bobby, too. He's been a part of New York for a long time now. If he is part of the Rivalry in 2011, it will be a whole lot more interesting.

Joe Girardi is probably the second smartest manager I've covered. But he is bland, by design.

Valentine is much harder to cover. And he would make the rivalry a lot more fun. It needs him. Gene Lamont would not bring the same buzz.

A gracious Steve Phillips took partial responsibility for his sometimes-stormy relationship with Bobby Valentine during their shared Mets days. Phillips added that Valentine would be a stellar choice as Boston Red Sox manager.

“He and I, people always want to point to our relationship," Phillips, now a morning host on Sirius/XM's Mad Dog Radio, told ESPNNewYork.com. "There were times when it was really good. We had a lot of success together. At times our relationship wasn’t always the greatest, but I will say: Forever I kind of always blamed Bobby for that. And I recognize now that a big part of that relationship, I damaged with my stuff that got in the way of it. Forever I thought it was Bobby’s stuff. He brought whatever he did to the relationship, but part of the reason it wasn’t a good one all the time was my fault and I want to acknowledge that. I wasn’t the best manager for him sometimes.”

Read more of Phillips' comments, as well as comments on Valentine's candidacy from old friends Jim Duquette, Joe McEwing and Steve Trachsel, in the full story here.

Bobby Valentine will meet with the Boston Red Sox later this week about their managerial vacancy, ESPNBoston.com's Gordon Edes reports. Writes Edes:

The news of Valentine's entry into the Sox managerial derby comes just hours after the Chicago Cubs hired one-time Red Sox candidate Dale Sveum, who was the only person to get a second interview with Sox brass.

"We're not dissatisfied with the candidates we have,'' Red Sox general manager Ben Cherington said Thursday. "We feel like these are unique circumstances here. ... We're very happy with the candidates. Our next manager could very well come from among those candidates, but we're not ruling out adding candidates."

Read the full story here.

We asked Mets bloggers, a couple of our ESPN friends and an ex-Mets employee to reminisce about Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Feel free to share your stories in the comments section below.

Michael Baron, Metsblog
October 25, 1986 was my mother’s 41st birthday, so my father was obligated to take her out for dinner rather than go to the game. Instead, he sent me with my cousins to Game 6 of the World Series, which I knew was do-or-die.

We were seated in our usual Loge Box 472A at Shea Stadium, the first box in fair territory in left field. It was an emotional night through nine innings, but as Dave Henderson’s go-ahead home run hit the scoreboard just beneath us in the tenth, I had never heard Shea grow so quiet. However, just a few minutes later, I had never heard Shea roar so loud.

When Bob Stanley knocked Mookie Wilson down and Kevin Mitchell scored the tying run, strangers around us were yelling, screaming and hugging. By the time that little roller squeaked through Bill Buckner’s legs, those same strangers began to kiss each other.

From those seats, it was hard to see the ball roll through Buckner’s legs, but as the Loge began to shake and the roar of the fans grew to the loudest I had ever heard in that building, all this six year old knew was something extraordinary had happened and the Mets were playing tomorrow.

Linda Cohn, ESPN anchor
Did I really think the Mets were going to do the unthinkable as I sat on my couch in my home in Astoria, Queens?

Yes, that’s where I was. Astoria, Queens, located just minutes away from Shea Stadium. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t give up. I didn’t shut off the television. Hey, no matter how bleak I never shut off a game that involves one of my teams when there is always a chance.

I'll always remember my doubt and disappointment disappear when that ball went through the wickets of Buckner. So much for sitting on my couch. I jumped straight up and neighbors dropped by to peel me off the ceiling.

Taryn Cooper, KinersKorner
I just remember sitting at the edge of my mom's bed, watching the end of the game. I was 10 years old, my dad was actually AT the game, and my mom was sleeping or at least trying to (she's not a sports fan).

I was in charge of taping the games on the old VHS recorder, and I usually edited the commercials. Of course, I was in shock after the Red Sox took a 2-run lead, I forgot to reset the tape! I realized it after the rally had taken charge, then of course, the end. I was 10, so a lot of this was a daze. But I do remember that my dad called my mom a little bit later, to tell her he had met some people at the game who couldn't make Game 7, but had four tickets.

Guess who was going to Game 7? **THIS CHICK!!**

Dennis D'Agostino
I was the assistant PR director for the Mets then.

When Henderson swung and the ball passed over the infield, I knew it was gone and I remember saying to myself, “Hit something! Hit a plane, hit a bird (this was a year before Dion James did hit a bird!), hit something!!” What it hit, of course, was the Newsday sign beyond the left field fence.

When I got down there, Rick Cerrone of the Commissioner's Office called down to the clubhouse phone (remember, no cell phones, e-mails, text messages, Tweets or twits back then) and said that we were to bring Davey Johnson into the interview room as fast as possible (while the Sox were still celebrating), and that would take care of our interview room obligations (in other words, no players). Then the Sox would take it over.

I distinctly remember that when Gary Carter came up I remembered thinking that if there is a God in heaven that He won’t allow this guy, who played so hard and waited so long, to make the last out.

I think the whole Kevin-Mitchell-in-the-clubhouse thing is a bit overblown. Mitch WAS in the clubhouse, but if you watch the tape he’s on deck during Carter’s at bat, so it wasn’t like they had to hold up the game to go look for him.

What I will remember most of all was the scene in Davey’s office when Keith Hernandez came in after making the second out -- Jay Horwitz was sitting in front of the big TV set, cross-legged on the floor. Keith was behind him in the blue Adidas director’s chair, a Budweiser in one hand and a cigarette butt in the other.

Charlie Longo, one of our clubhouse kids, was sitting at Davey’s desk. Darrell Johnson, the old Red Sox manager who was now working in our minor league department, was sprawled on the couch.

I was hovering in the doorway. I saw the wild pitch (soundless) on a little monitor outside near the big bat rack, then raced into Davey’s office to see Keith and D.J. hugging and motionless in front of the TV, with me, Jay and Charlie jumping and screaming.

Then the phone rang again and it was Cerrone, this time screaming, "Mookie and Knight [in the interview room] if you win!!"

The rest, as they say, is history.

Howard Megdal, Lower Hudson Mets Blog
At age six, I actually saw Game 6 about 12 hours after everyone else. At my mother's behest, I was sent to bed while my father recorded the game on our VCR.
Obviously, I couldn't wait to see it in the morning, and he couldn't wait to show it to me. Two days later, I got to stay awake on a school night and see the Mets capture their last World Series championship. I still remember racing with my father up to their bedroom, jumping up and down and screaming to wake my mother. I like to think my daughter and I will do the same thing to my wife someday.

Greg Prince, Faith and Fear in Flushing
When Backman led off, I was filled with hope. He was Wally Backman, .320 hitter, and I trusted him to start a rally. After Backman made out, I remained filled with hope because Keith Hernandez was up and I couldn't imagine Keith not coming through in a desperate situation. When he made out, I gave up.

When Carter got his hit, I refused to believe it was anything more than a tease. When Mitchell got his hit, I thought it was just cruel to keep the tease going. I didn't buy into anything until Knight's hit, because I assumed Knight was going to revert to his 1985 self (.218) and make the last out.

When he didn't, I was fully invested in the possibility the Mets could come back, but I also decided Mookie Wilson was going to let me down in some kind of cosmic throwback to his rookie year when I waited for him to become the kind of player Tim Raines was and all he turned out to be was Mookie Wilson. While my dark cloud of foreboding grew ever wider, Mookie jumped out of the way of Bob Stanley's pitch, the game was tied, and I fully stopped expecting the worst.

For a fan who subscribed heart and soul to "You Gotta Believe," it took total apostasy toward the Mets' creed to find myself a born again believer.

Gus Ramsey, ESPN producer
I watched the game in the common room of my dorm at Rollins College.
When Mookie was up I remember saying to my roommate, and fellow Strat-O-Matic baseball player, Troy, “We really need a catch-x (Strat-O-Matic for potential wild pitch or passed ball) here.”

And moments later Stanley threw the wild pitch.

Then when the ball went through Buckner’s legs I jumped up and ran circles around the common room with my arms in the air.

I still get goosebumps and giggle whenever I see that moment.

Shannon Shark, Metspolice
My friend Jim and I used to call each other the second the other guy's team was eliminated. Islanders/Rangers or Mets/Yankees.

I watched the first 9.5 innings in the living room with my dad, and then went into my bedroom to be depressed and wait for the call. It never came.

The next day Jim told me he had my phone number dialed except for the last digit.

Matt Silverman, MetSilverman.net
I had used the last of my savings to travel to New York from college in southwestern Virginia for the NLCS and the first two games of the World Series. Broke and preparing to be broken hearted, I sat in my friend's dorm room at Roanoke College in the bottom of the 10th inning, trying to think how I was going to make good on previously friendly bets I had defiantly doubled after the Mets went down two games to none.

Then bing, bam, boom, Kevin Mitchell scored on the wild pitch to tie it. Having grown up with the Mets in the 1970s, I knew that thoughts of impending victory usually resulted in crushing anguish. So I concentrated on Mookie Wilson. I'd always liked Bill Buckner as a Cub, but I liked him more on the Red Sox that evening.

Mike Silva, New York Baseball Digest
I fell asleep during Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. I woke up to hear my dad throw his Mets hat across the living room and talking to my mom about how they blew a great season. I was in that half asleep/half-awake mode, but the next thing I know is I hear my dad jumping after the Buckner error and saying "hello, Oil Can Boyd" after the play.

I can remember laying in bed and listening to my dad's emotions of the moment. I was just getting into baseball and that playoff run was what got me into the game.

ESPN's reporters remember what it was like to be at Shea Stadium for the Mets' amazing win over the Red Sox in Game 6 of the World Series on Oct. 25, 1986.

Tim Kurkjian
My game story for the Baltimore Sun was already in, and ready to go. And then the Mets made their miraculous comeback. I had seven minutes to rewrite the biggest game story I had ever written.

As if that wasn't hard enough, as I wrote from the auxiliary press box down the left-field line, and it was as if someone emptied a keg of beer in the upper deck above me in the celebration.

I threw myself on my computer to keep it dry, but I was dripping wet in beer as I replaced the first eight paragraphs of my story with eight new ones.

I had no time to craft some really cool lead, and my hair was all wet. I reflexively wrote the word "Amazin'" for the lead, and moved on.

Jeremy Schaap
I admit it. Like Keith Hernandez, I gave up. I didn't go into the clubhouse, light up a Marlboro and pop open a Bud, but, after he flied out, my hopes were all lost, too.

With the Mets down to their final out and trailing by two runs, my father and I got up out of our seats, turned our backs to the field and headed for the door leading out of the SportsChannel suite.

I didn't want to see the Red Sox celebrate on the Mets' field -- and he didn't want me to see it, either. I was 17 and the Mets hadn’t won a World Series since Oct. 16, 1969, when I was seven weeks old.

My father was 52 and he had never seen the Red Sox win a World Series. We were fine with that second streak continuing, but certain that it was about to end.

Then Gary Carter singled -- the Kid always seemed to come through -- and my father and I looked at each other, silently communicated a "Let's see where this goes," and returned to our seats.

Then there was Mitchell, then Knight, then the wild pitch/passed ball. And, then, finally, ludicrously, the Wilson grounder.

I wish I could remember what my father and I said to each other at that moment, but I can't. Probably just, "Wow." There was nothing else to be said.

What I do remember was the trip down the elevator to the ground level. We got on and were joined by the Honorable Raymond Flynn, the All-American guard from Providence College who had become mayor of Boston, and the eminent A. Bartlett Giamatti, the president of Yale who had become president of the National League.

On the elevator, though, Giamatti was wearing a different hat -- figuratively, at least -- that of devastated Red Sox fan. The president of the NL had just seen the team representing his league pull off the greatest comeback ever in a World Series, forcing a seventh game.

You might expect him to be gratified. Or at least ambivalent. He wasn't.

It is possible that I am misremembering his exact words -- but I would swear I am not. "F---ing McNamara,” the Renaissance scholar said angrily, loudly. "Where the f--- was [Dave] Stapleton?"

Barry Stanton, news editor
I was writing for the Journal-News. After Dave Henderson hit a HR off Rick Aguilera in the top of the 10th –- and jogged backwards down the first base line -- to put the Sox ahead, the fan came out in some of the Boston writers in the press box, almost understandably for the ones who had grown up cheering for a jinxed team they believed would never, ever win a World Series.

The guy next to me even called his father to share the moment.

"Dad, can you believe it! Did you ever think we’d see it?"

Looking down at the Red Sox dugout, with Roger Clemens and Oil Can Boyd waving towels in celebration, I remember thinking that it just didn't seem fair because the other team -- the Mets -- had been, by far, the best team in baseball that year.

And then, down to their final out, things starting happening.

Carter. Mitchell. Knight. Mookie at the plate. Stanley's wild pitch. And then Mookie's roller through Buckner’s legs. Absolute bedlam.

In the clubhouse, we found out that Keith Hernandez, who had made the second out in the bottom of the 10th, spent the rally in Davey Johnson's office, drinking beer. And that Kevin Mitchell, naked from the waist down, was on the phone making plane reservations home when they called him to pinch hit for Aguilera, and that he'd quickly yanked on uniform pants (but no underwear) and run to the plate.

And I remember an angry Darryl Strawberry, storming through the happiest clubhouse I'd ever seen, because he'd been taken out of the game in a double-switch.

I still remember the column I wrote, played off the Dylan Thomas lines, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

And we stayed in the Stadium club that night until 4 am.

Remarkable night.

Jayson Stark
Some nights in October blend into all the other nights. But not this one. I vividly remember going to the park for the Philadelphia Inquirer thinking I was about to see something almost no living human had ever seen -- the Red Sox winning the World Series. And then there it was, happening before my eyes.

So because I was in the newspaper business and we had this concept known as "deadlines," I had that tale all written, a story no one in that press box had ever written before, the story of the Red Sox winning the World Series. I'd sent it in. It was late on a Saturday night. I was practically done for the night. And then THAT inning happened. And everything changed, of course. So the story I'd waited a lifetime to write was never going to run.

I remember sprinting down the ramps at Shea Stadium, dodging fans, just about knocking people over, because I had to get to that clubhouse. I remember spending 10 minutes down there, grabbing anyone who appeared, and then sprinting back up the ramps and writing stream of consciousness for the next 20 minutes. And then it hit me what I'd just seen, a moment in baseball time we'd be talking about all my life.

But the other thing that hit me was: I was supposed to close on my new house that Monday, two days later. So I needed that World Series to be over. But of course, it didn't end that night. And then it didn't end the next night, because it poured.

And so I had to hustle back to Pennsylvania, go to the closing, then hustle back to Shea for an incredible Game 7. How 'bout that daily double? And all because of Bill Buckner, and Bob Stanley and all their Red Sox co-conspirators.

Willie Weinbaum, feature producer
I didn't cover it, but was there as a fan in the upper deck, with my dad, Sam (a Cubs fan).

As the Mets got hit after hit, everybody was on their feet. From the upper deck, far down the left-field line, when the grounder left the bat, it looked like an easy out. But for a split-second, when it got past the bag, because of Wilson's speed, I was thinking, maybe he can beat it out. Then it got through Buckner and everyone, it seemed, was screaming in unison, "I don't believe it! I don't believe it!"

Exhilaration replaced resignation -- how could the Mets have won the game and extended the Series, when Boston had wrapped up both? For my dad and me, it was tinged with sympathy for Buckner, who had been the definitive warrior for the Cubs.

We were also seated behind a friend and colleague, Ouisie Shapiro, who was the writer of the show "This Week In Baseball," for which I was later a field producer.

Ouisie, who has won Emmy Awards for her work as a documentary writer and producer, is a lifelong and devout Red Sox fan, born and raised in Boston.

With two outs, she was standing and crying in disbelief as the Red Sox fans' interminable wait was ending. Then it was simply shock as everything fell apart.

My dad and I will never forget -- and neither will Ouisie -- that in the moments after Mookie Wilson's grounder got by Bill Buckner, when we got on the No. 7 subway to head back to the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where all of us lived, Ouisie sat with her head down, in her hands, just above her lap, and didn't say a word the whole long ride home amid the jubilation on the packed train.

She had suffered a heartbreak that left her speechless. She has since appeared in documentaries about her beloved team and has experienced the team's redemption and the lifting of "the curse."

My dad and I didn't just feel sympathy for Buckner, but for Ouisie and all of the Boston fans.

My dad was to go in 1984 to the World Series in Chicago after the Cubs got up 2-0 on the Padres in the NLCS. Leon Durham's parallel episode to Buckner's and Steve Garvey's heroics ended that plan.

More than a quarter-century later, my dad still follows the Cubs with great passion and still suffers and still waits. Ouisie's team has won two World Series, while the team from Chicago's North Side hasn't even been in one since 1945.

Steve Wulf, ESPN The Magazine
I was with Sports Illustrated, but I was not at Shea that night because my wife and I were at a night wedding. Before we left the house, we had dressed our four-month-old boy, Bo, in a Red Sox onesie, and left him in the care of our baby-sitter, Agatha.

I followed the game on a transistor, and left the wedding in the sixth inning. When I got home to relieve Agatha, Bo was fast asleep. But as the game played out, and the Red Sox went ahead in the 10th, I thought to myself that some day he would want to know he watched the Red Sox win their first Series in 68 years.

I take him out of the crib and prop him up on my lap. As he blinks his little eyes at the TV, I look down at him and notice that Agatha, a Mets fan, had changed him into a Mets onesie. Before I could change him back into his Red Sox outfit, the wheels came off. (Agatha was from Barbados, where there is a culture of voodoo.)

So don't blame Buckner or Stanley or Gedman or McNamara or Schiraldi. Blame me. I lost the '86 Series because I was a sap.

Over the next week, Mark Simon will reminisce here about the 1986 postseason. The 1986 Mets won the World Series in an exhilarating fashion. Here's a capsule look at Game 3 of the 1986 World Series, played on this date, 25 years ago.

Game 3: Mets 7, Red Sox 1
Down two games to none, the Mets were in desperate need of a momentum shift in the early part of Game 3 of the 1986 World Series. They got just what they needed for their biggest win of the season to this point.

The best thing that could happen for the Mets was that they never gave Red Sox fans a reason to cheer. Leadoff hitter Len Dykstra hit a 1-1 pitch from cocky Red Sox starter Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd (who'd said the day before the game that he would "master" the Mets) a couple of seats inside Fenway Park's right field foul line and the Pesky Pole for a home run.

It was the Mets' first extra-base hit of the series (the NBC telecast noted they were only the third team to go without one in the first two games, joining the 1926 Yankees and 1939 Reds). They'd add a bunch more.
Wally Backman and Keith Hernandez each followed with singles and Gary Carter's line-drive double to left center field made it 2-0, with runners still on second and third and nobody out.

After a Darryl Strawberry strikeout (his 17th in 29 postseason at-bats) came the game's most bizarre play, an 11-second sequence of significance.

Ray Knight hit a ground ball to third and it looked like the Red Sox would squelch the Mets' rally.

Hernandez got stuck in a rundown when the throw came to home plate, and was retreating to third base as Carter was coming toward the same bag.

But the Red Sox completely messed things up. Rich Gedman tossed the ball to third baseman Wade Boggs, who was in front of the base and unable to make a play on Hernandez, who ducked around him and slid back into third base.

Carter was a step away from third, but turned and dashed back to second base at the last possible moment. Boggs made a short throw to shortstop Spike Owen, who was unable to do anything about Hernandez, so he chased Carter back to second.

Owen ran Carter back three-quarters of the way, but then stopped, turned and looked at Hernandez. That gave Carter just enough time to dive back into second base ahead of a late throw from Owen to second baseman Marty Barrett.

Instead of being an out away from getting out the inning with two men on base, Boyd had to deal with a bases-loaded situation.

He got flustered, and gave up a two-run single to center to designated hitter Danny Heep two pitches later. It was 4-0 after half-an inning and the Mets had all they would need.

It took starter Bob Ojeda, who was traded by the Red Sox to the Mets that offseason, seven pitches to get through a 1-2-3 first inning and his success in that frame carried through the next six.

Ojeda give up a run-scoring single to Barrett in the third, but with two men on base, struck out Bill Buckner on a high fastball (via NBC, Buckner was toughest in the majors to strike out in 1986, statistically) and got Jim Rice to ground out on the next pitch to end that scoring threat.

Buckner would get another shot as the tying run at the plate in the fifth inning, but Ojeda coaxed another ground out to end the inning.

Boyd settled down, but the Mets got to him again in the seventh inning. Carter singled in two more runs to make it 6-1 and an RBI hit from Knight in the eighth inning against reliever Joe Sambito completed the night’s scoring.

Ojeda gave the Mets seven very good innings, the second time he’d won a big game for the Mets this postseason.

Turning Point
The turning point of this game actually took place the day before when manager Davey Johnson gave the team the day off rather than have them go through a between-games workout and media day at Fenway Park. Players said afterward that this move took much of the pressure off the team and made them a more relaxed group for Game 3.

What They Wrote
"When Dennis 'Oil Can' Boyd takes the mound, he likes to think of himself as Satchel Paige. But on Tuesday night, he looked more like a page out of Red Sox history."
-- Lisa Nehus Saxon, Los Angeles Daily News

"Call it whistling past the graveyard.

"Just as old elephants trundle off into the jungle to be all alone and lemmings hurl their little bodies en masse into the sea, left-handed pitchers with a death wish usually come to Fenway Park.

"Usually.

"But Bobby Ojeda, discarded less than a year ago by the Boston Red Sox, who thought that he would forever be haunted in this southpaw's chamber of horrors, a lefty's graveyard, returned to tame the beast."
- Fran Blinebury, Houston Chronicle

"The old place was so quiet you could hear the ghosts of Babe Ruth, Tom Yawkey and Eddie Collins walking about."
- Ray Sons, describing the late innings, Chicago Sun-Times

Quotes of the Day
"The only person who got mastered tonight was Boyd."
-- Len Dykstra
"He made a big mistake saying what he did. We wanted to stick it up his nose. We want him to pitch Game 7, too, so we can stick it up his nose then, too.”
-- Darryl Strawberry

""I just screwed up. I heard the crowd roar when I first turned to second. I looked back. By the time I turned back, it was too late."
-- Spike Owen, describing the botched rundown.

"Those were the Mets you saw out there tonight. The real Mets."
-- Davey Johnson

For Further Reading/Viewing
"Batting Stance Guy" Gar Ryness was able to impersonate the stances of 14 members of the 1986 Mets in under a minute. You can check out his impressions here.

Stats To Remember
1-- Dykstra is the only leadoff hitter in postseason history to have a four-hit game, with one of those hits being a home run. Dykstra, who never had a five-hit game in his major league career, had four four-hit games in 1986, most on the Mets and tied for second-most in the NL behind Padres outfielder Tony Gwynn’s five.

2-- The Mets have had four leadoff home runs in their postseason history. Dykstra’s is the only one to come on the road. The other three were by Tommie Agee (1969 WS Game 3), Wayne Garrett (1973 WS Game 3), and Jose Reyes (2006 NLCS Game 6).

Despite their minimal postseason experience, comparative to some teams, the Mets four leadoff home runs are tied with the Indians for second-most in postseason history, trailing only the Yankees, who have six.

3-- Ojeda had five ROAD starts during the regular season in which he pitched at least seven innings and allowed one run or fewer, tying him with Mike Scott, Rick Rhoden, and Tom Browning for the most such starts in the NL.

The Binghamton Mets will play the Portland Sea Dogs, the Double-A affiliate of the Boston Red Sox, on Aug. 20 at Fenway Park.

Here's the announcement:

The Boston Red Sox announced today that their Double-A affiliate, the Portland Sea Dogs, will host the Binghamton Mets at Fenway Park Aug. 20 in the sixth annual Futures at Fenway presented by Xfinity minor league doubleheader. The B-Mets will play the Sea Dogs in the opening game of the doubleheader beginning at 1:05 p.m. and will be followed by a Triple-A matchup between the Pawtucket Red Sox and the Syracuse Chiefs.

Tickets and concessions will be significantly discounted in comparison to the Major League pricing to accommodate fans of minor league baseball. Ticket prices will start as low as $5 and range up to $30. Tickets go on sale to the general public through the Boston Red Sox Saturday, Feb. 12. Fans can visit www.redsox.com or call (877) REDSOX-9 beginning at 10 a.m.

The event, which began in 2006, brought minor league games back to Fenway Park for the first time since the 1977 Eastern League All-Star Game. The last known regular season minor league contest played at Fenway up until 2006 was in 1966 when Pittsfield (Red Sox) hosted Pawtucket (Indians).

The B-Mets will embark upon their 20^th anniversary season April 7 at Akron. Binghamton will celebrate its home opener Thursday, April 14 at 6:35 p.m. versus the New Hampshire Fisher Cats. Mini-packs and season tickets for the upcoming 2011 season are on sale now. To purchase or for information, call the B-Mets at (607) 723-METS or visit www.bmets.com.

The Mets and Red Sox met on Tuesday night at the winter meetings, ESPNBoston.com's Gordon Edes confirmed. And while Carlos Beltran's name came up, it remains a secondary, fallback option for that organization.

Meanwhile, a Mets source says of Beltran to the Red Sox: "It's all the same. There's nothing."

Could the Red Sox acquire Carlos Beltran from the Mets? After all, he has gimpy knees and is owed $18.5 million.

Apparently, Boston is at least talking internally about it.

A person with knowledge of the Red Sox's plan tells ESPNNewYork.com the club has "to explore all options and he could theoretically be an option. No potential deal at all -- just looking for outfield help and discussing all kinds of options."