On this night at the opera. Not that I wasn�t already succumbing to my more lachrymose tendencies, but what opened the floodgates good and wide up in my eyeballs where I couldn�t believe what I was seeing was the SNY camera shot of a mother holding a son of maybe five years old. They were smiling and they were cheering and I realized something about that kid: If this happens, he won�t have to grow up with this. To clarify the pronouns, the first �this� was the no-hitter Johan Alexander Santana was closing in on with (I think) one out in the ninth. The second �this� I seriously doubt I have to specify. Because it existed like hell for 50 years and two months and it has ceased to exist as of June 1, 2012, the night of the real and true First No-Hitter in New York Mets History. Of course it�s an upper-case affair. It�s an up-in-lights affair. It�s an above-the-marquee event that will forever front this 51st season of New York Metropolitan baseball. Like Bill Haley & The Comets; like Bo Donaldson & The Heywoods; like Huey Lewis & The News. Like the First No-Hitter in New York Mets History & The Rest of 2012. Whatever comes along, the Mets have a pass. 29-133? Oh, that�s not gonna happen, but you know what I mean. Every season in which the playoffs don�t seem particularly possible, I make a little bargain with Whoever might be in a position to do something about it: Give me a no-hitter and I�ll accept anything else that befalls the Mets. As if I had a choice. As if, for 8,019 games � the vast majority I have witnessed in one form or another � I had something to say about this most holiest of grails eluding our grasp. As if I could have revoked all those miserable clean singles. As if I could have turned Tarzan Joe Wallis around at the players entrance of Wrigley Field. As if I could have told Leron Lee to take off the Fourth of July forty years ago and have himself a leisurely Independence Day. As if I could have convinced Mr. and Mrs. Qualls to do no more than hold hands. You�re a Mets fan. You don�t really need me to be specific about who and what I�m talking about here, either. Those names � Wallis from 1975, Lee from 1972, Qualls from 1969 � used to mean something to us. Paul Hoover, Kit Pellow, Cole Hamels, Ernie Banks, Wade Boggs, Keith Moreland, Chris Burke�the whole miserable club. Those names mean nothing now. The only name that matters now is Johan Santana.