I must admit to cherishing the plight of the best baseball team money can buy. Yes, those big, bad Bronx Bombers are languishing in fourth place in the American League’s Eastern Division, and their chances of making the playoffs are as realistic as a last-second Hillary Clinton comeback.

As a lifelong Yankees hater, it does my soul good to see them struggle (especially in light of the many barbs I’ve suffered over the years at the hands of Peppercom’s Bronx Bomber fans. To wit: "Why don’t you root for a real baseball team?").

That said, the Mets are providing their usual roller coaster of a ride. Always talented and always troubled, the Mets almost always play with our affections. In fact, I liken them to a former Miss Jersey beauty pageant contestant I once dated who, every now and then, would let me know how it could be with her. Most of the time, though, she would withhold her charms. And, like the aspiring beauty queen of yesteryear, the Mets are little more than a big tease (they gave us championships in 1969 and ’86, respectively, but left us panting the rest of the time).

Still, give me the underachieving, underdog Mets any day of the week. It may not be as rewarding as rooting for baseball’s highest paid team but, image-wise, there’s something inherently cooler about being a Mets fan.