To all the Yankees fans, sports-haters, and people who vehemently believe sports journalism & blogging should contain some traces of objectivity: you should probably stop reading now. Because the Mets beat the Cincinnati Reds 10-2 yesterday, clinching the NL East and a playoff berth for the first time since 2006, and that means IT'S TIME TO BREAK OUT THE CHAMPAGNE, MOTHERFUCKERS. WUBBA LUBBA DUB-DUB!

SPRAY THE FANS!

MORE CHAMPAGNE PRONTO!

MAKE DEGROM DISGUSTING!

THERE IS NEVER TOO MUCH CHAMPAGNE!

COLON IS CHAMPAGNE-PREPARED.

DO WE HAVE ANY CIGARS IN THE HOUSE?

NOBODY SMOKES A CIGAR LIKE CESPEDES.

DAVID WRIGHT HASN'T FELT THIS GOOD SINCE...DEAR GOD, HE JUST REALIZED HE'S NEVER FELT THIS GOOD EVER.

DOES ANYONE HAVE A CHILD WE CAN THROW AROUND? LOOKING AT YOU, MURPH.

It feels like only yesterday that Mets fans had accepted a solid-but-average season, and were putting all their faith in a little yellow parakeet—fast forward to a tear-stained Wilmer Flores, a bunch of high-quality trade deadline deals, and some Matt Harvey innings drama, and suddenly we have the most surprising, joyful team in the National League. They have the hottest offense in baseball, the best hair cuts, the best closer, the most likable superstar, and most charismatic veteran.

"It doesn’t get any better than that, to hit a home run in the clinching game and celebrate with the guys in the clubhouse, celebrate with the fans who made the trip here to Cincinnati,” David Wright, the aforementioned most likable superstar, said after yesterday's victory. "We deserve this, the fans deserve this, the city of New York deserves it. I’m glad we could deliver for them."

"I’m not going to take this for granted," he added about clinching the playoff spot. "When I was laying on my back rehabbing for a few months this summer, this is what I dreamed of. This is what motivates you, this is what pushes you, this is what drives you...I’ve said it from Day One, I bleed orange and blue."

“We’ve been waiting a long time, haven’t we?” manager Terry Collins, the oldest manager in baseball, said while soaked in champagne. After years of asking fans to be patient and let the rebuilding process (hampered from the start by the Mets' financials being tied with Madoff) work, things have finally come together for the underdogs.

"This is the best day of my baseball career, by far,” said ace Matt Harvey, who apparently lobbied to stay in the game longer yesterday, innings-limits be damned. “We’re here to stay. We’re here to do this more often. It’s what we’re about."

Faith and Fear in Flushing has a wonderful piece that sums up a lot of the frustrations of the last decade, and the importance of players like Flores.

For a long time we’ve labored under the burden of bad stories. There were the twin collapses that taught us to fear things that go bump in the September night, and then the financial reversals that taught us to assume we were being lied to on December mornings. The Mets, still shell-shocked from back-to-back disasters at Shea, moved into a modern park just in time for a savage economic downturn and the revelation that the coffers were bare. Both they and we took up residence at Citi Field like squatters in an stripped and abandoned palace, sniping about obstructed views and Dodger shrines, watching terrible baseball and listening to worse excuses.

We were a dumpster fire, a pitiable farce, a national joke. The athletes paid to be Mets failed and were discarded or succeeded and were subtracted anyway, sometimes exiting with an anonymous knife in the back. They left if they could, most of them; we stayed because we had no choice, we were born to this and it was too late to choose otherwise. And so for six years we subsisted on the little we had. There was nostalgia, correctly diagnosed by Don DeLillo as a product of dissatisfaction and rage. There was the ragamuffin insistence that glasses were 1/10th full. And there was hope — wild and desperate hope, idiotic and indomitable hope. Hope, a bucket constantly filling with water even as it runs out the massive hole blown in the bottom.

But those bad stories have lost their power over us. They dissipated into phantoms a little after 7 tonight, exorcised by Matt Harvey and Lucas Duda and David Wright and Jeurys Familia. We’ve rediscovered that September can be wonderful, and repopulated our dreams with memories that will make us laugh and clap and shed a happy tear come winter.

Local politicians, celebrities, and former Mets had nothing but good things to say:

One more time: