“FUCK!” I screeched when Francisco Lindor rolled over one to second in the seventh inning, and if I do say so myself, I was in midseason form.

If 11 o’clock newscasts were what they used to be, the Minnesota Twins could have filled half of Warner Wolf’s Plays of the Month via their unintentional antics at frigid Target Field on Monday night.

I turned on the Mets game a couple of minutes after my Metro-North train starting trundling south out of Waterbury, Conn.

No doubt as the Mets’ traveling party gathered for its team Seder on Saturday evening in Sacramento, one of the elder statesmen at the table — my guess is bench coach John Gibbons — noted that the 3-1 score by which the club lost in the afternoon was the first 3-1 loss the Mets had [.

Mets 3, A’s 1, game called after four and a half innings because your recapper was weary and collapsed into his bed.

Oh, right. Winning streaks don’t continue into eternity.

A day after Monday night’s freeze-fest, the Mets played a game that had been moved to Tuesday daylight hours and yet somehow took place in even less pleasant conditions.