When I became a father, I had no idea how violent it would be. I’m not talking about child abuse. I’m the victim here. My toddler daughter would just randomly come up and bite me. Or hit me in the groin. Stomp on my foot. A hug would turn into an eye gouge. We would happily be watching an educational episode of “The Beverly Hillbillies” (American Culture 101) when, in the blink of an eye, she would turn and take a swing at me. Thank God I don’t have enough hair to be pulled.

Which leads us to the Mets. You turn on SNY, to enjoy your lifelong passion of baseball and follow your favorite team. The game progresses, with things going smoothly, when bam―Aaron Heilman gives up four runs before you can finish yelling at the TV, “For the love of God, get him outta there!” It feels just like a punch in the eye. Carlos Delgado comes up with runners on second and third and one out, and weakly flails at three straight pitches. A shot to the groin. Oliver Perez can’t throw strikes and gives up six runs in less than an inning. That one’s a foot stomp, an eye gouge and a quick jab to the face. An umpire blows an obvious call. Does Willie Randolph come out and argue, lighting a fire under his team? Pan to a shot of the dugout with the placid, expressionless manager staring off into space with a montage playing in his head of all the times he went to Beefsteak Charlie’s with Mickey Rivers and Oscar Gamble. A kick in the shin.

But something is different with the Mets now. The pain is not there right recently. They’ve won seven of nine games and three series in a row. The offense is scoring runs in bunches. They’re pulling off dramatic, come-from-behind victories. Jose Reyes is on fire. Pedro Martinez is back. Perez is… well, let’s forget that one. Carlos Beltran has been driving in runs. Luis Castillo has not only hit the ball out of the infield but has three home runs.

One day in the park, I was pushing my daughter on the swings. It was a beautiful summer day, with nothing but blue skies and not a cloud in sight. We were both lost in a daydream when she turned back to look at me and said, “Hey Dad, I’m doing a good job of not punching you in the face.” “Yes,” I replied. “Yes, you are.” And lately, so are the Mets.