One day in college, I slept late or had too much work to do or for some other college-y reason couldn’t make it out to a Georgetown basketball game at the MCI Center on a Saturday afternoon. I watched it from the couch in my living room, otherwise empty as my roommates were all at the game. I don’t remember the exact situation now, but the game came down in part to a goaltending call against the Hoyas. When it happened, I was certain it was the wrong call, and I stood and yelled and stomped around my living room like a crazy person.

Then they showed the replay. Totally goaltending. The ball had reached the peak of its arc and was on its way down when the Georgetown player swatted it into the seats. He broke the rules. Ref made the right call.

My roommates returned home a bit later and we got to recapping the game. They explained that from the student section they had a great view of the block, and they could say for sure that it was a b.s. call. I told them the replay made it pretty clear it was the right call but they didn’t believe me. They saw it with their eyes, up close.

There was no TiVo then and none of us really felt up to arguing after a Hoyas loss, jaded though we were by that point. I shrugged and they shrugged too, and soon enough we got to our usual early-evening Saturday habits of playing video games and watching The Big Lebowksi for the billionth time.

But I think about that a lot now when I talk to Mets fans, especially so early in the season.

I bluster on all the time about how our eyes can deceive us. In that afternoon, I have a pitch-perfect example: My roommates, smart guys with strong vision all, legitimately saw something that didn’t happen. I don’t think they were just trying to convince themselves of it so they could blame the ref instead of the then-miserable Hoyas for the loss. I don’t know the science behind it, but I’m pretty sure at some point in the pathway between the eyes and the conscious part of the brain some chemical bias altered reality and showed them a b.s. call.

We all do this all the time, I fear. We see things the way we hope to see them, regardless of if that’s the way they really happened. Mets fans certain that Mike Pelfrey is crazy watched him melt down on the mound again on Saturday evening, losing his cool and getting knocked around for 11 hits in five-plus innings.

Those of us who believe — or want to believe — Pelfrey’s early-season struggles are not mental so much as the byproduct of yielding too much contact watched a bunch of bloops and bleepers find holes and victimize the starter, the type of misfortune that tends to even out over time.

Some Mets fans somehow already know that Brad Emaus is not a Major League-caliber player, so when he whiffs wildly or dribbles out or botches a play in the field, they say, “See? Can’t you see it with your eyes? He stinks!”

Angel Pagan, doing all of the same things, gets the pass he earned by being an excellent Major Leaguer for the last season and a half. He is slumping; we know he can perform at the level so we see he is pressing or struggling or “just not seeing the ball well.”

Pedro Beato, we see, is fearless; he has the closer’s mentality. Bobby Parnell is lost.

You get the point, and it’s one I’ve already belabored plenty. I appeal to evidence more than appearances on this site because I am not a scout; my eyes are not trained to assess baseball players or teams, and even if they were I’m not certain I’d believe them. Most players look crappy when they’re playing crappily. Most players look awesome when they’re playing awesomely. We need lots of data to clearly distinguish the truly awesome from the downright crappy.

What we know about the current Mets is that they’re 5-11 and have endured an awful stretch. But 1/10th of the regular season does not provide enough meaningful evidence with which to draw any conclusions. Emaus and Parnell need more opportunities to show what they will or won’t do this season. Pagan and Pelfrey should be fine if they’re healthy. We shouldn’t go too crazy over Beato or Dillon Gee just yet.

This is all just a long-winded way of saying what I typically say: Absolutely nothing.