When I took my seat at 8 p.m., nine minutes before the scheduled start time, I hadn't known that Paul O'Neill had already thrown what would be the only pitch of the night.

Here's an approximate chronology of how 56,000 fans were taken hostage for two hours:

• 8:15 p.m.: Tarp is brought onto the field, despite no rain

• 8:30 p.m.: After a steady drizzle, Bob Sheppard announces that the game could be delayed for "45 minutes or more," that there will be further announcements, and that the game "WILL BE PLAYED," followed by some disclaimer like "as soon as possible."

• 8:40 p.m.: The JumboTron airs YES network's Yakeeography about the 1996 Yankees. Such a different type of team back then, one that had to get through the more star-studded Orioles and Braves. Still hard to believe Wade Boggs was a postseason platoon player and Tino Martinez didn't even start against Tom Glavine in Game 3 of the World Series, despite 155 games played during the regular season. (Tino hit .188 in 15 postseason games in 1996, didn't even crack .275 in any of the next four playoff series through 1998.)

• 8:45 p.m.: Fans are getting antsy, and text messages abound to friends watching on TV. Word is that they're shooting for a 10 p.m. start, but a stronger storm is due around 11 p.m. Logic says that if they're not gonna start in a drizzle, for fear of not finishing, they're not gonna start at 10 p.m. with a storm due an hour later.

• 9:40 p.m.: Tarp comes off the field to a raucous cheer. Surely they've committed to starting (and finishing) the game. Many minutes pass, but no sight of any player warming up.

• 9:55 p.m.: Tarp goes back on the field. It's not raining. A fool could sense that something major is coming, and that this game will not be played.

• 10 p.m.: Word spreads that the game has been postponed till 1 p.m. Thursday, giving people who cannot attend a weekday afternoon game 15 hours to sell their tickets. Yankee Flu spreads throughout the Stadium — plenty of sick days a comin' — but countless thousands are gonna be stuck with expensive tickets they can neither use nor sell on such short notice.

• 10:10 p.m.: Bob Sheppard, whom we haven't heard from in about an hour and a half, tells us what everyone at home already knows: the game has been postponed till Thursday.

• 10:15 p.m.: Concourses and subways begin to jam as 56,000 people head for the crowded exits, and their way home, at the same time.

In all, a horrible set of circumstances, and the question remains: If MLB wasn't going to risk starting a game (at 8 p.m. with zero to little rain) because of what was to come, why wait till 10 p.m. to postpone the thing (with zero to little rain), because of something worse known to come?

The B-D station was jammed right after the game, so I had to kill some time to even get on a train. When I got off the subway at 72 Street on the Upper West Side around 11:30 p.m., it was pouring so hard I had to take a cab the couple of blocks home. It was pouring like mad, and hasn't stopped in the 90 minutes since. This game never had a chance to be played, and 56,000 fans were held hostage for two hours.

(NOTE: I'm headed to South Florida in about six hours. Back Monday night, and I hope to recap what I expect to be a Yankees ALDS series victory, but we'll see. As the New York Times pointed out, the Yankees have fared better in the ALDS when they lose the first game than when they win.)