Anna Benson, who drove New York cuckoo for the usual 30 seconds last year, made a pathetic return to Queens last night. Mr. Benson was on the mound and the Mrs. had a nice seat behind home plate. She visits our town, she said, at least once a month, and why not: "He got traded, I didn't."

 

Anna's husband won 10 games for the Mets last year, and his eighth of this season last night when the Orioles took the Mets, 4-2. Mr. Benson hit a home run, too. He was so good that Anna couldn't help herself. What she needs to do now is wipe out her mouth with a resin bag.

 

"I'm actually feeling generous," she said after the game. "I was going to offer to send a case of K-Y Jelly to the Mets' clubhouse. For as many guys that are prepared to use it. Give me a number."

 

Anna was up to all her old tricks last night. Her husband sends one over the fence and here's how she celebrates it: "I was out puffing a cigarette (when he hit it). I was around the bathroom. I sat there the whole game and the only time he hits a home run I'm out there."

 

Mr. Benson was traded to the Orioles in January for Jorge Julio and John Maine and, one presumes, their wives. There will always be the impression that he was sent away because Anna was always around the bathroom.

 

The Saturday night the trade was announced I was courtside at the Garden watching Admin Brown play Not My Fault. There was a call from the office: Forget the Knicks, get to the East Side, Anna Benson is holding a press conference at her publicist's office.

 

What I wrote that night was "The Mets traded the wrong Benson." I called her the Queen of I Am (although I'm not quite sure what I meant).

 

Anyway, Anna wasn't amused. She sent me an E-mail making all sorts of interesting suggestions that I can't repeat in a family newspaper. I wrote back and told her to relax, that I was only kidding, didn't mean anything nasty and "besides," I ended it, "who knew you could read?"

 

For some reason, she didn't appreciate that, either. She E-mailed me a few times. I'm hanging onto them in case Mr. Benson makes it to Cooperstown.

 

Last night, she reached her field-level box seat at Shea about 30 minutes before Mr. Benson threw his first pitch. She didn't have anything nasty to say - maybe because I didn't introduce myself - and pooh-poohed the popular suggestion that there was any unpleasantness between her and the Mets' front office.

 

"They treated me like a princess tonight," she said. "They had somebody escort me from my car to the seats so I wouldn't be late."

 

She was wearing a print dress, somewhere between low-cut and scoop-neck, spaghetti straps and enough jewelry to fill a container of cream cheese. They weren't of great value, she said. "I like wearing stuff that won't get me robbed."

 

She's a kidder, sometimes, and early last night was one of those times. Does she still regret Mr. Benson being traded? "I don't cry myself to sleep any more," she said.

 

The Christmas party came up (it always will.) This was the kids' party, when she dressed up as Mrs. Claus, and bent over to give the photographers their Christmas present: "I was sitting up the whole time," she said. "But I'm a 34 Triple-D. You're gonna get cleavage no matter what I do."

 

So, no regrets? "I regret my dress wasn't shorter and more low cut."

 

That's when a gentleman, who introduced himself as Richie, opened a folder and asked her to autograph her photo. "To Richie," she wrote, "Anna Benson." The signature covered most of her uncovered bottom.

 

She posed for Sports Illustrated last spring, she said, "as one of the hottest moms in sports." And said FHM magazine will be naming her one of the 100 sexiest women in the world.

 

She introduced her children, Haylee, 5, and P.J., 9. "I was playing a part (last year)," she said. "I'm still playing a part. At the end of the day I'm a wife, a mother, a businesswoman."

 

This just in: By the end of the game, she was the same old Anna.

classy

I'd still do her.

what a hoe

I'd still do her.

 

Agreed. Same goes for Jessica Simpson. They may both be airheads, but they have killer bodies.