AMERICA AT LARGE:After a disastrous loss of form, the METS finally got to sack their manager but made an undignified mes of the process, writes George Kimball

THE PERP walk is a uniquely American institution in which an accused criminal ("the perp" in copspeak) is paraded past the television cameras, usually in irons and preferably already clad in an orange prison-issue jumpsuit, as he is led from the paddy wagon into court for arraignment, or, sometimes to his new lodgings at the local hoosegow.

While the origin of the perp walk probably coincided with the invention of the Speed Graphic, it has become very much a part of the television age, and serves a twofold purpose, in that it serves to bolster the image of the constabulary while inflicting the maximum possible humiliation on the accused.

And when (on a New York television programme this week), the Post columnist Mike Vaccaro likened Willie Randolph's summer of '08 to "a long, public perp walk", the analogy could not have been more apt.

Randolph is, or was until a couple of days ago, the manager of the New York Mets. A former second baseman for the crosstown Yankees, Randolph was the toast of the town two years ago when the Mets won the National League East by a whopping 12 games before self-destructing in the playoffs.

Last September Randolph presided over one of the more stunning collapses in the annals of major league baseball. With 17 games left to play in the season, Randolph's team held a seven-game lead. Even after improbably frittering away that comfortable cushion, the Mets still could have earned a playoff berth with a win in their final game, but on the last day of the season the Florida Marlins scored seven runs before the home team ever came to bat. The Mets lost 8-1 to cap their spectacular late-season flameout, and no one would have been surprised had Randolph been fired the next morning.

The meltdown not only cost the team as much as $10 million in potential playoff revenues, but millions more they might have gained in season-ticket sales for both this season (their last at Shea Stadium) and next year, when they will be moving to their new digs across the street at Citi Field.

But to the surprise of many, the general manager, Omar Minaya, instead bestowed a somewhat tentative vote of confidence on his skipper, announcing Willie would be back to manage the 2008 season - albeit with a brief to make the playoffs, or else.

Reports of the manager's imminent demise had dogged Randolph since opening day this year. The Mets struggled coming out of the box, and they are still struggling, treading water with a disappointing sub-500 record. Among their divisional rivals, only the hapless Washington Nationals have a worse record.

Randolph's supporters in Met-land have pointed to the injuries that have plagued the team this season (and to the apparent collapse of the formerly reliable bullpen ace Billy Wagner), while his detractors have claimed he had so lost the confidence of his players that his support in the clubhouse had been hopelessly compromised.

As in most other sports, particularly when it comes to mid-season fixes, it's a lot easier to fire one manager than to fire 25 players, and for the last few months Randolph has performed like a man facing a death sentence. On at least two occasions the front office convened press conferences to announce he wasn't being fired.

Bubbling beneath the surface of this ongoing soap opera has been an unspoken racial subtext.

A native of the Dominican Republic, Minaya built his baseball reputation on a keen eye for scouting baseball talent in previously obscure backwaters of several Latin American nations. When the Mets ran away with their division two years ago they were viewed as a model for the future of baseball. Minaya's facility for collecting Latino stars unquestionably boosted the fan base in a city in which 27 per cent of the population is of Hispanic origin.

The current roster includes 18 Latino players, including eight from the Dominican Republic alone, and Randolph's defenders frequently noted - though they didn't dare note it very loud - that this had complicated Randolph's task by creating cultural and linguistic barriers that would challenge any manager.

The situation was further complicated by the fact Randolph is an African American. On several occasions this year when the Mets appeared to be on the verge of canning their manager, the New York Times columnist William Rhoden (whom we accurately described a few weeks ago as "the Black Voice of the Grey Lady") has ridden to the rescue with columns attributing Randolph's imperilled situation to racial motives.

The merest hint of this accusation appeared to make Minaya (and owners Fred and Jeff Wilpon) so gun-shy that they repeatedly backed off. It is hardly a stretch to suggest the Mets hierarchy found the prospect of being accused of discrimination so daunting that, if anything, Randolph's race probably prolonged his job tenure.

And when it finally came time to pull the trigger this week, the Mets didn't exactly cover themselves with glory. The death-watch squad had convened at Shea last weekend in the expectation that the team might finally bring down the axe, but Randolph managed both games of a Sunday double header before departing for the West Coast. Minaya assured both the press and Randolph himself that the manager's job was safe.

The very next night - and after Randolph had managed the Mets to a 9-6 win over the Angels that pulled them within a game of the elusive .500 mark - Minaya convened a meeting at the team hotel in Anaheim to inform Randolph his services were no longer required. The announcement came at approximately 3am Tuesday, East Coast time. Most of the media were back in New York, and the eyes of the sporting world were focused on that night's concluding game of the Celtics-Lakers NBA finals, thereby ensuring a minimum of scrutiny.

The team rather adroitly shielded itself from criticism in its choice of a successor: Jerry Manuel, named as "interim manager" to replace Randolph, is a Georgia-born African American of Hispanic descent. (Not even Bill Rhoden could get mad about that.)

Still, even those who had been calling for Randolph's head seemed surprised by the bungling manner in which it finally played out.

"I know the perception is that the way it was handled was disrespectful," Minaya told Rhoden. "The reason it was handled quickly was out of respect for Willie."

Did he really say "quickly?" This was more like waterboarding.