PHILADELPHIA – The $10.9M-a-year hoagie and steak delivery boy doesn’t take tips. What a guy. Not only does he carry the Met offensively, but free lunch to the clubhouse.

Vince Piazza makes the pickup at Pudge’s in Norristown, and his son Mike brings in the pregame vittles every time the Mets are at The Vet, where he has hit more home runs (16) than any place not named Shea or Dodger Stadiums.

Outside right field, a hole in the ground bigger than even some in the Mets’ lineup marks the spot of the Phils’ new stadium, if they can ever force Piazza to abandon home plate in the old one. By 2004, he might still be standing, bat-cocked, at home plate of Veterans’ Stadium, implosion devices all around him, refusing to allow his home-sweet-home-away-from-home to become a parking lot.

To do that job, they might bring in Jeff D’Amico and the Mets bullpen, although they don’t work cheap, certainly not as cheap as any sarcasm they inspired by the sky-high blowing of 4-1 and 7-6 leads created by two Piazza three-run homers in successive innings. As for the sandwiches, the Mets ended up with an 8-7 loss that could have spoiled any appetite, superstars’ and devout fans alike.

“You figure we would knock the wind out of their sails when we came back a second time,” sighed Piazza. “We take a stop forward and a step back, the story of our year so far.”

On a six-RBI night, it’s enough to make a guy want to scream, not for the first time this year, either. “I’ve had a few,” Piazza said after swinging and missing at a screaming Jose Mesa 3-2 cutter to end the game. In a season of low energy, we at least had high drama last night when Mesa walked Edgardo Alfonzo on four pitches with two outs in the ninth, then went 3-0 on Piazza.

“He threw two sinkers in, broke my bat on one,” said Piazza. “And then threw a 95 mile-an-hour high cutter.

“If he brings it down six inches, I got a shot at hitting it out. I chased the ball out of the strike zone but you can’t get caught with your bat on your shoulder.”

The Mets have been caught for half a season riding on their star’s shoulders, all the way to 41-42. Piazza crushed a first pitch, at-the-waist Randy Wolf changeup with two on and one out in the sixth over the backdrop in left center, hit a low outside Carlos Silva fastball over the right-field inner fence before the bullpen Jamie Cerda and Scott Strickland gave over a game that seemed destined to be won by a superstar’s will.

But the only thing inspiring about any will this season is that the Mets will find a way to disappoint.

“At least we seem to be getting the offense going,” shrugged Piazza.

If Mo Vaughn keeps providing the protection Piazza hasn’t had for a season and a half, the presumed visible signs of wear and tear could turn out to be the same-old premature panic.

It was 96 degrees at game time, over 90 for the third straight night. But Piazza wasn’t sapped, until the bullpen played the saps.

“There’s a supplement, chromium magnesium, that allows your body to better retain fluids,” he said. “Here, at least you have the cool tunnel you can go between innings. In Florida, that dugout is an oven.”

An appropriate place for a team whose playoff chances already look cooked, whose best hitter’s brain is frying behind a mask, smoke equal to that off his bat pouring out of his ears in frustration.