The games are over. The hot stove hasn't lit yet. This is the part of the year when a Mets fan's mind wanders — to the shoebox in the closet. Last week we opened 1962, the year of wood grain and wonder. This week it's 1963 — and if 1962 was the year the Mets arrived, 1963 is the year they started to look like a real ballclub. Fifty-one wins instead of forty. Still last place, still lovable, still the Polo Grounds — but now with a Duke in center field. Every Tuesday we open on