One hundred twenty-five.

That was my guess six months ago, based on every statistic and scouting evaluation and gut feeling within my body. The 2006 Florida Marlins would lose 125 games, fielding what would surely be the worst lineup and pitching staff in the history of major league baseball.

Hell, how could they possibly do any better? Florida's $15 million payroll was the league's lowest, and any Marlin worth his weight (Josh Beckett, Mike Lowell, A.J. Burnett, etc.) other than Miguel Cabrera and Dontrelle Willis had been dumped . In their place was, well, liquid crud. Nobodies like Dan Uggla and Reggie Abercrombie. Has-beens like Matt Herges and Joe Borowski. Grade-C youngsters like Mike Jacobs and Chris Aguila. Minor league lifers like Matt Treanor.

Matt Treanor!?

"This is the worst team I have ever seen," I told a colleague at the time. "I mean, the absolute worst."

I was not alone. While on assignment for ESPN the Magazine at the Marlins' spring training facility in Jupiter, Fla., I spoke regularly with the handful of beat writers and columnists and radio and TV reporters following the club.

"A joke," said one.

"Pathetic," said another.

"Little Leaguers."

"Don't belong here."

"Embarrassing."

"Pathetic."

I took an unofficial poll. One writer thought 110 loses. Another said 115. A young radio reporter -- the wisest of us all -- settled on 95. "If a few things go right…" she started to say.

A veteran TV guy cut her off. "Things can't go right. They'll lose 110 games if everything goes right."

It was the surest bet since Mike Tyson-Steve Zouski. Even if the Marlins were to shock the world and play, say, .450 ball for the first three months, there inevitably would be the midsummer lull of performing in 100-degree heat before 376 fans in a run-down football stadium. "I'll admit that could be a challenge," Uggla told me over lunch at a Cheesecake Factory, where he was recognized by absolutely no one. "Hopefully we won't be in that position. Hopefully we'll be winners."

I laughed. Not outside, of course, but in my head. Winners? Yeah, right. The next day I stood behind the batting cage before an exhibition game and interviewed Joe Girardi, the rookie manager who surely, beneath his breath, would admit to hoping for 70 wins. Girardi had been around a long time -- a gritty former catcher who knew the truths of major league reality. There was a reason he won with the Yankees and lost with the Cubs; a reason Ken Griffey Jr. hits 40 homers a year and Mark Merchant is lying on a couch eating Ho Hos. It's called talent, and the Marlins didn't have it. Right, Joe?

"Our goal is the World Series," he told me.

What?

"I mean it," he said. "We enter this season with the same aspiration as any other team."

I peered closely at his features, desperate for a raised eyebrow or slight smirk or wink or nod or nudge or … something.

"Do you really mean that?" I asked. "I mean, your team has no…"

Girardi scowled. He knew the next word would be less than flattering, and he cut it off. "I've always believed that hard work, discipline, attention to details -- those are things that make a profound difference," he said. "Are we young? Yes. Are we overmatched? Maybe. But can we surprise people? I truly believe so."

I didn't. Upon leaving the Marlins after four days, I wrote a lead to my story that dumped on the club as a bunch of misfits running around like chickens with their heads chopped off. "These are the Marlins," I wrote. "Your Marlins. They are Willie Mays Hayes and Rick 'Wild Thing' Vaughn and Pedro Cerrano -- men who barely belong in Triple-A, not to mention the major leagues."

The lead never made print. Too harsh, I was told -- and boy, was my editor right. The Marlins -- your Marlins -- are not the potential baseball story of the year. They are not the potential story of the decade. They are the potential story of my lifetime -- the long-awaited proof that heart and desire and grit can actually prevail. Once 20 games under .500, Florida is now right at .500 and 3½ games behind San Diego in the wild-card race. The Marlins boast four rookies in the starting rotation, three rookie infielders, two rookie outfielders.

Uggla, the most unlikely MVP candidate in history, was a Rule 5 pickup from Arizona. Willis, superstud, is their third-best starter.

Most of all, there is Girardi. Turns out the BS he was spreading in spring wasn't BS after all. Turns out he truly believed that this team -- this wacky, wild team -- could compete with the best.

If only I could say the same.

Jeff Pearlman is a former Sports Illustrated baseball writer and the author of "Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds & the Making of an Antihero."