I broke news today, sort of. I heard that the Mets were signing Scott Hairston, so I tweeted it. I trusted that the people from whom I heard the news believed it wholeheartedly, but since I know the way these things often play out and am familiar with the game “Telephone,” I hedged the hell out of the Tweet with a full disclaimer before the news.

Adam Rubin, who is actually in the business of breaking Mets news and does a better job of it than pretty much anyone, confirmed the report later.

And so I contributed my piece to the nonsense that is offseason baseball coverage. I’m happy to say I’m now 1-for-1 in transaction-related scoops.

For what it’s worth, I also broke the news that Billy Wagner needed elbow surgery, way back when (only to have Mike Francesa read my report word for word on air without crediting me or SNY), and I was the first person to publish the news — on MetsBlog, at about 3 a.m. ET — that Willie Randolph had been canned.

That’s about it. I don’t intend to ever be in the business of breaking news with any real frequency, but when someone here hands me some or wakes me up with a phone call because I’m the most accessible person with a public forum, I’m happy to publish it. I recognize that’s probably a good way to increase my online profile or whatever, but at the same time I’m content to sit here writing about sandwiches.

I will say, though, that there’s one minor scoop for which I am directly responsible and have never been credited. I was the anonymous source that fed Matt Cerrone the details of the Johan Santana contract.

It went like this: I got word that Santana, his agents and the Mets’ front office were negotiating his contract in the SNY offices because of their accessible Midtown location. I work in said offices, and figured out which conference room they were in (it wasn’t hard — it’s the fancy one).

The workday was winding down as the negotiations were starting, and I had nothing particularly important to do that evening, so I went upstairs and parked myself at the receptionist’s desk outside the conference room. I considered doing the old sitcom cup-on-the-door thing. I IMmed Cerrone when they got dinner delivered.

I sat there for a while, browsing the Internet and waiting for something to happen. I was just about to give up when a dude — a young guy, must have been someone who worked for the agent or something — emerged from the conference room on his cell phone.

“It’s done, dude,” he said. Then he paused.

He continued: “Six. Yeah, six and 137-point-five.”

Layup. That was my one endeavor into investigative journalism. I figure it’s not always that easy.

Of course, I had been working here for all of three weeks at the time, so I spent the next week crapping my pants worried that someone would find out and I’d somehow get in trouble. But then I realized I was actually kind of doing my job, and then no one ever asked me about it anyway.

As for Hairston, he seems like a nice pickup to compete for a fourth or fifth outfield spot. Eno Sarris has way, way more.