Last week, New York magazine’s Intelligencer section noted David Wright was named the Police Athletic League’s athlete of the year…and presented a picture of former Chicago White Sox pitcher Dan Wright next to the item. This week, perhaps prompted by a flurry of complaints (or at least mine), the section wished a happy upcoming birthday to David and actually used a picture of him in doing so.
So happy birthday, David Wright. Today you are 25. Today you are quite a man. When I think of you, I think of what Dorothy Boyd said of Jerry Maguire:
I love him! I love him for the man he wants to be. And I love him for the man he almost is.
I won’t claim to be David Wright’s biggest fan for the simple reason that there are clearly bigger fans of his. But beyond my carping over his scatter-arm throwing and his ridiculously awarded Gold Glove [1] and the MVP boomlet that I didn’t quite buy except from the standpoint of homerism (which is fine, I suppose) and my nagging sense that his act of being born in Virginia instead of Venezuela has contributed greatly to his popularity, I am a David Wright fan. I love that 25-year-old David Wright is a Met and is slated to remain so for several years. I am hoping against hope that David Wright’s Metdom will beat the odds and become eternal, and not just in that “he’ll always be a Met to me” way. I hope he’s never traded, never leaves via free agency, isn’t cut just because he’s not what he was when he was 25. I’m already dreading the smarmy, self-serving pronouncement by the front office and whoever’s manning it by then that it was for the good of the team that David Wright had to leave the New York Mets.
That would never be good. I can’t imagine it would be good from a playing standpoint and I can’t see it from a personality angle. As a human being, he’s basically done nothing wrong since ascending to the Mets in 2004, nothing worth more than a random gripe anyway. I’d venture to say he’s done everything correctly (you thought I was gonna say “right,” didn’tcha?). If he’s a few thin degrees from perfection in a couple of aspects of his game, I’ve got no complaints with the kid and how he conducts himself.
Did I say kid? He’s 25, I know, but he’s just a child in my eyes. Maybe that’s because when I was on the cusp of 25 two decades ago I was pretty certain I had substantial growing up to do (as I’m pretty certain I still do). It’s amazing that someone so young is so out front [2] for an entire franchise, particularly in this market. But he handles it. I hope the Mets get him some help and that the older players around him don’t leave him to handle the brunt of the attention when the spotlight grows harsh (as seemed to be the case in September 2007) and that the younger players see what an example he sets and follow it already yet.
This is how I am with David Wright. When I watch him night-in, night-out, I find flaws. When I’m separated by a winter’s distance and my only contact with him is through a picture in a magazine, I feel like his biggest fan. For the man he wants to be, for the man he pretty much is.