By the end, by 11 o’clock, it looked like the day had finally caught up to Ike Davis, that the adrenaline that had fueled him through the most unforgettable day of his life had finally dissipated. In front of his locker, he looked just as you might suspect a 23-year-old kid might look who started the day as a minor leaguer in Buffalo and ended it in the bigs, in New York City.
“I’m ready to sleep,” Davis said. “Although . . . I probably won’t.”
That’s exactly how he should have felt, of course: too wiped to take another step, too jazzed to sleep a wink. This is what happens on the day they open the doors for you, let you take a peek at the rest of your life and say, “You coming, kid, or what?”
In the morning he left his apartment in Buffalo, took batting practice, figured he was going to bat clean-up for the Bisons against the Scranton / Wilkes-Barre Yankees. He was changing into his game uniform when he learned there was a slight change of plans.
“Get to the airport,” Ike Davis said he was told. “You’re going to New York.”
If he plays another 20 years, he may never hear nine more meaningful words in a baseball clubhouse. Before he could do anything, he called his mother, got her voicemail, called his father, Ron, the former Yankees pitcher.
“Congratulations,” Ron said after a few silent moments, when the words finally arrived in a rush. “You deserve everything you’ve got there. You’ve worked your behind off, and now your dream is coming true.”
Later, speaking to The Post’s Tim Bontemps, Ron Davis said: “Even if you only make it for a day, you’re a major leaguer. Anything after that is gravy.”
The afternoon was a blur for Ike Davis: leaving behind his new apartment, leaving behind his car, leaving behind his first paycheck, in his locker at Coca-Cola Stadium as he rushed to catch his US Airways flight from Buffalo-Niagara Airport to La Guardia. No worries, of course; the pay’s a bit better up here.
Here’s the thing with Davis, too: He knows what a big-league clubhouse looks like. He would visit the Yankees clubhouse when his old man went back for Old-Timers’ Days, met Derek Jeter, saw early on what The Life could be like. And yet, the eyes were still wide yesterday, kid’s eyes. The heart still leapt. First day in The Show, there’s no reason to act like it isn’t the greatest day of your life.
“He’s unfazed,” Mets manager Jerry Manuel said. “He acts like one of the guys. It seems like he’s been here all year. But . . . he’s still young. Still just his first day.”
Davis got a couple of hits, drove in a run, put a nice swing on a ball that was swallowed up by Citi Field’s Bermuda triangle in right. He missed a tough scoop in the field which kept alive a small Cubs rally, but nobody’s going to remember that. What they’ll remember is the way Citi felt at 7:39 last night, when he stepped to the plate for the first time.
Maybe this wasn’t quite the way it seemed on May 6, 1983, when the most celebrated Mets call-up of all time, a kid named Strawberry, first appeared at Shea Stadium and went 0-for-4 with two walks against the Reds. Maybe it isn’t identical to July 21, 2004, when David Wright went 0-for-4 at Shea against the Expos. Those were Mets teams desperate to emerge from years in the wilderness. This Mets team is simply trying to find its sea legs before the barbarians knock down the gate. Subtle difference.
Subtle similarity: The Mets won Strawberry’s first game, won Wright’s first game, won this game, 6-1. The first two times really were harbingers of better times ahead. One game doesn’t assure that, even as positive as all the vibes were. Four at-bats only give us a tease, not testimony, not yet. But it sure was nice to hear the Citi denizens happy for a change.
“It’s good to hear cheers,” Davis said. “But I know if I don’t deserve them, I won’t get them.”
Savvy kid. Smart kid. He might want to sublet that apartment back in Buffalo. He won’t need it for a while.
