Just like us

Morning Dose: Thursday, January 9

☀️ Good Morning:

Before there was Juan Soto.

Before there was Francisco Lindor.

Before there was Steve Cohen.

Before the Mets entered a payroll stratosphere that surpasses even the hated Yankees, there was David Wright, the quintessential Met.

Wright was never the brightest star in the game, but he was one of the most respected, a player who defied Jerry Seinfeld’s idea that fans only root for clothes.

“Every player, including myself, has regrets. ‘What if this were to happen? What if that didn’t happen?’" Wright told reporters on Wednesday in a press conference about his jersey retirement. “I can honestly look at you and say that I felt like I got the most out of my six-foot, 200 pound, very little athleticism body. I reached my ceiling and I don’t think what a lot of players can say is that I put my head on my pillow at night and say I left it all out there. I gave it everything I had. I worked as hard as I could and there’s not really anything that I would have done differently.”

I got the most out of my six-foot, 200 pound, very little athleticism body.

That’s what you love about David Wright.

We all start our lives playing sports, believing we are better than our siblings, swishing shots through mini hoops hanging over our bedroom doorways, learning how to make a whiffle ball curve with the wind. We compete with our friends, win town championships, and some of us get to play in college, or maybe a little longer.

Only the few become professional baseball players. As we age as fans, it becomes harder and harder to see ourselves in these superhumans. Juan Soto was never like me, he must have always been bigger, faster and stronger.

David Wright was never like me either. He is a seven-time All-Star, a two-time Gold Glove winner, one of the greatest Mets to ever walk the planet.

But the fact he makes you feel like he is one of us is what makes his connection to the fanbase so strong.