David Wright has always played it by the book.
The son of a police officer, the former Mets third baseman grew up in Norfolk, Va., exercising discipline as a little leaguer and right up through his 14-year major league career. So it should come as no surprise that Wright took the dress code very seriously during his playing days, back when the league had strict rules dictating what players and personnel were required to wear on the road. Plus, he played for manager Willie Randolph, who brought some of the buttoned-up Yankee ways with him to Queens.
Wright respected the dress code, wearing suits and ties on the road, and jeans and a collared shirt at the hotel.
This left Wright unprepared for an unexpectedly hot off day in San Francisco early in his career. Wanting to visit Alcatraz with bullpen coach Dave Racaniello, the two hatched a plan for a more comfortable escape.
“We left the hotel in the morning in jeans and collared shirts, went into the Gap or an Old Navy, bought shorts, T-shirts and sandals,” Racaniello said. “We explained to them what our situation was, left our clothes there, went out, spent the day at Alcatraz, had lunch or whatever. We went back to the Gap, changed, and then went back to the hotel and our jeans and collared shirts.
“He never wanted to break any rules. That was the closest I got to getting him to skirt a rule.”
The creative workaround was a daring move for Wright, but it’s an anecdote that helps illustrate why he had so much success on the field and why he was such an effective captain.
“David is who you want leading your team,” Racaniello said. “He literally, obnoxiously does everything the right way.”
Earlier this month, the Mets announced plans to induct Wright into the team Hall of Fame and retire his No. 5 in a dual ceremony on July 19 at Citi Field. Only Tom Seaver has been honored by the Mets in the same fashion. The club recognizes that Wright had an equally important impact on a different generation of Mets fans and holds him in similar regard to one of the greatest icons in the history of the franchise.
“I truly feel it’s a bit undeserved given the skill and accomplishments of some of the numbers that I’ll be amongst up there,” Wright said last week on a Zoom call. “I joke that there should be a special section for my number because it’s probably not deserving amongst the really good players in the organization. I’m incredibly grateful for the honor and I don’t take it lightly.
“I’m humbled.”
Wright isn’t in Cooperstown like most of the players who have had their numbers retired. But the Mets have a complicated history and some of the best players to have ever come through Flushing have complicated legacies. Recognizing that, owners Steve and Alex Cohen have decided to break with unspoken tradition and retire the numbers of players who aren’t in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Last year, it was Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry. Now, less than seven years after the captain played his final game, it’s Wright’s turn.
“For him to get it this fast in his career after he retired, I think it speaks volumes of the kind of player and the kind of person he was, and is,” said former Mets manager Terry Collins. “It’s a tremendous honor.”
Wright is currently on the Baseball Hall of Fame ballot, and there is a case to be made for his entrance. He’s the club’s all-time leader in hits (1,777), RBI (970), runs (949), doubles (390), extra-base hits (658) and walks (762), he’s played the second-most games (1,585) and hit the second-most home runs (242). A seven-time All-Star, a two-time Silver Slugger and a two-time Gold Glove Award winner, Wright was of the most prolific hitters the Amazins’ have ever developed, and a top defensive third baseman in the league during his prime.
“You know that barehanded play? Nobody made it better than he did,” Collins said. “Nobody.”
The accolades are numerous, but voters are undoubtedly going to take into consideration what he didn’t accomplish.
Wright never won a World Series and he was never named an MVP. His career was cut short because of spinal stenosis. The disc condition limited him to only 77 games from 2015-2018, two of which were largely ceremonial as Wright couldn’t make the throw across the diamond and knew he had to call it quits. Wright isn’t the kind of person to dwell on the what-ifs in life, but BBWAA voters will when they consider his case.
Allan Erbe, Wright’s AAU coach in Virginia, has crunched the numbers and believes they’re comparable to those of other Hall of Famers. Of course, he may be biased, especially since he considers Wright to be “like a son.” Despite the fact that Wright was a chubby kid with “average” running speed, Erbe saw his potential early.
“You get a sixth sense on players when you see enough of them and you could just tell he was special,” Erbe said. “I knew he wasn’t just going to be a shortstop. I needed him to be a third baseman because of the body type. You can tell players what position they’re going to play by what tools they have in their body type.”
Erbe saw a young player with great hands who had a high aptitude for the nuances of the game at an early age. He also saw the same determination and work ethic that led Collins to name him the Mets’ captain in 2013.
“He wasn’t cocky, he didn’t talk a lot, he just went out and played and played hard,” Erbe said. “He was very, very intense. I had real strict rules. I was kind of a disciplinarian. And one time he struck out and he threw his batting helmet, and I had a rule against throwing equipment, so I took him out of the game. He just looked at me. He couldn’t believe it.”
Wright didn’t want Erbe to tell his father, Rhon.
The heat was turned up in the big leagues. Collins recalled a time when he took Wright out of a game with the Mets down 8-0. An opposing hitter was plunked and Collins knew the other team would retaliate. He didn’t want them to retaliate by hitting Wright. Collins had lost Jeff Bagwell twice because of pitches off the hand when he was managing in Houston, and didn’t want Wright to go down in a game the Mets had already lost.
Wright protested.
“I said, ‘I’m not losing in a game that we can’t win.’ Another night, it comes with the territory sometimes, but not in a game that was meaningless.” Collins said. “He was angry. He said, ‘I want to end this thing.’”
Wright played the game with an eagerness and passion that endeared him to Mets fans. Much like in his AAU days in Virginia, Wright was often the first to show up every day and the last to leave. A consummate professional, but also an extremely approachable star. Wright signed every autograph, met with every kid who asked and was the first player to welcome a new teammate, coach or manager to the Mets.
Wright even tried to negotiate a pay raise for Racaniello when he received his $138 million contract extension.
He deftly dealt with the media, protecting his teammates and the organization during trying times. He led by example, but could be vocal when needed.
“You don’t have to manage the David Wrights of the world,” Collins said. “They take care of themselves, they get ready, they get prepared, they go about it, they play the game the right way.”
Wright credits the players that came before him and late Mets media relations director Shannon Forde for the guidance he needed to become a professional and a leader, but Erbe said he had always embodied those qualities.
“My mother could have coached him and she didn’t know much about baseball,” he said.
Wright had only been a captain for two years when the back and neck injuries started to take their toll. Few knew what he was dealing with. Collins said he “never said boo.” Racaniello, the best man at Wright’s wedding, remembers him being grateful when he was able to play through the pain.
It was cruel. Wright followed all of the rules hoping to play for years to come, yet couldn’t control the narrowing of his spinal column.
However, Wright isn’t one to dwell on the negative. After retiring, he took all of the energy he channeled into baseball and redirected to his family in Los Angeles. One career ended, but another started with his wife, Molly, daughters Olivia and Madison, and son Brooks.
Now 42, Wright still plays by the rules. He won’t stay out late unless he’s watching a football game with friends because he has practices to coach and lunches to pack. If you met him on the street during his playing days, you would have never known he was a star, and if you met him today, you would never know he used to be a star.
“He was boring then and he’s boring now,” Racaniello joked. “He’s not someone that’s buying flashy cars or items. I mean, he can’t even handle the iPhone, so I’m not sure he would be buying. So he really is the same guy. All the success he’s had, he really has not changed.”
There is no looking back on what could have been, only looking forward to July when the Mets celebrate what he was able to accomplish.