Number Five Forever: Revisiting My Interview with David Wright, the Ultimate Met — and This Week’s Honorary Seat on the Korner

Today, David Wright — The Captain, The Face, The Guy You Wanted Your Kid to Grow Up to Be — takes his rightful place in the Mets Hall of Fame. His number 5 will be officially retired by the team he never wanted to leave, the only one he ever played for, and one he bled orange and blue for over 14 unforgettable seasons.

I've been lucky enough in my career to interview legends, future Hall of Famers, and the occasional guy who once pitched two-thirds of an inning in a July doubleheader and somehow still has a baseball card. But getting to cover David Wright from his earliest Shea days to his tearful Citi Field goodbye? That was a privilege.

Re5pect

So ahead of Saturday’s ceremonies, I didn’t just pull a quote or two from the chapter I wrote about David in You Never Forget Your First — the book of Mets firsts I co-authored with Howie Karpin, where David was one of the 40 players kind enough to share his memories. Instead, I dug into the audio archives and revisited a full radio interview I did with him — a long, wonderful, winding trip down Mets memory lane. If you’re looking for clickbait, sorry — wrong site. But if you love the game, the Mets, and stories that’ll make you smile (and maybe tear up), you’ve come to the WRIGHT place.

We kicked off the interview where it all began: Virginia Beach, where the Mets Triple-A affiliate Norfolk Tides played just 10 minutes from Wright’s house. And yes, we all know he grew up a Mets fan — but his first Major League game? Orioles vs. Yankees at Camden Yards. “Cal Ripken was the guy,” David told me, his voice lighting up. “He was big, like I was a big shortstop. I saw how he signed for fans, how he carried himself. I just wanted to be like Cal.”

That would become a theme: emulation, respect, and giving back.

It’s no surprise that the guy who wanted to be like Cal grew into a player who never turned down a kid with a baseball and a Sharpie.

It’s poetic, really. The Mets drafted Wright in 2001 as compensation for Mike Hampton signing with Colorado — so Mets fans can thank altitude and overpriced public schools for the greatest third baseman in team history.

But it was the scout who showed up at Wright’s house that brought a grin to David’s face: “Randy ‘Moose’ Milligan! I used to chant ‘Mooooose!’ for him at Norfolk Tides games — and now here he was in my living room, telling me the Mets were interested. That was surreal.”

And yes, if you're keeping track, that's Moose Milligan, Keith Miller as his agent, and Howard Johnson as his minor league coach. Somewhere in that triangle is a spiritual Mets infield.

Howard Johnson was more than a coach. He was the prototype Wright tried to emulate — power, speed, hustle, class. “I didn’t want to be a one-dimensional third baseman,” Wright said. “Hojo showed me how to be a complete player and a complete teammate. He even married us — well, officiated our wedding,” he laughed.

And then there was the moment that stuck with Wright from his rookie year. Art Howe — yes, that Art Howe — pulled the 21-year-old into his office. “He told me I had leadership qualities. I thought I was in trouble! But he saw something. He said to lead by example. That meant a lot.”

So go ahead, criticize Howe’s bullpen management, but the man spotted a captain before we did.

In 2007, Wright became just the third Met ever to join the 30-30 club — hitting 30 homers and stealing 34 bags. Hojo had pushed him to run more. Wright, not exactly Jose Reyes with wheels, had to be smart: “I couldn’t be 30-for-60 — that’s not 30-30, that’s just 30 dumb ideas.”

But perhaps my favorite Wright story of all time? His first big-league BP session. The guy throwing to him? Bullpen catcher Dave Racaniello. “I was 18. My brothers were on the field asking guys like Piazza for autographs while I pretended not to know them,” he said, laughing.

Years later, Racaniello would be the best man at Wright’s wedding — and they’d share a game of catch before Wright’s final game as a Met. First BP thrower. Final catch partner. That's not just baseball symmetry — that’s poetry.

Wright spoke candidly about the swagger of the 2006 team (“We thought we’d be back every year”) and the wear-and-tear wisdom of 2015. “At 23, you feel invincible. At 32, with a back made of IKEA parts, you don’t take it for granted.”

His appreciation for the fans was constant — never more visible than during that final game in 2018, where he emotionally said goodbye. “People were thanking me, and I kept thinking, No — I should be thanking YOU.”

And he did. That night and every day since.

David Wright never won a ring. He never got a farewell tour. What he did get — and what he earned — was something rarer and more meaningful: unconditional love from an often cynical city.

He was a Met through and through. Not because he said the right things (though he always did), or because he put up monster numbers (which he did), but because he played like it mattered. Every day. Even when his body screamed to stop.

When I asked him about all those rehab hours in 2016 and 2018 just to make it back for one last game, he didn’t hesitate: “It was worth it. Because I can say I did everything I could. And the fans were there from the beginning to the end.”

Later today, the Mets will retire number 5 and give David Wright the Hall of Fame moment he so richly deserves. There will be speeches, there will be highlights, and yes — there will be tears.

And if you’re wondering why, the numbers alone can make the case. David Wright leads the franchise in hits (1,777), runs scored (949), doubles (390), RBIs (970), extra-base hits (658), total bases (2,945), and offensive WAR (51.9) among position players. He also holds the Mets’ all-time records for walks (762), sacrifice flies (65), and plate appearances (6,872). His 1,585 games played rank second in team history, behind only Ed Kranepool.

But there’s a more powerful number than any of those: One. That’s how many teams David Wright ever played for. While the Mets have retired the numbers of icons who also wore other uniforms — legends like Seaver, Piazza, and Keith — David Wright’s entire professional heart, soul, and spine lived and died in orange and blue. He was drafted by the Mets, bled for the Mets, and said goodbye — on his terms — as a Met. That matters. That means something.

And when the music fades and the number 5 hangs forever on the left-field facade, what lingers is what David Wright always gave us — effort, grace, heart, and hope.

And the faintest smile on our faces when we remember…

he was ours, and only ours.

Here is the complete radio interview with David: