MLB

Mejia, Davis could turn into Amazin’ finds

PORT ST. LUCIE — This re mains one of the charms of baseball, specifically spring baseball, because there still is a hefty element of surprise to all of it. There still is the opportunity for a name to knock you out, for a kid fall out of the clouds and into an exhibition game box score. There still is a place for mystery.

We know all about the things that ail the Mets by now. We know all about Jose Reyes’ thyroid and Carlos Beltran’s right knee. We know all about Johan Santana’s elbow and the question marks disguised as the Nos. 2, 3, 4 and 5 pitchers in the starting rotation. We know all about David Wright’s quest for redemption, and Jason Bay’s mission to justify his big contract, and Jeff Francouer’s task of reclaiming a portion of his old Roy Hobbs reputation.

We know all of that, and knew all of that before anyone ever landed on the Treasure Coast.

It’s what happens once everyone arrives that makes the spring fun. It’s watching Ike Davis blast baseballs toward spots at Tradition Field that only a select few sluggers have ever reached before. It’s watching him pile up base hits, waking up two weeks into the exhibition schedule and seeing that he was hitting .524 entering yesterday, and slugging .952, that his OPS is 1.535 (and, what the hell, since it’s spring training, why not point out that Babe Ruth’s OPS in his for-the-ages 1920 was a mere 1.379?).

It’s watching Jenrry Mejia sling baseballs toward opposing hitters with velocity that steals breath and breaking balls that buckle knees. It’s watching him throw 7 1/3 innings so far while allowing only one run, displaying a precocious poise that conjures another 20-year-old phenom out of the Mets scrapbook.

“The beauty of the spring,” Mets manager Jerry Manuel said, “is that there are still things that can open your eyes, even if you’ve been around the game as long as I have.”

This doesn’t happen anywhere else. Davis was an accomplished player at Arizona State, a first-round draft pick two years ago. The 18th pick in the NBA draft, in the NFL draft, has no place to hide; the 18th pick in the MLB draft does nothing but hide, and Davis has spent his time as a pro essentially in witness protection in places such as Port St. Lucie and Binghamton.

Mejia? In 10 starts last year at Double-A Binghamton he was 0-5 with a 4.47 ERA and an unsightly 1.511 WHIP. That doesn’t necessarily scream “non-prospect,” not for a 19-year-old, but it doesn’t yell “Gooden! ” across the room, either. And yet . . . the arm looks so alive. The slider defies description. The manager talks wistfully about using him as a setup man.

The boundless gift of spring.

And people talk. It’s the good kind of baseball talk, the kind that sustains and fortifies during these days of winter when just moving the clock forward doesn’t quite make it feel or seem like spring. Back in New York, Mets fans talk about Davis, and they talk about Mejia, partly because it beats having to talk about thyroid glands and pink eye but mostly because that is the ever-present magnet: the kid who’s killing it in Florida.

Does it matter that for every Dwight “Doc” Gooden, there are a thousand pitchers who eventually get figured out? Does it matter that for every Albert Pujols there are a thousand hitters who finally succumb to the game’s unforgiving mathematics? In May and July it matters. In April? You are permitted to dream. Some would say required to.

“I honestly don’t know about any of that,” Davis said the other day, talking about the hype that necessarily follows a prospect who walks into camp and starts splattering baseballs all over the Grapefruit League. “I’m trying to become a good enough player so I can make the Mets someday and help them out. Whenever that happens isn’t up to me, it’s not my job. My job is to play well enough that they’ll want to include me in their plans.”

He isn’t the only one who would like to see that happen. Down here, among Mets brass. Up there, where Mets fans try to sift through the good news and the bad. The boundless gift of spring.

michael.vaccaro@nypost.com