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PORT ST. LUCIE — The metamorphosis occurs about a quarter of the way through Johan Santana’s bullpen session.
You can stop looking at his arm. The rest of his body will tell you about his arm.
Suddenly, he is the great actor, comedian, theater actor. He is in command of his stage. He is a skilled jazzed musician — improvising, riffing, alive in the moment. He is holding conversations with bullpen coach Ricky Bones behind him and pitching coach Dan Warthen in front of him. Simultaneously.
He is transitioning from English to Spanish to Spanglish, and doing it all with a strut. A smile never leaves his face. As if he knows what no one else knows. But if you are watching, you know. He feels great. A man with distressing pain in his arm cannot fake this enthusiasm, confidence, joy.
He cannot taunt between sliders, joke after fastballs. He cannot pitch with this steady, undeterred rhythm. Same arm slot. Delivery a metronome. No alterations to compensate for a twinge there, a bite there.
He cannot make other experienced hands in uniform cackle with these kinds of “atta boys” and “way to go” for a simple bullpen session — not if they detected even an iota of distress. Not if they sense he is holding back on his full repertoire or his peak velocity.
A pitcher concealing pain will cut a session short. He will not motion for Mike Nickeas to stay in his squat. To take a few extra pitches to the catcher’s mitt.
“What you saw is what Johan Santana always looks like, except for when he has not felt good,” Warthen would say afterward, his lingering smile also proof that, well, Santana feels better than good.
The Mets’ exhibition game against the Marlins still was about two hours away. But no one was kidding themselves. The main event was happening on the mounds just beyond the left field seats of Digital Domain Park.
After Santana had made his first spring start Tuesday, all involved agreed the lefty’s ability to stay on schedule and throw his bullpen yesterday, and do so pain-free, would be a vital step. So this is why there was a certain Bieber-esque feel to Santana’s emergence just after 11 a.m., as cameramen and reporters followed to watch him loosen up, play catch.
Hundreds of bullpens have been thrown already in this camp to scant attention. But it feels as if so much of the Mets’ underdog chances are pinned to Santana’s ability to return from September 2010 shoulder surgery, to find the best of himself again after missing all of 2011.
That is why even the routine isn’t in Santana’s case. There is no “just another bullpen,” “just another game of catch.”
“For me, it’s a day-to-day thing,” Santana said. “Every day is important. And every time I go through everything, it’s a day closer to coming back.”
There are 54 players in camp, yet one dominant storyline. So even the fact that Sandy Koufax is next to Sandy Alderson on a back field to watch touted prospect Zack Wheeler throw cannot diminish attention from Santana.
Perhaps only Yu Darvish, who is toting around a country’s press corps in Rangers camp, can draw more interest going through a pre-bullpen long toss than Santana.
And then Santana is up on the mound looking an awful lot like himself, which on March 8 serves as just the greatest news the Mets possibly could receive.
On about the 10th pitch, Nickeas’ mitt pops with the acceptance of a Santana fastball and the lefty hoots, “yeah, baby.” This triggers the metamorphosis.
Suddenly, all around are his chorus — ribbing, encouraging, calling pitches. We don’t need English or Spanish or Spanglish. We have body language. And Johan Santana’s is screaming in bliss and self-assurance with each obeyed pitch, with every painless delivery.
If they are needed afterward, Santana adds words to verify that this was a problem-free session, that he is on target to throw three innings Sunday, that all the hard work since surgery is paying off.
But, again, words are not needed. Tomorrow may give way to the treachery of returning from such a devastating injury.
But on this day, Johan Santana is Johan Santana, which feels like a huge victory for an organization hungering for just that.
joel.sherman@nypost.com