On a night last October, as a hard rain passed through Kansas City and the American League championship teetered in a cool breeze, the Bullpen Cyborg had a sentient thought:
Resignation.
In a split-second, Wade Davis had processed the situation and assessed the percentages. He understood his fate. For once, a great escape was unlikely, a complete survival improbable, even for the greatest reliever in baseball. Even for a man nicknamed after a machine.
They call Wade Davis a cyborg, and in truth, he has never cared for the nickname. He is human, he says. His arm aches after his outings.