WASHINGTON — The toe beat the tag, and David Wright’s sixth sense told him that as he was emerging from his pop-up slide, his arms already flung wide. When Paul Nauert, the home-plate umpire, mimicked him with his own safe call, the official one, Wright could contain himself no longer.
Back on his feet, Wright pumped his fist so vehemently he looked like Rob Gronkowski in the end zone, celebrating a successful post pattern. The smile on his face was as long as the Mall between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. In one moment, four months of frustration — no, make that seven years of aggravation — evaporated like a summer rain puddle.