Here is a story: 

This was September 2011, and Josh Satin was a 26-year-old rookie who’d just played in the first of the 116 major league games he would get — “A hundred and sixteen more than I ever figured I’d get,” he says — and he was getting his first lesson in the realities of The Show: A call-up doesn’t come with limo service. 

So late this night, he was trudging across the parking lot at Citi Field, bound for the 7 train and his hotel. The season was long gone and so were most of the fans, and suddenly in the vast darkness he was aware of a car crawling up next to him. The window rolled down. 

“Hey,” David Wright said. “Where you headed?”