The next day, when the Mariners arrived in Oakland, Piniella called Wright into his office before the game. Seattle had burned its bullpen in Texas. Piniella needed an extra reliever from the minors. Someone had to be sent down.

“I wish I could give you another chance up here,” Piniella said.

Wright spent one more year looking for that second chance, and looking for that first hit. But after he collided with a catcher at home plate in Richmond, his right leg gave out again. He knew it was time to retire.

“I really would have liked to get a hit in the big leagues,” Wright said. “But for me, the dream was just being there.”

Wright does not own a tape of the game in Texas. He does not have any pictures. He keeps only the lineup card, tucked away in his briefcase. The briefcase usually stays in the closet.

Wright plans to graduate from pharmacy school in two years, but he still acts like a ballplayer. In the morning, he shaves his forearms, part of a minor league superstition. In class, he plays clubhouse pranks with Kenny Jones, another athlete turned student. Even Wright’s e-mail address includes the No. 7, which he used to wear on his jersey.

He is not allowed to mope, at least not here. The former mayor of Pocatello passed an ordinance in 1948 making it illegal not to smile within the city limits.

As Wright sat in the middle of town Wednesday, surrounded by the snow-peaked Rocky Mountains, he considered the merits of such a law.

“Maybe I should be bitter because of that one game,” he said. “But I feel lucky.”