PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla. -- Six years ago, Jenrry Mejia did not own a glove. He did not have a bat. He had no use for a ball.

The tools of his trade were a brush, a piece of cloth and a container of shoe polish. That was all Mejia needed when he left his house in Santo Domingo each morning and walked 30 minutes to the downtown cafe where he made his living.

On an island where baseball is like a religion, Mejia preferred shining shoes for 300 pesos a day, the equivalent of about $8.

"I didn't like baseball," Mejia said. "I just wanted to make money."

Only after Mejia turned 15 did he begin playing baseball, a decision fueled not by some newfound love of the game but by the same ruthless pragmatism that caused him to eschew it in the first place.

When Pedro Martinez signed a four-year, $53 million contract with the Mets in late 2004, Mejia realized what so many other teenagers in the Dominican Republic already knew: For the talented and lucky few, baseball is a way out.

Now, at age 20, Mejia is the Mets' top-rated pitching prospect and one of the most talked about players of this spring training. His cut fastball has baffled hitters and prompted manager Jerry Manuel to campaign for Mejia to be on the Opening Day roster. He has drawn comparisons to Dwight Gooden and Mariano Rivera.

The lofty praise may be just a tad premature, considering Mejia has pitched in only 10 games above Class A. But so far, he has done nothing to quell the hype. In three spring training appearances, Mejia has allowed just one run on five hits, with no walks and eight strikeouts in 7 1/3 innings.

Around the clubhouse, Mejia looks at ease among teammates, from star major-leaguers to little-known prospects. His big, toothy smile has become a common sight, and his passion for the game is evident in the way he approaches his work.

But Mejia doesn't try to sugarcoat what drove him here. It was always about the money.

* * *

Mejia grew up in a neighborhood called Herrera, near what was once Santo Domingo's primary airport. He lived with his parents and his younger brother.

"Mucho pobre" is how Mejia described the area. Very poor.

Mejia started shining shoes when he was 11. He didn't necessarily enjoy the work, but he took pride in earning money when other kids he knew were picking pockets.

"I didn't want to steal," he said.

Mejia would work for a few hours in the morning and go to school for a few hours in the evening. But in between, he was a homebody. His mother, who works as a nurse at a local hospital, became fed up seeing Mejia sitting around watching television in the afternoon, so she told him to go play baseball.

Most kids his age in Santo Domingo would not need to have been told. To Mejia, it was like being asked to go scrub the toilet.

"My mother said, 'You have to do something,' " Mejia said. "I said, 'No, I don't want to play baseball. I don't want to play baseball.' And she said to me, 'No, you have to. You can't stay in my house if you're going to do nothing.' When I don't go to play, I stay in another house."

Reluctantly, Mejia started going with his younger brother to a nearby field. Even then, he would only watch his brother play. Somehow, he was oblivious to the lucrative signing bonuses that top Dominican prospects were raking in.

"I didn't know the game could make money for me," he said.

But when Martinez, a national icon, signed with the Mets, Mejia started to look at the game differently. He started pitching in a youth program run by a local

buscone

, the equivalent of a street agent. Within a year, he was throwing with upper-80s velocity.

By 2007, at age 17, Mejia had attracted interest from several major-league teams, including the Yankees and Red Sox. But he was not a highly sought prospect like Fernando Martinez, who received a $1.4 million bonus for signing with the Mets in 2005.

Before he auditioned for the Mets, Mejia said the most any team offered was $10,000.

"They said to me, 'I have only a little money for you,' " Mejia said. "I said, 'Why?' They said, 'Because you are small and skinny.' "

When the Mets offered $16,500, Mejia signed on the spot. Only later did it become clear what a bargain that was.

* * *



Mejia spent the summer of 2007 at the Mets' complex in Boca de Nigua, where he played for their Dominican summer league team. He first arrived in the U.S. about two years ago, playing briefly for the Mets' Gulf Coast League team before being moved up to Class-A Brooklyn.

It was a whirlwind experience for an 18-year-old kid who spoke no English. But in every sense, Mejia was able to adjust quickly.

He had a 3.49 ERA in 11 starts for the Cyclones, and picked up the language from teammates.

"He's always tried really hard to be friends with and get to know all the guys," said first baseman Ike Davis, who played with Mejia in Brooklyn. "He's really worked on his English. He's learned so fast."

That is true also of Mejia as a pitcher. Over the past two years, he has developed two secondary pitches: a changeup and a curveball. The improvement of his off-speed pitches only makes his cutter more lethal. The pitch has the velocity of a four-seam fastball, usually between 94-96 mph, and has so much movement that hitters sometimes mistake it for a slider.

"The thing that makes him so interesting is he has three pitches, but he has two pitches off his fastball," said Tim Teufel, who managed Mejia at Class-A St. Lucie last year. "Sometimes it cuts, and sometimes it sinks, and you don't know which one you're getting."

The late movement makes it difficult for hitters to square up the ball. In 210 innings since the start of his professional career, Mejia has allowed only six home runs. One came on June 23 last year, after he had been promoted to Double-A Binghamton.

After giving up a three-run homer, Mejia was so frustrated, he threw the next pitch as hard as he could. He estimates the pitch was at least 100 mph, but all he knows for sure is how he felt the next morning.

Mejia strained the middle finger on his pitching hand. It would be seven weeks before he pitched again.



* * *

In the morning, Mejia can usually be found in a corner of the Mets' clubhouse near the weight room, sitting in a circle of Spanish-speaking players. Angel Pagan, Kiko Calero, Anderson Hernandez and Fernando Martinez are usually among them.

Mejia sits there while he eats breakfast and then lingers for a while longer, listening and laughing, looking very much like the kid he still is. But once he sees teammates putting their uniforms on, usually around 9 a.m., Mejia turns serious. He leaves the circle and starts preparing for the day ahead.

"He's handled himself as best he can," third baseman David Wright said. "He hasn't bought into that hype and believing what everybody else is saying about him, and he's really put in the work to become something special."

Wright has made a conscious effort to develop a rapport with Mejia, whom he views as a future teammate. After a recent morning workout, Wright jokingly grabbed Mejia's hand and led him back into the clubhouse, like a father walking his son home from school.

When he got back to his locker, Mejia removed his cleats and left them on the floor, knowing someone else now cleans his shoes.

Later, when the clubhouse was quiet, Mejia smiled and said, "I like baseball now."



Brian Costa may be reached at bcosta@starledger.com