Earlier this week, after another age-defying night, David Ortiz received a text message from a friend: “Man, you’re [expletive] your retirement up!” Ortiz laughed, because what else could he do? He is 40 years old. For the first six weeks of what he said would be his last season, he was the best hitter in baseball. That’s what everyone knew. They didn’t understand that it hurts Ortiz just to walk. And the energy it takes to steel his mind against his own second-guessing, let alone others’. And here was a friend – a Yankees fan no less – telling Ortiz not to go, not yet.

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There’s a magnetism about Ortiz, one that developed in 2003 and grew more ferrous by the year. He is outsized and beloved for it. He doesn’t talk; he thunders. He doesn’t hit; he wallops. He is Boston’s and the Dominican Republic’s and the world’s, and as much as the prospect of baseball without Big Papi feels like a donut without coffee to dunk it in, the reality of it is magnified by what he’s doing. It’s like Kobe putting up 60, only every night.

It is May 18, and Ortiz is hitting .311/.395/.674 with 10 home runs and 33 RBIs. His 1.069 OPS leads baseball. He’s slugging at a higher clip than Bryce Harper and Mike Trout, getting on base more than Manny Machado and Nolan Arenado, walking off games as though it’s October 2004 all over again. Guys doing that don’t euthanize their own careers.

“I’m good with the decision that I’m making because I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Ortiz told Yahoo Sports on Tuesday. “It’s been a couple years. Because your body, man. Your body tells you. My body, man. My body’s pretty beat up. Remember, if you look at guys my size, they don’t last. I noticed that seven or eight years ago. That’s why I needed to start doing things right. I lost 25 pounds. I started eating better, do things better. But let me tell you: It’s not easy, man.”

He pointed toward the trainer’s room.

“That’s every day,” he said. “I used to love those days when I didn’t have to go. And then the traveling – we don’t catch a break. We travel at night pretty much every getaway day. That’s hard for me. I feel like [expletive] the next day. When you’re younger, you get away with it. When you’re 40, not so much.”

Ortiz looked down and shook his head. His feet feel like giant stones with cracks fissuring through them. The rest of his body works well enough, responds to treatment. His feet, though. They’re why he’s retiring. They’re what vex him.

“My mind tells me some days, ‘Man, I don’t feel like doing [expletive],’ ” Ortiz said. “But I know I need to do [expletive] if I’m going to play, going to compete. So what do I do? I work. And those are my best days, because once I get into the mojo of working out, doing my thing, my body starts feeling better, and that day is a plus instead of being a minus.

“All people talk about is age, age, age, age. Bro, listen. I’m a better hitter now than what I was [expletive] 10 years ago. You know why? Because now I set pitchers up. My mind doesn’t get any confusion. I used to get confused. I’m gonna sit on a slider. Fastball. Boom! Oh, [expletive]. Why’d I take that fastball? My whole program I used to change because of that pitch. Now, I decide I’m gonna sit on a slider. Fastball. I don’t care. Fastball. I don’t care. Breaking ball. I don’t care. Changeup. I don’t care. Slider. Here it is.”

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