By Steve Wilstein
The Associated Press

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla. - In the first games of spring training, players aren't the only ones getting ready for the season.

Fans have made their pilgrimages from the white, wintry North, grateful enough to thaw out, twice blessed by a return to the rhythms of the game after five months away. Others are year-rounders down here, coming to the cozy ballparks on a break from work, school or the golf course.

Some loll quietly in the sun with their hot dogs and beer, watching the show slowly unfold. Others, particularly a few New York Mets fans, are already in midseason form, merciless as ever.

"Nine million dollars and he stinks," one said as Mets outfielder Jeromy Burnitz came to the plate. "They shoot horses, don't they?"

"Look at Mo," said another, pointing at Mo Vaughn, the hulking first baseman. "Nine months pregnant."

"Come on, David Cone?" a man with a Brooklyn accent bellowed into his cell phone. "He's 45. He's been out of the game, what, three years?"

Leaving aside subjective assessments of Burnitz (OK, he stunk last summer when he hit .215, and he's actually making $11.5 million this year) and Vaughn (as svelte as anyone could be at 6-foot-1, 275 pounds), the rap against Cone is patently false.

Cone is 40 and had been retired only a year.

Those are still two good reasons for some fans to wonder whether he really has a shot at coming back. Cone has some doubts, himself, though he's not short on resolve to try, with his first game this week.

Cone's boyish face has weathered well, creased just enough around his eyes and easy smile to give him a been-there, done-that look that invites young players to ask for advice. He's a Cy Young award winner and the author of a perfect game, a well-traveled pitcher who started with Kansas City in 1986, became a star with the Mets, won a World Series ring with Toronto and four more with the Yankees.

"It's almost like I'm a player-coach," Cone says, smiling at the thought. "They ask a lot of great questions, all of them, about everything. How to grip a certain pitch, what to throw in certain situations, strategy, financial stuff, politics. You name it, we've talked about it."

The easiest part of coming back for Cone has been getting into the routines of spring training, hanging out with the guys in the clubhouse. That was the part he missed most when he stepped away after pitching in 2001 for Boston, where he started 7-0 and wound up 9-7 with a 4.31 ERA.

The toughest part is getting ready to pitch again, taking a little longer to loosen up his legs and right arm, stretching more, realizing he doesn't recover as quickly as he once did after workouts. He has to be more patient with himself, and fans will have to be a little patient with him.

"The fans have been great so far, but they are tolerant up to a point," Cone says. "You still have to do it in games."

One or two outings won't be enough to tell, he says, unless he just can't hold up.

"As long as I'm seeing progress and I'm getting stronger and it looks like I'm on the right path, then I'll stay with it," he says. "But if I realize physically I just can't do it anymore, then I'll have to make a call."

Movement and location on his pitches are more important than velocity. Building his confidence is as crucial as maintaining his strength.

"You have to psyche yourself up for this kind of a run," he says. "There's a lot of variables working against me. Age, the fact that I missed a year, and that I've got a lot of miles on my arm."

Cone, whose last good season was with the Yankees in 1999, needs seven victories to reach 200. The odds might be against him, but he's making his stand.

And why not? He's already faced the worst-case scenario, retirement. He can deal with that, perhaps go back to the broadcast booth, where he spent part of last summer for the Yankees. If he's successful on the mound, he could be a key man, as a starter or a reliever, on a pennant contender.

"If I can't do this, I can walk away and say that I got this out of my system, that I'm officially retired, as opposed to fading away as I did last year," he says.

He came back because his heart led him back. He listened to guys like Al Leiter, who's 37, and John Franco, who's 42, urge him to give it another shot and join a staff that also includes 37-year-old Tom Glavine. It was a chance to feel that clubhouse camaraderie again, to let his competitive juices flow and hear the roar of the fans one more time. He could live with the wisecracks and the boos, if it came to that.

He remembered the wisdom of some old-time players that the best time to retire is in spring training.

"You never want to do it at the end of the season, when you're emotionally worn out, physically drawn, and you've struggled," he says. "When you come to spring training, everything is fresh and new, there's time for experiments. Then if you walk away, you're fine. Then you can say, 'You know what, it's time for that young kid who's throwing the heck out of the ball to get a chance."'

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Steve Wilstein is a national sports columnist for The Associated Press. Write to him at swilstein@ap.org