I don't think Ike Davis is a lost cause. It would not surprise me at all if two years from now he were hitting 37 homers, defending at a high level and doing so for, say, the Tampa Bay Rays.

Some players excel from Day 1 with little deviation throughout their careers. We tend to call them Hall of Famers — think Derek Jeter, Chipper Jones.

But for the other 98 percent — even above-average performers — there are dips, swerves, veers. Baseball is, indeed, a game of adjustments: A player succeeds initially. Opponents counter by uncovering weaknesses and then attacking them mercilessly — never more than today when computerized hot-and-cold zones better define specific areas and types of pitches hitters cannot handle. We then learn if the player can adjust to the adjustments.

This involves reworking physical skills proven to work from T-ball through the early majors. And it also means rewiring mental circuits of players who have grown cocky from that success — “I have always done it this way and it has worked, why would I change now?”

At this point Davis probably is too open to new advice, overloaded with information, being killed by attempts at kindness. He looks mentally fried, beaten down by the debilitating brew of failure, daily interrogations on that failure and recognition there simply is no quick fix to a .147 batting average and .481 OPS — both major league lows among 169 qualifiers.

So for his good and that of a team consumed by his daily travails, Davis should be sent to Triple-A. Not for punishment, but to try to recalibrate his swing and resuscitate his confidence.

After all — besides Matt Harvey’s starts — Davis’ at-bats have become the must-watch event around the Mets, just for all the wrong reasons. Let’s see what horrible thing Davis can do now.