A TOAST TO ERIC DAVIS; HE'S NOW A .300 HITTER IN CANCER AWARENESS.

Byline: KAREN CROUSE

There Eric Davis was, two days removed from his last chemotherapy session, stopping to smell . . . the exhaust fumes?

It happened last week when Davis got caught in a traffic snarl on his way from his Woodland Hills home to a black-tie charity dinner in his honor.

The drive, usually 40 minutes, took more than two hours, delaying the Baltimore Orioles outfielder's grand entrance at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Pasadena. As the organizers of the Bob Chandler Foundation benefit dinner anxiously awaited Davis' arrival, their gaiety became more forced. At length, one of them paid lip service to the dread that lurks behind the joy in the hearts of anybody close to a cancer survivor:

``I hope he's feeling O.K.''

Arriving as the cocktail hour was winding down, Davis assured everybody that his health is fine. The colon cancer that sidelined him from baseball for three months last year was the least of his concerns as he would board an airplane Wednesday bound for Ft. Lauderdale, where the Orioles open training camp this weekend with four outfielders. They re-signed Jeff Hammonds to a three-year deal on Tuesday, though the right-field job remains Davis' to lose.

``I've learned not to worry about things you can't control,'' Davis said. ``Life is too short to sit back and worry. I don't have time for that. If (the cancer comes back), it happens. I can't live the rest of my life worrying if I have a pain in my stomach, here it comes again. I've got to live my life to its fullest.''

Davis, 35, always has played baseball as though his next catch or at-bat might be his last. Who can forget the diving catch he attempted in the bottom of the first inning of Game 4 of the 1990 World Series? Davis, then with Cincinnati, spent the night in an Oakland hospital with bruised ribs and a lacerated kidney while the Reds celebrated their sweep of the A's.

He would spend a few more days in the hospital, in excruciating pain, but when he finally was released, people weren't inventing awards to celebrate his courage. In fact, Davis came to be viewed as fragile as a long-stemmed wine glass after leg, shoulder and neck injuries kept him from playing in more than 135 games in any season.

It wasn't until Davis sought medical help for a piercing pain in his stomach last May 25 and became one of 1.6 million Americans to be diagnosed with cancer in the calendar year that people began to see him as someone as strong as steel.

Having once had his durability questioned, Davis now wears the courage label uneasily. ``It was kind of disappointing to me that it took being diagnosed with something deadly for people to realize how dedicated I am to what I love to do,'' Davis said.

Besides which, where he grew up, in South Central Los Angeles, spunk was a necessary tool for survival.

``Courageousness is in the eyes of the beholder. This is not for me to exploit my courageousness,'' Davis said before accepting the Bob Chandler Courage Award - so named in honor of the former USC and NFL receiver who died of cancer in January 1995 after a four-month battle.

Davis tells his story not to elicit sympathy but to spread the word that cancer need not be a death sentence. It once seemed so; some 50 years ago, only one out of five cancer patients survived five years or more after treatment. Now, thanks to advancements in science and public awareness, that success rate has climbed to 51 percent.

By rejoining the Orioles three months after undergoing surgery to remove a baseball-sized tumor along with one-third of his colon, Davis wanted to help the Orioles get to the World Series. That was foremost in his mind.

And if he could prove to people in the process that it's possible to undergo treatment for cancer with a minimal disruption to one's life, that was so much the better. The Orioles advanced as far as the American League Championship Series before succumbing to Cleveland, but not before Davis kept the Indians' jubilation on ice with the winning home run in Game 5.

He batted .310 after his cancer surgery, proof enough that the chemotherapy he was undergoing at the time was killing his cells but not his spirit.

``Before being diagnosed with cancer, I never really paid much attention to (the disease),'' Davis said. ``Now I'm unconsciously being made aware of it all the time. This happens to millions of people. If it hasn't touched someone you know, it will. God forbid it does, but that's the reality of it.''

The reality of it was driven home to Davis last week when figure skater Peggy Fleming, who is a member of the Bob Chandler Foundation Advisory Board, underwent surgery for breast cancer.

Colon cancer, which is almost as common as lung cancer in the U.S., usually strikes people over 50 and more commonly afflicts women than men. Now for the first time in his life, Davis didn't fit the stereotype.

On the baseball field, Davis strives to be something special. Off it, he eschews special consideration. The Bob Chandler Foundation organizers offered to send a limousine to transport Davis to and from the charity dinner. He insisted that they save the money for worthier causes.

Traffic jam or no, he wouldn't have it any other way. Said Davis with a laugh, ``Why am I rushing to go anywhere? I'm just glad to be here.''

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Photo

Photo: Davis was greeted by a standing ovation upon his return from cancer treatment last fall.

Daily News File Photo