People always talk about players that are better in person. You’ve heard these quotes from your friends before:
“Man, you gotta see Puig in person.”
“Felix live is sick!”
“Watching Pedro Florimon hit changed my life.”
I never had that kind of experience seeing a player live until I went to Wrigley Field. I wasn’t blown away by speed, power, athleticism, or even grit. No sir. You see, what really struck me was how much fun Alfonso Soriano had with the game of baseball. So on that note, I wrote a little poem about my new favorite player.
You arrived in this world so damn clean.
Pants always tight and pristine.
You’re not Aaron Hicks, but 1976, was when you emerged from your mothers vahin.
San Pedro De Macoris is your home.
You are better than Pedro Florimon.
Then you grew from a boy to a man
And spent two derpy years in Japan
In 06 you came to DC
And proceded to give the entire league an STD.
You, Bonds, Canseco, Oh Lordy
A-Rod, and a Mercer named Jordy.
Achieved such a feat, you danced to the beat, all but one of them have hit 40-40.
The time in DC ended shitty.
But you came up to the Windy City.
You picked up your bat, and you put on your hat, and you’re way better than Alex Liddi.
You never played for the Detroit Tigers.
You never played with Alex Meyer
Your swings make me cry, your socks are so high and only your spirits are higher.
You smile, you laugh, and you play.
You always take my breath away.
May you never retire, may your socks go up higher, to Alfonso a hip hip hooray.