There was always a stress between him being a one-dimensional thumper and a well-rounded transformational figure. Guys in the booth would describe him as a "future captain" (Gary) and "not a good power hitter, but a good hitter" (Keith), and it wasn't that they were wrong, but you sort of had to squint to see it. Obviously, the 2024 homer in Milwaukee — that redeemed a meh season, turned around the series the Mets were about to be eliminated in, and broke poor Bob Uecker's heart — stands out as an individual memory, but more generally what I recall was the way he kind of arrogantly but kind of goofily pushed his way into Mets culture and asserted himself in ways he wasn't supposed to, like a teenager in a comic book or stupid movie having the high school administration wrapped around his finger. He was the one who somehow successfully lobbied to bring back black uniforms. He was the one who turned walkoff wins into strip shows. He was the one who invented a fake coach. He was the one who dangerously insinuated an F into LGM. He was the who (seemingly) first embraced Jose Iglesias' silly record to help make it transcendent. (He was probably more accurately the first English-first guy to embrace it and therefore helped it cross over.) The ironically amazing part of taking that role is that the fictional teenager who pulls that off (think Archie Andrews or Zach Morris or Ferris Bueller) always has a charisma completely embodied by a confident fashion sense and a great haircut, and Alonso (far more Moose than Archie) could never figure out anything to do with his hair that wasn't a complete (or near complete) disaster. I feel you, Pete. [fimg=625]https://nypost.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2022/06/BASEBALL-MLB-MIA-NYM_-3.jpg?w=1024[/fimg]