The trade of Alfonso Soriano today reminded me of the first time I ever noticed him as a player. I was watching Game seven of the 2001 World Series at a cantina in Mexico, when Soriano hit what appeared to be the Series-winning home run in the eighth inning off of Curt Schilling. My wife and I then took a cab back to our resort, as the moon loomed large over Tangolunda Bay.
Watching the Yankees melt down, as they did in the bottom of the ninth inning, was that much sweeter with the moonlight, and the evening breezes, and the sense that I was in such a lovely place. And if I had to endure almost seven seasons of Soriano as a Cub in order to get that memory back today, I suppose I’m indebted to him for that.