When the Baltimore Orioles signed Pete Alonso, they weren’t just talking about home runs. They were talking about “the right person, at the right time.” About big-market experience. About a face that could stand in front of the microphone, in the clubhouse, and in front of the fans without flinching. It sounded like the usual pitches of a debut.

But after just a few weeks, that feeling began to change.
On the court, everyone knew what the Orioles were getting. A true power bat. A player who could hit 30, even 40 home runs—accompanied by strikeouts that would both excite and frustrate the crowd. Pete Alonso was never a statistically “easy” player. And Baltimore didn’t sign him for consistency.
They signed him for his impact.

That was most evident not in practice, but at the Birdland Caravan. Events like this are usually a chore: show up, sign a few autographs, take a few photos, and then quickly leave. For many players, it’s the only way to keep things under control.
But Pete Alonso didn’t.
He stayed. He chatted. He mingled with the crowd. He even asked fans what walk-up music they wanted. A small detail, but enough to trigger the feeling that this wasn’t a staged performance. The crowd’s reaction was almost instinctive: laughter, excitement, and the feeling that this player genuinely wanted to be there.

For Alonso, it wasn’t new. He was used to the pressure, the crowds, the “center of attention” from his time in New York. The difference was that in Baltimore, he was entering a city that craved belief—and, for the time being, he was being embraced as a new icon.
Alonso didn’t shy away from it. When speaking about this experience, he describes a feeling of “shifting,” an organization moving forward together. Not the words of a newcomer still figuring things out. It’s more like the language of someone who’s already immersed themselves in the story.

That’s what makes the Orioles believe he’s more than just an offensive signing.
Of course, all of this exists within a very fragile space. Baltimore is a city that knows how to love—and also how to turn its back. If the season starts with a cold run, if Alonso hits .150 with a home run in the first two weeks, things will change very quickly. Cheers will turn into doubt. Stories of “leadership” will be replaced by questions of pressure.
And Alonso knows that.

But at this point, before any results are on the scorecard, one thing is undeniable: Pete Alonso is doing exactly what the Orioles hoped for—and perhaps more. He’s not just integrating. He’s actively taking space, in an unassuming but palpable way.
The season will decide everything. The home run will come—or not. The fans’ patience will be tested—or not.
But when the Orioles say they signed Pete Alonso for the person, not just for the bat, perhaps this is the first moment they’ve seen something the statistics can’t yet tell them.
The question is: will this feeling persist when things aren’t going so well?
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