Pete Alonso Mets Goodbye Instagram Letter: What a Bunch of P.S. Polar Bear S@#T

Pete Alonso said goodbye to New York this week. And not just any goodbye. This was a full-on, heart-clutching, cue-the-violins, sun-setting-over-the-Queensboro-Bridge emotional farewell on Instagram. And by emotional, I mean the kind of scene that makes even the toughest Mets fan well up like they’re watching the end of Field of Dreams—you know, the “Hey Dad… wanna have a catch?” moment that destroys grown adults on contact.

Here is Pete’s message exactly as he posted it:

New York, thank you. These last few years have shaped me in ways I’ll carry for the rest of my life. This city demands your best and I’m proud to look back knowing I gave everything I had into earning the privilege of wearing that jersey.

I’ve been blessed with incredible teammates, coaches, trainers, staff, and countless people who helped shape me into the player and man I am today. I’m forever grateful for every person who challenged me, supported me and believed in me along the way.

Thank you for the passion. Thank you for the love. Even the tough love that comes with playing for New York. When it came time for first pitch, thank you for being electric through it all. Thank you for getting rowdy every time I stepped up to the plate and made the building shake when the ball found a seat over the wall. Your energy fueled me more than you’ll ever know.

You believed in me, and you made me better.

With love,

Polar Bear

(via IG/polarpete20)

Lovely. Beautiful. Touching. A real Hallmark Channel special. And also, truth be told, just the tiniest bit revisionist—sugary enough to make you forget you’re basically staring at a heap of steaming polar bear crap in gift-wrap. I say this as someone who genuinely loves Pete Alonso. I say this as someone who has thanked Pete in print, on broadcasts, in person, and once while sprinting after him across a spring-training practice field at a speed my cardiologist strongly discourages. I thank Pete for giving everything he had every single day. I thank Pete for being gracious, always, with interview time over the years. I thank Pete for signing more autographs than seems physically possible during BP and spring training. Seriously, there were days I thought he would need Tommy John surgery just for Sharpie wear and tear. And of course, I thank Pete for one of the biggest postseason home runs in Mets history, an absolute soul-igniting blast in Milwaukee that shook Mets Fans so hard the 7 train was legally required to file a noise complaint.

But it is a big but. A polar-bear-sized butt. Pete Alonso did not get traded, exiled, waived, abandoned, sold, swapped, discarded, expelled, or placed on the next Amtrak out of Penn Station. No one snuck into his apartment at night and spirited him away like the Baltimore (ironic) Colts in 1984. Pete Alonso chose to leave. And that is fine, totally, completely, one hundred percent fine. Players have a right to chase the years, the dollars, the security, and the crab cakes.

But the farewell letter reads as if he were shipped off against his will, like Walt Frazier to the Cavaliers, or Tom Seaver to the Reds (please do not get me started), or poor Ed Giacomin, who basically woke up one morning and found out he had been waived like an expired jar of mayonnaise. This is not that. Not even close.

Let us rewind the tape. Pete’s whole “maybe it’s time to move on” journey didn’t start this week. It started back in October 2023 when he fired his agent and hired Scott Boras, baseball’s unofficial Minister of Finance, to chase the Big Kahuna free agent contract. This came right after Pete turned down a seven year, one hundred fifty eight million dollar extension from the Mets. At the time, it would have made him the highest paid first baseman in baseball at over twenty two and a half million per year.

And look, if all those things he waxed poetic about in his goodbye, the love of the city, the bond with the fans, the “this place shaped me” stuff, were truly guiding the ship, then he had a perfectly good chance to come back. He didn’t. That’s fine. That’s business. But please, Pete, don’t try to sell me the Queensboro Bridge. (Never calling it the Ed Koch Bridge unless I’m feeling “Groovy.” Google it.)

Fast forward to his walk year. Pete put up a .240 average with one hundred forty six hits, thirty four homers, eighty eight runs batted in, and ninety one runs in one hundred sixty two games. These were respectable numbers for most players, but statistically they were his lightest full season. They represented his lowest home run, RBI, and on base percentage totals for any non shortened season, his second lowest batting average, his career worst slugging percentage, and for the first time in three years, zero MVP votes. Combine that with a robust free agent market full of quality first basemen, and suddenly the phone was not exactly melting from incoming calls.

So Pete came crawling back to the Mets in February 2025, polar bear tail tucked neatly between his legs, on a team friendly two year, fifty four million dollar deal. The key detail was that he made sure it included a player opt out, which he triggered after one season. He earned thirty million dollars in 2025 and walked away from twenty four million dollars for 2026 to go fishing in the free agent lake again. From all reports, the Orioles were the only team willing to go five years. He took it. Again, totally fair. Totally deserved. Totally his right.

But do not tell us you loved us too much to leave. Not when you bolted like George Costanza running over the clown and half the kids at a birthday party at the first hint of smoke. Mets fans, though, are a special breed. They eat this stuff up. They inhale farewell posts like they are oxygen and Shake Shack fries. Half the fan base read Pete’s letter and immediately burst into tears. The other half built a shrine. Honestly, the reaction is so intense you would think the Mind Flayer or Pennywise was manipulating emotions from somewhere below Citi Field.

Let us compare with other fan bases, shall we. Johnny Damon left Boston for the Yankees and was greeted at Fenway Park with boos, dollar bills thrown at his feet, and the occasional exorcism attempt. Bryce Harper got booed in Washington like he had personally stolen the Lincoln Memorial. Carlos Correa was treated in Houston like he had run over the team bus. Robinson Canó was greeted with so many boos that if booing were a competitive sport, the Bronx would have hung championship banners for it. J. D. Drew and Jayson Werth experienced the same treatment in different area codes. John Tavares, Kristaps Porzingis, Carmelo Anthony, Saquon Barkley, and Mark Messier were each booed out of buildings, airports, and at least one Dunkin’. Yes, Mark Messier was booed at Madison Square Garden, especially after he left the Rangers for the Vancouver Canucks in 1997, with fans directing anger at him for his departure and the subsequent struggles of the team, though he was also celebrated as a hero, particularly after leading them to the 1994 Stanley Cup. Fans showed their disappointment with boos during games when he returned as a Canuck, feeling he abandoned them after winning the Cup, but later welcomed him back with cheers when he returned as a Ranger in 2000.

Even Jose Reyes, who left the Mets for the division-rival Miami Marlins after the 2011 season on a lucrative six-year, $106 million contract, is greeted with chants of “Jose! Jose! Jose!” whenever he returns to Citi Field. Mets fans still adore Jacob deGrom, who ghosted us like a bad Hinge date, and now many will still adore Pete. I do not get it. I never will. We are the only fan base where you can leave us for piles of money, send us a breakup letter, and half the city responds with, “I should have done better. It’s my fault, not yours.”

So here is my own farewell to Pete Alonso. Thank you, Pete. Thank you for the memories, the bombs, the interviews where you answered every question like an honors student, the endless autographs, the big moments, the joy, the noise, the passion. Thank you for giving everything you had. And also, thank you for proving once again that in baseball, as in life, you can write the most heartfelt goodbye in the world, but sometimes a big Polar Bear sized butt tells the real story.

Enjoy Baltimore, Pete. We will miss you. But I, for one, will always remember exactly how you got there and I am probably in the minority for feeling this way. I would love to hear if anyone else agrees or wants to tell me why I am completely wrong.