"Sam Sosa. Yes, the real Sam Sosa, and this is my Pinterest." Something doesn't look right here. Yeah, "Sam Sosa" doesn't quite have the same ring to it as good old Sammy. Could we still call him "Slammin Sammy" if he merely went by Sam? Slam Sam? Slam Jam? Would Sammy Sosa have starred in Space Jam if that were the case? On second thought, that would've been badass.  Sammy Sosa never once went by Sam in his major league career. He did, however, go by Sam as a minor league prospect, but from the moment he was first called up with the Texas Rangers in 1989 to his 2007 farewell tour with the Rangers a second time, he was always officially Sammy Sosa. That said, prior to his Cubs days, Sammy was not such a household name that all baseball card manufacturers and scorecards would print his name correctly 100% of the time.  But come on! "Sammy Sosa" is such a perfect baseball name. Say it, you know you want to. "Sammy Sosa". Feels good, doesn't it? And it sounds famous too. You know if someone has a name like "Sammy Sosa", they're going to go places in life, because that's a name you remember, it's a name that evokes powerful imagery of great achievement. It's like Abe Lincoln, you know? You hear Abe Lincoln, you think, that guy ended slavery, that guy always told the truth; men want him, women want to be him, Karl Marx sent needy 3am texts to him. Abe Lincoln. Same think with Sammy. Sammy Sosa. Only a special breed of people can have that name. What's the name of someone who can get caught with a corked bat and be honored by Congress as a National Hero in the same week? Slammin' Sammy Sosa, motherfuckers.  I mean, could you imagine if he went by "Sam Sosa"? Who the fuck even is Sam Sosa anyway? Is that the autistic guy whose daughter has perpetually been a twelve year old smart ass for like fifteen years straight? Sam Sosa is the kind of guy who was conceived when his dad's condom broke, is a closeted homosexual whose beard is a slightly portly redhead without freckles, listens to a lot Dire Straights, and felt really proud of himself after writing in John Kasich as a protest vote last November. If you're walking down Waveland Avenue and you find a child with a baseball glove, eager to catch a Sam Sosa home run ball, tell the little fucker that there's no chance in hell that Sam Sosa will ever hit a home run onto Waveland Avenue and spit on his fucking face. You know what? Put a damn Yankees cap on that stupid kid's head, because anyone limp enough to set their heart on a Sam Sosa home run is clearly such a schmuck that the only emptier way to invest his empathetic hopes than expecting achievement from Sam Sosa is to route for a historic baseball franchise whose insignia has become nothing more than a shallow status symbol for the type of people who sweat profusely when on the receiving end of eye contact from homeless people. Sam Sosa provokes no expectations from anyone, yet he still finds a way to be a disappointment.  Unless, of course Slam Sam Sosa is what it takes to retroactively put Sammy Sosa in Space Jam, in which case we redact this entire post and immediately petition Sammy Sosa to seriously rethink his personal branding. #EverybodyGetUpItsTimeToSlamNow #WeGotARealJamGoingDown #HeresYourChanceDoYourDanceAtTheSamJam #Alright