Logan Morrison is the Marlins' tweeter in chief

But this March, a luncheon speech by Samson salted a populace already smarting from the hotly contested stadium deal. "We don't care if nobody comes," he said, according to Miami Today. "We'll play in front of nobody, and we'll have all the money." He also took shots at billionaire activist Norman Braman and the admittedly dubious smarts of Florida politicians.

Samson claimed he was misquoted, but video confirmed that Miami Today's account was mostly accurate. If nothing else, he had channeled a smug and smarmy Gordon Gekko when all he had to do was shut up and, along with the rest of the Marlins front office, reap unearned profit.

Giulio Sciorio

Asked what this story should be about, Morrison replied, "The overall awesomeness that's about to go down."

Via twitter.com/amyknelson

"He's a big ol' boy, dude," Bryan Petersen (left) says of teammate, best friend, and bubble bath partner Morrison (right).

Location Info

Map

Marlins Park

1380 NW 6th St.
Miami, FL 33125

Category: Restaurant >

Region: Little Havana

Photos

0 user reviews	Write A Review

Related Content

• The Screwball Economics of Major League Baseball
  March 28, 2013
• Five Sports Owners (Maybe) Worse Than Jeffrey Loria
  April 12, 2013
• Mayan Calendar Predictions vs. Miami Reality
  December 27, 2012
• Everybody’s Doing the Fish
  May 9, 2013
• Marlins Season Predictions: Hysteria, Huge Loses, and Hugo Chavez Bobble-Head Dolls
  April 1, 2013

More About

• Thomas Morrison
• NL East
• National League (MLB)
• Logan Morrison
• Florida Marlins

So who really needs the public relations coaching?

Having spent the day bouncing around hills on a golf cart and swigging domestic beer, Morrison flops onto a leather couch. Two women in tight T-shirts and short skirts, who could probably be classified as cougars, laugh madly at him for refusing to nosh on a golf club buffet because the food isn't organic, while at the same time drinking Miller Lite.

Morrison appeals to a burly Marlins staffer. "They're laughing at me, Big John! Kick them out!" Then he turns to the ladies. "If I told him to kick you out, he'd kick you out," he says earnestly. He rears back on the couch, clutching a beer in one hand and making a headbanger symbol with the other, and screeches, "Because the guy that pays me pays him! Just say it!"

Morrison and his Miami Marlins teammates are at the Miccosukee Golf & Country Club in Kendale Lakes before this week's opening-day battle royal with the Cardinals. It's a charity golf event, part of the team's not-at-all-cynical spring goodwill tour of the community. Baseball players in golf shirts and handlebar mustaches are wandering around sunburned and drunk.

It's been a very Logan Morrison spring. He's battled his postsurgical knee, which has swelled uncomfortably. He's costarred with Bryan Petersen in The Petey & LoMo Show, in which they formed a two-man moped gang, toilet-papered a condo where three teammates lived, and caught Bieber fever. And he's been snared in a mini-controversy: The relatives of late Marlins president Carl Barger are pissed that Morrison has been given the number 5 jersey — George Brett's old number — which was previously retired in Barger's honor.

Beat reporters have been lurking around the golf club, dying to ask him about the jersey flap, he says. If they had, this would have been his response: "Fuck off. I'm over your shit. I'm over it!" he booms from the couch. "You will not twist these words.'"

Then the conversation turns to The Franchise. Showtime cameras have already begun following the Miami Marlins circus — including Ozzie Guillen, who has thus far lived up to billing by getting ejected from one of the spring's first exhibition games — and the program will debut midseason.

Speculation is rampant about what sort of antics Morrison might have up his sleeve. "We're probably going to get a LoMo cock shot before it's all said and done," posited Chris Joseph, a blogger for this publication.

Such hype irritates the virtuoso. "There's going to be some crazy shit, don't get me wrong," Morrison says. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Wearing golf shorts, he reclines and spreads his legs in sultry fashion. "It's not like I'm going to be like, 'Hey, let's do a naked camera interview right now. I'm just going to have the shades on — is that cool?'"

Then he gets a potentially hazardous question. Call it spring training for Morrison's new regimen of thwarting reporters by using clichés.

Just how in hell will thin-skinned Jeffrey Loria and contemptuous David Samson handle this roster full of crazy?

"I don't really know," says Morrison, struggling to provide a safe answer. "Is there a clear-cut plan for our team? No, there's not, but I think that's how he wants it. Other than the clear-clut plan — the clear... cut —"

As he trips over the phrase, a fan asks him to talk to his 12-year-old son on his cell phone. Guillen stops to give him a fist bump. Heath Bell, the Marlins' new closer and another joker, strolls by in a green argyle golf getup.

Five minutes later, Morrison has been sobered by the attention. Before he jumps up from the couch to join his new teammates in the parking lot, he enunciates, "The only plan that I know [Loria] has is for us to win a World Series. Other than that, I'm not sure, but I don't care."