Wiggins dabbles in poetry from time to time. It's not only something to get the ladies all hot and bothered, but it's a way for Wiggins to express what he is feeling at the core of his soul.

And so, dear friends, an ode to Mr. Tony Gwynn. Enjoy.

GWYNN by Wiggins

Gwynn! From the bottom of the heart.
Cancer? No way. You can do it.
Just do it. Nike. Sponsorship.
But not Gwynn. He's no sellout.

When it comes to being thin, don't turn to Gwynn.
But when it comes to a win, turn to Gwynn.

Orange.

Brown.

White.

Yellow.

Black.

Later: Blue. Sand and sea.

These are the colors that will never fade.
These colors don't run.
Just ask the Braves.

When the chips are down.
When the umpire throws Garvey out of the game.
"Bear down, Ump."
Who remains? TG. Tone-ee! Tone-ee!

You can hang a star on that one.
You can hang that one on a star.
Star? TG. Tony Gwynn.
Padre for life. Aztec for life. Baseball his wife.
Secret mistress: Baseketball.

Shhh. Don't tell. TG hittin' both sides. But in the end he married baseball.

Basketball wants child support. That baby ain't Tony's.

One more than eighteen. One less than twenty.
A million times more than us all.
Nineteen. Right field.
The glove is gold. The heart is gold. The soul runs gold.

Triple bacon cheeseburger with extra pickles.
It's all good.
Hit the round bat to the round ball.
Even Ted Williams was impressed.

Dear Cancer: When your lifetime average is over .300, then you can talk.
Until then, get off Mr. Padre's nuts.

This has been a Wiggins poem. And Wiggins is out.