Vaya con Dios, Dude

About a week ago, Albert Pujols signed a megadeal with the California Angels, or whatever they’re calling themselves this decade. I’m still stunned. Ten years, $240 something million.

For weeks my good friend from St. Louis and I sent notes back and forth about Albert. He’s staying, she said. Ties to the community, charity work, went to high school here, she said. No, I said. He’ll take the money and run. If he was staying he would have signed long ago. He’s gone.

Other than that it didn’t ramify. At the end of this electronic dialog she shot back one last email. And if he does go, she said, vaya con dios, dude. I laughed and privately hoped she was right and Pujols would remain a Cardinal.
But he did go. One of the few guys who had the chance to spend a glorious career with one team in a city that adored him. Cal Ripkin, Tony Gwinn, but not Albert. The St. Louis fans, team and press were unfailingly polite. Pujols’ wife made some ridiculous and ill advised remarks about how the Cards had disrespected him. And then he was gone.