Of course Albert Pujols deserves whatever off-the-chart contract might seduce him enough to sign after the season soon to begin. Don't be silly. But you notice that Pujols, who doesn't exactly own a reputation as a garrulous soul (and that isn't intended as a knock on the man who admits he's locked in all season long), was quite the chatter when he arrived at the St. Louis Cardinals' spring training complex, no new deal signed, and sticking to his position that spring training and the season aren't the time to negotiate.
He wasn't nasty in any way, shape, or form about it. If he didn't shed enough light upon the impasse for the taste of some of the reporters who greeted him and performed a thirty-minute press dance with him upon arrival, neither did he suggest that anything should be read between the syllables, never mind the lines, of one thing he did say, and rather emphatically at that:
I want to be a Cardinal forever.
St. Louis would love nothing more than to see that wish granted. Pujols is nothing if not the single most beloved baseball player the city has known since a fellow named Stan Musial patrolled left field and then manned first base for the Cardinals. And he's more than that. If Pujols decided to retire this instant, he'd not only have nothing more than to count the months until his no-questions-asked Hall of Fame enshrinement, but he'd retire as the single greatest position player the franchise has ever known.
Stan Musial was a great ballplayer. Ballplayer. If you want just one measure of how great he was, he always left the batter's box on the dead run. There's no question about it. "He even makes it to his natural habitat, the ballpark, from time to time," wrote Tampa writer Larry Thornberry about Musial last year. "Good thing. Somebody has to give Albert Pujols batting tips."
Musial has the numbers to back him up as a great ballplayer: He has a lifetime .976 OPS, a lifetime 159 OPS+, a lifetime average of 39 doubles and 25 home runs per 162 games, a lifetime .417 OBP, a lifetime .309 batting average against left-handed pitching (The Man batted from the port side, you know), a .294 batting average with men in scoring position and two outs, and a lifetime .308 hitter in the final three innings.
There are Hall of Famers who would give an arm, a leg, and the next generation of family to brandish those statistics. And there's one future Hall of Famer, wearing a Cardinal uniform for this season at least, who doesn't have to.
Albert Pujols is a great ballplayer. Ballplayer. He doesn't always stop to admire his blasts, though you couldn't really blame him when the Houston Astros were fool enough to let Brad Lidge pitch to him with the pennant about to go into their hip pockets, and Pujols was fool enough to hit one that only the retractable roof support kept from landing in the streets behind Minute Maid Park on the dead fly, delaying the Astros' pennant celebration by a game.
And Pujols has the numbers to back him up, too. He has a 1.050 lifetime OPS, a lifetime 172 OPS+, a lifetime average of 44 doubles and 42 home runs per 162 games, a lifetime .426 OBP, a lifetime .328 batting average against right-handed pitching (he's a right-handed hitter), a lifetime .291 batting average when he's behind in the count, a lifetime .326 hitter with two outs, a lifetime .324 hitter with men in scoring position and two outs, and a lifetime .323 hitter from the seventh inning forward.
Albert Pujols ought to be giving Stan Musial batting tips.
They're both great hitters. Great ballplayers. And they're both the kind of men you'd like to grill a few steaks with and shoot the breeze about, well, just about anything. If you're a musician, well, I don't know if Pujols plays anything other than the stereo, but Stan the Man would love to break out his harmonica with you. He'll play anything you like with you, so long as it's "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."
Pujols's value reaches well enough beyond the net results of his plate appearances, never mind that there's a delicious thrill in watching even the best pitchers in the game pondering whether he's going to carve his initials into their foreheads with any one swing. When was the last time you got to watch a no-questions-asked baseball superstar step into his office at the plate without wondering just when something was going to explode over his head to tarnish that pleasure?
Tony La Russa is a manager whose heart is usually found in the right place but whose respected-enough brain sometimes finds itself guiding a foot to his mouth. Such was the case when he suggested, a few days ago, and without a shred of evidence beyond an instinct that's understandable enough when all is said and done, that the Major League Baseball Players Association might be pressuring his big man to reach for ... well, the hell with the stars, try the Delta Quadrant.
I know what he’s going through with the union and, to some extent, his representatives, because his representatives are getting beaten up by the union. Set the bar, set the bar. That’s ... really and truly, but you’ve got to deal with it ... I know that he’s getting pressured. And it’s not arm-twisting. It’s dropping anvils on your back and through the roof of your house.
Not so fast, Tony, says MLBPA executive director Michael Weiner: "We have had no conversations with Albert or [Pujols's agent] Dan Lozano or any representative of Albert’s about the numbers. No pressure. Not even any conversations. Our concern is that players make an informed decision when exercising their rights under the contract. Knowing Albert, knowing Danny, a very sophisticated player and representative, they’re going to make well-considered decisions."
Pujols just isn't going to think about it while he's rounding into playing shape this spring, or striking fear into the hearts of pitching staffs during the season. He's also not even going to think about trying to see and raise basketball's LeBron James in the self-congratulation department. There won't be an Albert Pujols hourlong television spectacular explaining where he's staying or going and why.
"I'm Albert Pujols," Pujols told the press gathering, "and he's LeBron James."
Right there is ironclad evidence as to why baseball, warts and all, is superior to basketball and just about every other professional team sport known to mankind. And, perhaps, too, the reason a Cardinal teammate such as Matt Holliday would offer, quite seriously, to defer some of his own considerable salary on behalf of helping the Cardinals grant Pujols' enunciated wish.
Attracting an entity such as Pujols speaks splendidly of the old ball game and one of its storied franchises. Keeping an entity such as Pujols, who's earned every dollar of the possible $300 million he might stand to earn for the decade to follow 2011, would speak splendidly — albeit after the season — of that franchise and its host city, both of which customarily reek of that crazy little thing called class.
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