I don’t care about Albert Pujols anymore. I haven’t cared about him since the day Matt Holliday reminded folks that he’d played on teams without Albert before and he’d won without Albert before.
Losing Albert Pujols was a little like losing an enjoyable employee at the office. One day the fellow who always brought in bagels and lox is gone and there’s nothing that can be done about that. No one else can afford to bring in the bagels and lox and no one else will so you just do without. And then one day the new guys start bringing in sushi and pizza bagels and you totally forget about the bagels and lox ‘cause you’re all like, “Hey thanks, new guys.”
It’s a transient and impermanent culture we live in nowadays and we as baseball fans and as people have adapted to that. And I would thank the crusty old sportswriters (who take way too much time out of their lives to admonish the one percent of the fan base that is flat freaking insane) to lay off the topic of hating/loving Albert altogether. The vast majority of us don’t care about Pujols anymore; we are happy with Craig’s pizza bagels and Beltran’s sushi, thanks all the same.
And that doesn’t mean we have blocked Albert Pujols’s salad days from our minds. Much like when, one day at work, you’re talking to a client who used to work with Bagels and Lox Guy, you remember fondly the things he did right, how hard he worked, how outgoing and helpful he was and you appreciate the past for a moment, but only for a moment because hey, we got to work here and the dude in LA has nothing to do with it.
And maybe you even remember for one fleeting second or two how rude and upset Bagels and Lox’s wife was because the company didn’t want to increase staff health insurance premiums just to keep him around but that hardly really matters. You just kind of shake your head and say, “Crazy chick was pretty cute though” and you go back to work.
And maybe a couple of years later you end up in some seminar in Anaheim and ole Bagels and Lox Guy is there, asking questions and working hard like always, and maybe you go up to him and say hello. Heck, maybe you even hug the dude ‘cause you love him like a brother and you miss him. But, more than likely, if you’re like the majority of the people in the office, you acknowledge him, shake his hand and go right back to the business of providing him stiff competition.
It’s nothing personal. Heck, it’s not even that interesting. It’s a very old story: Dude used to work here; now he works somewhere else. He left and everyone moved on.
And all you’re left with, at the end of it all, is a consistently odd hankering for bagels and lox.