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A visit from the ghost of Albert Pujols (kinda) - A Hunt and Peck

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The kind of ghosts that exist while the person is still alive, so like, not really a ghost, I guess, but what else would it be called?

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i literally could not help myself.
i literally could not help myself.
Ronald Martinez/Getty Images

The sharp crack of thunder followed by a brilliant beam of lightening jolts him awake from his peaceful slumber. His eyes dart open at the noise, blinking several times as they adjust to the darkness of the room. His skin starts to chill to gooseflesh and he reaches for the Louisville slugger he sleeps with at his side.

He is being watched.

He raises the bat to his shoulder to ready himself and switches on the lamp at his bed side.

"Whoa, easy there. Wouldn't want to hurt someone with that, now would we?"

He turns towards the voice coming from a man dressed in a full Cardinals uniform, cleats and all, sitting in a chair in a dark corner of his bedroom, legs crossed and hands resting casually on the armrests.

"Who are you?" he asks, summoning up his courage, "And where did that chair come from?"

"You mean you don't know who I am?" the stranger says, rising from the chair and walking into the dim yellow light provided by the lamp.

"Albert Pujols?" he asks, rubbing his eyes in confusion, "But, you look different?"

"Well technically I am 2001 Albert Pujols - a fresh-faced... wait, how old was I in 2001?"

"Uhh, I think twenty-one?"

"Yes, a fresh-faced twenty-one year old," Pujols answers rubbing the back of his neck.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, slowly setting the bat down on the floor.

"I am not really sure, actually," Pujols answers with a shrug, "but since I am here, we might as well talk, right?"

"Uh... sure?"

The two men look at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. Finally Pujols clears his throat and speaks.

"So, you are off to a pretty good start, huh? Getting a few comparisons to me?"

"Look, man, I didn't mean-"

"No, no, I think it is great. I am really happy for what you are doing for my team."

He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, Albert, you do not actually play for the Cardinals anymore."


"Yeah, you uh, play for the Angels now..."

"Well, I did not see that coming. But I am still playing?"



"Nothing. You actually just passed Reggie Jackson in home runs the other day."


Pujols shuffles his feet and the two men stand in silence again. This time, the other man breaks the stillness.

"So, do you have any advice?" he asks.

"Advice from me? You seem to be doing pretty well on your own," Pujols says appreciatively.

"I don't know. Eventually it will have to end, though, right?"

"As soon as you start thinking that, it will. Ride out this hot streak for as long as you can."

He nodded. "Thank you for your wisdom, Albert," he says.

"Don't mention it, mang," Albert says, turning back toward the chair, "Oh and one more thing?"

"What is that?" he asks eagerly.

"Maybe work on your footwork at shortstop a little?" he suggests with an easy shrug of his shoulders.

Thunder cackles in the distance and the lightening flares in the window once again.

"That is so weird. It is not even storm-" he begins, his sentence cut off as he turns to a now empty corner of the room. He blinks several times before collapsing back onto his bed.

"No more chocolate ice cream before bed, Aledmys," he says tiredly to himself before drifting back to sleep.

Lo and Behold, the Cardinals' Best Player is Aledmys Diaz |

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