Dear Albert Pujols.
Wow, I can’t believe that there is even a slight chance the Cardinals could manage to screw up your contract. I wanted to take a minute to let you know how I feel about you. I don’t think I’m alone in this…
Albert, We were born the same year but I feel like you’re a decade older than me.
This feeling is based roughly 20% on fear and 80% on respect. You’re a 9 time All-Star, 3 Time NL MVP.
You’re the best in baseball; no one else is even close. Has there ever been a better 13th round draft pick? No, Albert, there hasn’t.
The day you donned Cardinal red, my whole world and St. Louis history changed.
Any time there is in argument about greatness, I immediately invoke your name.
I’ve been watching you break records since 2001. You’re my silver slugger every year.
You’re the only man I want to hug.
I’d like to share a dream I had with you, AP, because that’s what people who care about each other do: they share. I was floating through the ocean on an inflatable raft when I came across an island. At the center of the island was SI Swimsuit Model Brooklyn Decker lying a bed of shredded iceberg lettuce and surrounded by the chicks from the “Addicted to Love” video. As she beckoned me to join her, I noticed a crude batting cage in the distance with tiny angels floating around singing “We Are The Champions.” Inside that cage was you, AP, hitting dingers into the lagoon approximately 600 feet away. Swing after perfect swing, you were bashing it off that island and into the ocean where dolphins had gathered to celebrate your greatness. Long story short: I told Brooklyn I’d be over watching you, and if she could see about getting me a cold Budweiser it would be terrific. I also mentioned that Roddick looks like a real D-bag, which I’m sure we can both agree on. Anyway, best dream ever.
Please don’t leave. I don’t think my heart can take it.
If man-crushing you is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
No Homo,
Fresh (WC)
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