Pujols has returned to St. Louis.
Albeit, he’s already he’s already left and was only here to catch a little league game last night. But he was here, people. He was here.
He refused interviews, seeing as every time he opens his mouth he’s pissed at somebody new for wildly offending him with a 220 million dollar contract and a lifetime of adoring fans from a city that loves baseball more than Montell Jordan loves tax evasion.
This is how we do it, indeed.
Call me crazy, but a week into the season, I think Albert is starting to really consider if all this was worth it. He will never, ever admit it, at least not for the next decade. But he used to be able to go to the ball fields and have a crowd leave him alone and admire him from the bleachers.
Now?
He’s getting daggers shot at him while news crews film him standing around in the requisite all black costume…err… track suit. This wasn’t the way the story was supposed to end. He’s caught as being a small-ish fish in a huge pond, while his old small pond has dried up.
When they say money doesn’t buy happiness, most of the times, they’re wrong.
But sometimes they might just be right.
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