Albert Pujols, the super slugger who played for the Cardinals for 10 years, hit his 500th homerun on April 22, a feat only 25 other major league ball players have done.
Pujols left the Cardinals after the 2011 season for more money after telling St. Louis fans, “It’s not about the money.” It was about the commitment, he insisted.
He had many good years with the Cardinals, and we fans adored him ‑ idolized him. Then, with the stroke of a pen on a multi-million dollar contract he was gone. Most of us wished him well. Baseball, like anything else, is indeed a business.
Sometime in April, I caught the news that he was nearing his 500th, and then he did it. As an Anaheim Angel.
The news of the 500th homer flashed on an ESPN show at the YMCA.
“Humph,” I thought. “Good for him.” Moving on.
The next day, I saw a longtime friend’s post on Facebook. “Hmm. Number 5 hit 500. Huh. He still playing?”
I was one of the first friends to comment, and I wrote, “Exactly. And it’s sad that I feel that way.”
My friend’s status later set off a firestorm among some friends from my hometown who derided his post and others’ comments as sour grapes.
I stand by my initial comment: It is sad. We adored him, and if he’d stayed in St. Louis that city would have thrown quite a celebration for his 500th. The city would have declared 2014 The Year of Albert. The city would have thrown a parade every day for a week. Instead, as ESPN put it, his 500 chase had no buzz, and that makes me sad for him and for us Cardinals.
Still, the Cardinals are winning without him, though, and we’ve all moved on; we have Wainright, Wacha and my beloved Molina to cheer.
Yet, while Pujol’s all the way out in California, I want better for him still. Being a Cardinal taught me that.
A few days after the 500th homerun, I stood in front of the magazine rack at the Y, searching for something to read while I pushed through a workout on the elliptical. I picked up a Sports Illustrated with Pete Rose on the cover. The feature addressed the “Pete Problem” in an excerpt from Koysta Kennedy’s book, “Pete Rose: An American Dilemma.”
I remember as a young girl asking my dad about Pete Rose. I remember getting a broad answer about betting and being banned. Something in my dad’s voice or tone must have been thick with disdain because that’s how I came to the view the man, Rose, even as an adult: with disdain and indifference.
So, I picked up the magazine and found an unlikely story of incredible redemption.
The focus of the article is on Rose’s sins versus the sins of those who dope. “Rose has been banished for the incalculable damage he might have done to the foundation of the game. Steroid users are reviled for the damage they actually did,” Kennedy writes.
The SI excerpt begins with a description of weekend events surrounding Hall of Fame induction ceremonies. While Hall of Famers and nominees schmooze at the tony resort, Rose stays blocks away at a well-appointed apartment of a friend and signs autographs at the bookstore below. Hundreds attend the signings, but Rose doesn’t go near the resort where the “famers” are.
Can you imagine that? Are you a farmer now? A teacher? Can you imagine committing some act that would ban you from your fields or your school for life?
It’s a high price, and the crime probably fits the punishment, but I did feel start to feel something like sympathy begin to stir. I thought about being forced to sit on the outskirts of what had been once my whole existence for the rest of my life for choices I made a lifetime ago.
I was hooked. As I read, I’d look at a picture included in the article. It’s a photo of Pete in the 1960s. He’s young; handsome, even. He has his whole life ahead of him. I looked at the picture and I thought about his future.
I read about how Rose’s family joins him on these trips and how he’s become friends with the storeowner. I read about his love, knowledge and passion for the game.
Then this: According to the excerpt, Rose was signing autographs in Cooperstown in 2009 when he looked up to see Sparky Anderson, the Reds manager from the 1970s, approaching the table. After Rose was banned, the two hadn’t spoken. It had been 20 years.
Kennedy wrote, “As Anderson approached, frail but still vital at 75, a smile broke over his creased face, and then a mock scowl. When he got to Rose, he took off his baseball cap and, holding it by the bill, thwacked Rose back and forth about the head, muttering no-goods at him all the while.”
‘He knocked my cap sideways!’ Rose later said, laughing. It was the scolding of a boy who had strayed, a what-am-I-gonna-do-with-you! display of benevolent pique.”
Kennedy wrote that Anderson said later to friends at the resort “I owed him that visit. He played his heart out for me.”
Rose later visited Anderson at his California home, and the two posed for photos, called old friends and reminisced for hours.
All the while I read, I thought how wonderful that must have been for Rose. To get even a sliver of acceptance and camaraderie back from his old friend must have made Rose’s heart soar. Indeed, friends said after the initial encounter at the bookstore, Rose was lighter, kinder, in better spirits for the rest of the night.
I have thought again and again of Anderson’s forgiveness and willingness to let bygones be bygones. “I owed him that visit,” Anderson said. He played his heart out for me, he said.
Certainly, I don’t condone gambling or doping. I can’t reiterate that enough – both doping and gambling have no place in baseball or in any sport.
I do, however, believe in redemption, and even more I believe in forgiveness. I have accepted it many times myself for all of my many stumbles.
I’m glad that Rose, despite his major league mistakes, received that from a dear friend. I think we’re all worthy of that at some point – and multiple points – in our lives. Even our old friend Albert Pujols.
© Laura Hough Smith and laurahoughsmith, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Laura Hough Smith and laurahoughsmith with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
laura hough smith 