I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating the situation with Albert Pujols, trying to understand why I have the sudden urge to dislike him so, when just this past October he was the apple of my eye. And I think I finally made an analogy that summed it up well: he left me at the altar.
Consider “me/I” to be the St. Louis Cardinals, the fans, and the city at large. And consider Sir Albert to be our beloved beau. We started our relationship many years ago with cautious optimism, not knowing if we were meant to be. Many people believed that he wasn’t the right man for me and that this was a huge risk to take. But like all fools in love (or at least hoping the road will lead there…), we ignored all the others and jumped into a relationship.
It only took a few years for me to figure out that we were, indeed, a good fit. Sir Albert wanted to prove that he was “the one” and came out swinging. We got along so well, and had such great times, that it wasn’t long before we were engaged.
We had such great times. We took road trips together, stayed in fancy hotels, and took in the beauty of so many places neither one of us had been before. And with each trip, we continued to add to our photo album a list of accomplishments we shared together. Each award, each accolade, each round of applause belonged to us both – after all, who would Sir Albert have been without us? We believed in each other and supported each other through years of ups and downs. But every night, we came home to each other, happy we had made the leap of faith that we did. Sir Albert even brought me home some fancy rings to show his appreciation!
After all these years of courtship and promise, it was finally time to take those vows our engagement promised. It was time to say “I do” to each other, and commit for a lifetime of continued bliss. I was ready. I was more than ready. The date was set, the invitations were out, the guests had arrived, the gifts were on the table… Everything was set for this wedding to be the biggest, more special occasion in our lives.
But, while I was there in my beautiful gown awaiting the sounds of the Wedding March, I noticed at the altar that Sir Albert was still not there. My family and friends all looked around feverishly, trying to determine what had become of my Prince Charming. But suddenly, looking out from our Arch window, we see my husband-to-be hop into a shiny convertible with some other woman, and they begin to hightail it out west.
There I was. Alone. Devastated. Humiliated. Left to explain what had just happened, but finding no words.
After a little time had passed, and I had come to grips with reality, I was still left alone with my thoughts. Like anyone looking back on past love, I remember Sir Albert fondly. And in my heart, I will always love him. But I also cannot forgive him for the pain he caused me. I want to prove to him that he lost the best thing he ever had. I want him to see that I was able to continue without him, even better than before, and rub his nose in what he passed up. And I want to see his new relationship fail miserably.
That’s how I relate to the madness that has been bestowed upon me – as a lover scorn.
Ready for action
Game face on
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