My favorite Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina highlights

A June game in 2003. An April game in 2011.

Far too often, sports fans attach themselves to mere stats and abilities, forgetting about the imprint that players can leave on them which are separate from the amount of home runs hit or innings caught. 

Fact: This weekend's series against the Pittsburgh Pirates will be the last time thousands of baseball fans in St. Louis and millions of fans around the world will be able to see Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina play at Busch Stadium. Playoff games await, but those are super expensive and usually don't sit at the grasp of the average blue collar fan. As people deciphered throughout the season if Molina or Pujols should or shouldn't be playing, they were missing a very clear fact: This is it. 

Make no mistake. Unlike Adam Wainwright, they won't be back next year. Molina looks like he is on the final ride, and Pujols is clearly emptying the tank at the plate. A 19 year career spent behind the plate in one jersey ends for Molina. A 22-year career, split between St. Louis and Los Angeles but with a finish here in town, will end for Pujols. Next year, a new era begins but, that's a worry for next year. 

The most intriguing sports tale is one that came out of nowhere. Molina was selected in the fourth round, while Pujols wasn't selected until the 13th round. Few could have predicted the two of them would accomplish what they did. Molina started out as a defensive specialist who taught himself how to hit better at the Major League level. Pujols may have snuck under the radar during his entrance, but he blasted off in his first month. 

The stats have been listed and listed again, molded into fans' minds so deep that a diehard fan could wake up and say, "700, 3 MVPs, 2 World Series, 11-time All Star" immediately without even thinking about it. But it goes beyond that, talent being attached to vital moments in people's lives. 

For instance, the best Molina story I can tell is attending a game in 2011 with my pregnant wife. April 24. She was five months pregnant, so the hard kicking had commenced. The Reds were the opponent and our seats were up high in the nosebleed section, and they were holding the Cards to a scoreless game late. Now, any husband knows that a pregnant wife was only good for six innings, but not my wife. #4 is her favorite player and has been for many years, so she wasn't going anywhere as Molina came up with a runner on base. He smacked a go-ahead homer, and my unborn son kicked harder than he ever did during those treacherous nine months. 

Maybe it was the noise. It could have been the fact that the sound outside my wife's belly sounded like a World Series rally was happening outside. That's what Cardinals Nation does when Molina does something remarkably. That adoration isn't gifted or handed over; it's earned over decades spent in one spot building a legacy. 

After Pujols signed with Los Angeles, Molina could have left too. His contract was nearing completion, and his reputation already preceded him ten years ago. His best friend was leaving, and things were changing with new management and a changing roster. But Molina stayed, keeping the seat warm for "The Machine" to return. 

Pujols's offensive list of highlights could fill a few large walls downtown, but I'll give two. The first memory I have of him is the Lidge blast. My wife and I were living in Florissant at the time, working rough jobs and starting to think about purchasing our first house. Recently married and having graduated into adulting years before, the blast heard around the world hit me like a ton of bricks on that previously sad evening. 

When he hit it, the odds of it leaving the field were a foregone conclusion once Lidge squatted in Kershaw-like agony. The fact that it blasted off the top of the brick above the train tracks added the emphatic element. But I became so excited that I ran out of the living room and straight into a pretty clear-standing wall. It was one of those wins where a car ride down Lindbergh was required. 

When you invest yourself heavily in a team and players, a win for them feels like a win for you. The second Pujols memory is more low scale, regular season variety, 

June 6, 2003. The Baltimore Orioles were in town, and leading 6-5 heading into the bottom of the eighth. Pujols came to the plate with the bases loaded, and smashed a double that cleared the bases. Watching up high from the manual scoreboard, it was one of the few times during the regular season where the stadium and board shook. 

Pujols has collected many game-winning hits, but this one was special to me for what happened afterwards. PJ, Troy, and myself went out after the game, grabbing drinks at a nearby bar. We celebrated a reg. season win like it was an NLCS triumph, because that's what baseball can do to you. It can take the mundane and turn it into cinema. That's the emotion and romantic pull of the sport, clear as day. 

It was sadly one of the only times the three of us would ever hang out outside of work, especially after a game. Troy, a young lawyer with a ferocious sense of humor and lust for life, would pass away the following spring after a bout with cancer. Real life can walk up and snatch the goodness out of your life without even the most faint of warnings. He was only barreling past his mid 30s when he died, a painful reminder that cancer just sucks horribly. 

What couldn't be taken away from us was the Pujols double, the hangout after, and the hysterical laughter we shared at Troy's home later that night. Life takes away people, but it can't touch memories. That's the power of baseball, helping the harsh realities hit lighter. 

Thanks for TONS of those memories, Yadier and Albert. It's been a pleasure. World Series ring #12 would be a great chef's kiss ending, but we've gotten a full plate of your heroics regardless.