The Night Time Stood Still

What I did.

What I still do.

It’s sacrilegious. 

I know. I’m afraid to admit it myself. I’ve tried to hide it for a long time.

But it’s time I come clean. I have something concerning to share. I’m a Dodgers fan. While that may seem like my dirty secret, you may hate me for it (and frankly, I understand).

But it’s worse.

My favorite player was… one of the best Cardinals in history... one of the best players. This was my great shame; how could I love a Cardinals player? The Cardinals were always good, to the dismay of anyone in the NL who had aspirations of grandeur. He had done so much to destroy any team that wasn't his for so long—a killing machine concocted in the lab to relinquish the hope of all other baseball fans.

The time came to let go of my shame when he signed a massive contract a little bit closer to home with the Angels, where he was close enough that, if I wanted, I could see my favorite player. This was before he became Uncle Tio for one beautiful summer with my Dodgers. This was the machine. Albert Pujols. 

Sadly, as with all good things, Albert’s skills began to deteriorate as he aged, and a player who maybe thought he could flirt with hitting the most home runs of all time, reclaiming a record tainted by steroids, started to fall off. Would he even get to 600 home runs before he’d call it quits?

The six hundred home run mark is rarified air in baseball. Five hundred home runs is almost a lock for the hall of fame, 600… Absurd. At the time, only eight players out of the thousands have played in the over 140-year history of major league baseball. There are American states founded after this. Entire countries founded and others breaking part. Wars, a time before cars, before world wars, stretching back to time no human alive witnessed, and during that time, only eight players have done this.

As the 2017 season progressed, it looked like it would happen. This would be the year for Albert to reach 600.

2017 was a wild year for me. I graduated with my masters in May, and almost simultaneously, my girlfriend and I mutually parted ways. I had gone from working three jobs and working on a master's to nearly nothing. 2 of my jobs were school jobs that had ended by this time of the year. I went from so busy to staring at my wall. What do I do now? No school. Less work. No money. No girlfriend. Alone. Had I made a mistake? Why have I worked so hard and feel I have nothing to show?

It was my first time living alone since college, and I had gone from a one-bedroom apartment with three people to a studio with her and her two cats—now it was just me alone. I had more space and freedom. But... is that what I wanted?

What should I do?

Well, I have some free time so that we can watch the NBA playoffs… Maybe the Cavs can beat Golden State again! Baseball… Albert Pujols has 599 homeruns? That’s crazy. It would be so cool to go to a game and watch him hit one. No, that’s crazy, I couldn’t do that… Well... I mean, why couldn’t I? He plays for the Angels, and even though they claim to be from Los Angeles, they are not. However, they are in Anaheim, which is close enough.

But I hadn't left my apartment other than to get groceries or do laundry in a few weeks. I haven't seen people. I don't want to do anything right now... No... You can do this.

And you don't have to do this alone.

So, I reached out to two friends. We were not flush with money then, so I wanted to check. I mean, these tickets have to be super expensive. Albert Pujols, at home? Come on… Wait… 20 bucks a ticket? In left field? Where he’d hit one? Absolutely.

And my friends agreed, so I offered to drive.

As we drove, I didn’t believe we’d see him hit a home run. I mean, things like that are so rare. There’s no way you could witness something like that, right? Witnessing your favorite player hit an unfathomable milestone. We also lose our minds at the next big home run hitter, but hitting that many home runs… You have to be excellent for so long. And so many start excellent and fade. Albert had faded but was the hallmark of consistency and professionalism for a decade or more what he could do with a bat led to many MVPs. In his first ten years, he was voted no WORSE than 9th for MVP. He was truly dominant. His stats page is ridiculous. 

As we drove, some part of that fact made me sad. I wanted to hope people would remember those days when he was truly transcendent. The burden of all great players is that they play long enough to become merely average, and eventually, it’s time to hang it up. People’s memory for sports is so short-term. We forget greatness so easily. However, what he could do on the field is not what made me root for him as a player; it was more than that.

His daughter had Down syndrome. He started an organization on behalf of children with Down syndrome. He does a lot of charity work, which you can read more about here. My brother is non-verbal autistic. And while those diagnoses are different, their impacts on families can be very similar. 

In 2015, his second to last all-star season (the last being seven years later when he found the fountain of youth in his final season by using some crazy satanic magic the Cardinals possess for some reason), he participated in the home run derby. This led to one of my favorite interactions: Champ Pederson, brother of former Dodger Joc Pederson, gave Albert a big hug. Champ, like Pujol’s daughter, has Down syndrome. It was so wholesome.

It reminded me of a feeling I don’t have very often in this world. He was one of the best at his profession. And he seems to be a perfect, kind, decent man, something we used to value. Athletes, politicians, and celebrities don’t necessarily sign up to be role models, but they do. People look up to them. Albert was someone I looked up to. He is truly remarkable not just in his work but also in his character. And I think we should all strive for that.

I believe sports bring more good into the world than they do wrong, but they certainly bring unnecessary hate. But Albert. He was good. This interaction was so simple. So sweet. It may not be a big deal to you, but seeing Champ hug warmly in front of many people is essential. I see how people look when interacting with my brother for the first time. A massive powerhouse of a man, giving full attention and love to Champ and seeing the joy in Champ’s face. It’s wonderful. Seeing that kind of happiness. You don’t see it often. We should see it more often.

You can read more about Champ and Albert here.

When I turned 19 or 20, I don't remember now. I had a birthday party at my parent's house. We had a solid group of friends over. And right there, in front of 15 other people, my brother had a meltdown and attacked my mom. Fifteen people looked at her and then at me to see how to react. My mom took him to another part of the house, and he calmed down while we tried to carry on playing party games. It’s hard to see the first time. So I don't blame them. But for us, that wasn’t uncommon back then. He's very rarely violent now.

These situations are complex to talk about with people because if you haven’t lived it, it’s tough to understand. Because we want to assign blame to things when they’re wrong. So we want to label the disorder or disease as “bad,” but the problem is they associate that “bad” thing with the person itself. They are more than their diagnosis but what they have going on can sometimes impact every aspect of their life. When you’re a family member, you see it all the time. You know it. You begin to understand it. But you’re also not living it, so there’s a level of guilt with being the healthy one. You’re their most prominent advocate, but you’re also there to see the hard times. The meltdowns. The overload. A person so overstimulated must lash out at their surroundings to become comfortable. 

And no one is at fault.

I believe everyone usually tries their best, but it’s hard. And it’s in these situations where there are genuinely no villains or protagonists to explain why it is the way it is that we begin to understand the fraught tightrope we walk as people, but also know that the resiliency to overcome difficult situations and realize that to triumph over adversity can make you see how extraordinary life can be in the small moments. A moment where you aren’t in pain. A moment where his screams of terror and anger turn into giggles that would be annoying to anyone else but a sign to you that your loved one is no longer hurting. And so you’re happy because there is good in the world. 

But you have to remember to find it.

I went with two friends: Or-el, my good friend since high school, who I got into baseball with. We cheered together years later when the Dodgers won the World Series. Then there was Zack, my former bowling partner and best sports buddy. We occasionally Pod. We all saw the big red hat statue before Angel’s stadium. We found our seats, and we watched the game.

Whenever Albert came up, the energy became electric. Only one of those feelings can happen when thousands of people are surrounded by each hoping for the same outcome. It was magnetic. It was powerful. We were sad when he didn’t get it the first time. But the angels haphazardly filled the bases at the bottom of the fourth. And with two outs, had they not done so, Albert wouldn’t have gotten an at-bat this inning. It felt like destiny.

And it was.

While that clip maybe 40 seconds to you upon rewatch, to be there...

As the crack of the bat hits, a ball about to enter the history books, and the hopes of thousands of people, cheering and wishing that they too could witness one of the sport's rarest moments. My favorite player hit a ball that, from my perspective, was so high it disappeared into warm Anaheim night but hung up there so long it looked like a meteor descending into the abyss of people to the right and below me.

We were roughly 100 feet away. I was a guy with no money or girlfriend, living alone, stuck at a crossroads. I was a guy who felt hopeless. A guy who had forgotten what it felt like to have hope. The guy got to be 100 feet away from history. And that's the beauty of sports. That's the beauty of life.

When things get rough, I try to remind myself that our mere existence is such a random fate of luck, but so is our life. It's always going to be chaotic. You can add good to the world even if it's hard. You can go out to the ball game and watch the closest thing you've seen to a literal superhero and still be surprised. You can have hope, and you'll be rewarded for it. You'll be moved by it. You'll see your two friends cheering against the backdrop of thousands of other people who would hug you right now. The collective cheer of those etching a memory they will never forget—a societal memory.

Sometimes, you need that win. And we all got it that day.

I hope you get yours, too.

More Albert Stuff:

His first game back to face his former team, the Cardinals

The jerk decided to hit another milestone and even though it was in LA, he hit twice in one night, I would have gotten tickets for the next game which were available... He could have waited. He was impatient, but I'll forgive him this time.

Like Dodger fans are cheering their heads off for the opponent, that's how beloved he is.

If you want to watch a video with highlights throughout his career.