Albert Pujols feeling like … Albert Pujols again
TEMPE, Ariz. – The bench coach's younger son, 6-year-old Trey, was airborne, heaved by Mike Trout and headed toward Albert Pujols, his arms paddling against gravity. Trey howled, this being one of the great games of toss-a-small-human ever. Trout grinned as the boy flew to the waiting Pujols, whose bald head shone in the Wednesday morning sun. When Trey arrived into his arms, Pujols was laughing harder than any of them, and composed himself just enough to re-launch Trey.
"Who's your favorite player?" Pujols demanded.
When Trey again lifted a shy finger toward Trout, as Trey has been raised to tell the truth, up he went again.
"Yaaaaah!" Trey squealed, and Pujols squealed with him, and they all laughed again.
For the better part of three years here, Pujols had suffered through injury, trudged back from injury, trimmed his usual pounding off-seasons because of injury, reflected over injury. As he approached his mid-30s, there'd been conversations about the hitter he was anymore, or could be, though Pujols himself generally did not participate. He'd instead lower his brow and tighten his jaw, then inch toward a day he would surely feel like himself again.
The general manager of the Licey team in the Dominican Republic – the former big-league manager Manny Acta – turned to identify who among the Los Angeles Angels was calling his name, though he had a decent idea. He turned and waved to Pujols, who had Trout by the jersey. In Spanish, Pujols was offering to Acta a new center fielder for winter ball.
"Si, si!" Pujols cried.
Trout had other ideas.
"Nah, nah," he said, polite as he could.
Pujols wouldn't hear it.
"One month!" Acta shouted. "We'll get you back by Thanksgiving!"
Trout wrestled from Pujols' grip.
He stood under the sun on the big field here, drew back his bat, and scorched line drives to center and right-center. Stay back, let it travel, stay inside, head back, hands through, a slow and echoing metronome of bat against ball. He sought consistency. He sought precision. He sought another day's work closer to April, to opening day, his 15th. He loves the work, loves the cycle of preparation and performance. He believes he is gifted, but that is only an invitation to make something of it, so 14 years in he's a .317 hitter with 520 home runs, sometimes in spite of the past three seasons.
Maybe it's the contract; maybe it's the occasionally dour expression. In any case, there's been a good amount of delight taken in the fact Pujols hasn't been exactly Pujols for Arte Moreno and the Angels, though he's twice in three years hit at least 28 home runs and driven in 105 runs. He played 99 games in the other.
None of that was a concern on a Wednesday morning that found Pujols to be especially buoyant. He's batting .300 with three home runs this spring, and that wasn't the reason. He feels like himself again, sturdy over his legs in the batter's box, and strong from an off-season of hard and unrestricted work. And just plain happy to be back at it with his friends. They'd won 98 games and were dismissed from the playoffs in three, and there's the challenge of righting that, too.
He dragged a chair to his locker and explained he still carries the chip on his shoulder. Going on 16 years since 401 players were selected ahead of him in the draft, it still gets him out of bed early some mornings and still darkens his mood on his way to the batter's box. Maybe people forget. He'd perhaps made his point with the first MVP, certainly the second, the third was just piling on. He's still that guy in his heart – overlooked, underestimated and unwilling to stand for it. He hasn't forgotten.
"Why should I take this for granted, man?" he said.
And yet he seems to be happier this spring, and maybe that's part of it. His four children are growing up strong and healthy, from 17-year-old Isabella – he calls her "Bella" sometimes – to 2-year-old Esther Grace. Their FaceTime chats are the highlight of his days. He enjoys his teammates and his life in L.A. His body is sturdy again. Sure, the years can take their toll, especially in the mornings, when everything's creaky ("Trout's that age where he's supernatural and nothing ever hurts," he said), but that's only temporary. And the cage awaits. Why not have fun and toss another guy's kid around some?
"I think sometimes I take this a little too serious," he said, meaning his job. "I'm trying harder to enjoy it, not to be too hard on myself. At the same time, it's hard to try to be different when you've had the success you've had. Why change? I don't want to lose that chip."
He shrugged. What are you going to do?
"Believe me, trust me, I wish I could be more like Miguel Cabrera," Pujols said. "He laughs. He has a good time. That's who he is. Sometimes I wish I could do that. But I have to be true to me. I have to do the things I have to do."
He reported to stretch Wednesday morning with his teammates. He found Trout. They exchanged a silly handshake. When Trout turned away, Pujols gobbled him up in a bear hug, growled and hoisted him off the ground. He set Trout down, joined his group in a light jog and laughed.
This is fun. It really is.
"You have to love what you do," he said. "You have to."
