A couple of years ago, my son, now 17, and his friends walked into the house half-way through one of Pujols’s ridiculous games. I had a few a Budweisers in me and was feeling sentimental. “You guys,” I said to the group, “are witnessing the begining of a legend. This is DiMaggio, Ruth, Cobb, Mantle, Gibson. Watch him, remember every at-bat. Get to the stadium so you can tell your kids, ‘I saw him hit a homerun off of whoever.'”