Well, golly. I was all set to write a nice little column this week about Christmas in St. Louis, with stuff like silly old memories about Santa Claus arriving at various locations on a train or in a helicopter, but then the California/Anaheim Angels decided to give Albert Pujols a quarter of a billion dollars to play baseball with them for 10 years. I think he also gets per diem meal money on top of it. Anyway, that announcement made me change my mind, and now I feel like venting instead.

In all probability, the departure of Pujols won't affect my life for more than a few hours here and there during baseball seasons yet to come. I'll always be a Cardinals fan and they'll still be a great team to root for.

Nonetheless, I'm wrestling with a sense of bitterness and disgust about this whole messy deal. Yeah, yeah, it's strictly business and all of that, but it still has kind of a nasty taste to it for me. When the Pujols news came out last Thursday morning, my 20-year-old son said, "I guess this is what it feels like to have a spouse cheat on you."

Probably not that extreme or emotionally devastating, I hope, but there are some real similarities in the sentiments that have been expressed over the years. You're the one for me. I love what we have here. This is where I want to stay. It can't get any better than this. It's not about the money.

This whole episode got me thinking about what somebody could do with $25 million a year. I honestly can't imagine. It's mind-boggling for a guy like me who still clips coupons, waits for sales and buys generic bran flakes.

With Pujols-level money, you could get whatever you want, in any store. In fact, you could probably just buy the store and staff it with your own army of Oompa Loompas and supermodels in cat costumes, and have Tony Bennett serenade you while you browse.

I once read about Elvis Presley renting out an entire amusement park so he could enjoy the rides without being bothered by adoring crowds. What a cheapskate — why not just build your own amusement park? Michael Jackson did.

Pujols' new contract works out to about $68,493 a day. He could take a nap in the afternoon and make a couple of grand while he's asleep. A writer for the Sporting News noted that the monster deal will pay Pujols $154,321 per game, which would be more than a nice annual compensation package for many of us. How many extra tickets and souvenir jerseys will the Angels need to sell to cover their bloated payroll?

Since these staggering Monopoly-money figures are way more than a person could ever spend on life's basic needs, I was trying to find some twisted amusement in imagining what kinds of ridiculous purchases you could swing with $25,000,000.

Caveats: math and I have never really been on the best of terms, and none of my calculations below allow for any sales tax.

There was a cheesy TV commercial in the 1960s or '70s which showed a bunch of young people on a hilltop singing, "I'd like to buy the world a Coke." Even 25 million bucks wouldn't cover that, but if you wait until Shop 'n' Save runs a special, you could afford about 90 million 12-ounce Coca-Colas. Laid end to end, those sodas would reach 6,392 miles, which is the distance from St. Louis to Cairo (Egypt, not Illinois). The resale value of the aluminum cans alone would be over $400,000.

I'm not in the habit of shopping for luxury cars so my naïveté may be showing, but let's say you could pick up a decent new model for $65,000. That means Pujols could buy a different one every day and still have about $50,000 a month left to scrape out a meager existence.

Many years ago I read a fascinating article in which various celebrities were asked at what point in their lives they felt as though they had "arrived" financially and were truly in the big time. Most of the respondents gave some shallow or materialistic answer, such as when they bought their first Ferrari or had a mansion in the Hamptons. But my favorite comment was from the famous playwright Neil Simon, who said he realized he was a success went he went from zero to $200 a week, and nothing after that had ever made much difference.

Maybe for some people it actually isn't about the money.

Steve Unger has been professionally writing for 30-plus years to help companies sell stuff. His Journal columns are a labor of love to salute the people, places and charm of St. Louis. If you'd like to share a memory of St. Louis or just drop him a line, he can be reached at stevethewordguy@aol.com.