The first time Cardinals fans heard the name "Adam Wainwright" was on Dec. 13, 2003. That was the day the Cards decided, after a second straight disappointing offensive season from their 1998 first-round Draft pick, J.D. Drew, to ship the outfielder, along with catcher Eli Marrero, to the Atlanta Braves. The Cardinals got a bounty from that trade, notching starter Jason Marquis and reliever Ray King, both of whom were integral to St. Louis' World Series team of 2004, still the best Cardinals team of this century, even though fans largely saw the trade as a way to cut payroll -- a not entirely incorrect belief.

The third player in that trade was the one no one thought or cared about, a 22-year-old one-time top 100 prospect who was starting to slip down those rankings after a middling season for Double-A Greenville in 2003. If anything, Cardinals fans were skeptical of Wainwright: After all, if the Braves -- the team with the best reputation for young pitchers in the whole sport -- let him (a Georgia native!) go so willingly, there must be something wrong with him. Then-Cardinals GM Walt Jocketty was explicit, however: “Without [Wainwright] there wasn’t a deal,” Jocketty said at the time. “We see him as a top-of-the-rotation guy in a couple of years.”

The first time Cardinals fans heard the name "Yadier Molina" was on June 5, 2000. That was the day then-Cards scouting director (and now team president of baseball operations) John Mozeliak selected Molina in the fourth round of the MLB Draft. (And had some trouble getting him to sign.) It was not thought that the Cardinals needed a catcher all that badly: They’d just signed Mike Matheny to a multi-year contract, and if anyone noticed Molina at all, it was to say something like, “Wow, there are a lot of catching Molina brothers." (Bengie Molina would finish fourth in Rookie of the Year voting with Anaheim that year, and Jose Molina was with the Cubs.)

The Cardinals were an organization that had always taken pride in its catchers, but they’d had almost yearly turnover before signing Matheny, with the position changing hands between Danny Sheaffer, Tom Pagnozzi, Mike Difelice, Alberto Castillo and Marrero before Matheny was brought in to stabilize the spot -- if only because the Cardinals tried to get Joe Girardi to sign a long-term contract, but failed. (The Cardinals also brought in Rick Wilkins to compete with Matheny.) Molina was seen as a defensive whiz like his brothers, but highly unlikely to ever hit. His brothers were very proud of him, though.

The first time Cardinals fans heard the name "Albert Pujols" was Feb. 15, 2001. Actually, they didn’t hear the name “Albert Pujols” then, if they heard it at all -- they heard “Jose Pujols,” which was what he went by in the Minor Leagues in 2000 and did for that Spring Training until he set the record straight and let it be known he wanted to be referred to as “Albert.” This Pujols chap didn’t come up until then-manager Tony La Russa, in his daily press conference at Spring Training, answered a question from a St. Louis Post-Dispatch reporter about him by saying, “Pujols shouldn't make the club. But I didn't think [Mark] McGwire was going to make the club in 1987." A month later, Bobby Bonilla pulled his hamstring, opening up a roster spot for Pujols. It was still a bit of a surprise to see him on the Opening Day roster.

When you are a fan of a baseball team, you watch them, think about them, care about them, every day. In many ways, fans are the one connective tissue teams actually have. A team changes its roster constantly; managers and coaches and executive staff come and go; even owners sometimes sell their teams and move on. The one thing every team has, the one thing that guarantees a consistent throughline of history, are the fans. Fans have seen it all. They’ve seen their favorite players leave, they’ve seen young phenoms emerge, they’ve seen the most unlikely of players become beloved fan favorites. They’re the ones there to chronicle it all, and obsess about it all. Without the fans, there really isn’t any point to any of this. They’re the one thing that never changes. They’re always there.

And thus: These teams, these players, are an inextricable part of our lives. We mark our years by them; I was a little kid watching Mike Schmidt along with the bad-boy Mets, I was a college kid watching the repeat champion Blue Jays and Frank Thomas slugging for the White Sox, I was a 20-something watching the Yankees dynasty and Barry Bonds making history, I was a young dad watching the Giants win three titles in five years and the brilliance of a guy named Mike Trout. Someday there will be players and teams I watch as the father of college students, as a retired person, as an old man. Regardless of anything else that might be going on in your life, baseball is always happening. No matter what.

Which brings us back to Adam Wainwright, Yadier Molina and Albert Pujols. If you were a fan of the St. Louis Cardinals in 2000, and you are still alive, you are a fan of the St. Louis Cardinals right now. Which means you remember all of it. Wherever you were in 2003, when the Cardinals traded for Wainwright, or in 2001 when Pujols first showed up, or 2000 when Molina was the other Molina, they have been in your lives every single day since then.

They are the story of the Cardinals over the last 20 years. They are a huge part of the story of baseball over the last 20 years. But they really are the story of our lives. Whether you’re a Cardinals fan or not, those three have been on the brains of every baseball fan, in one way or another, for more than two decades. What else in your life is like that? Maybe your job. (Though probably not.) Maybe your home. (More likely, but still probably not.) Your religion? Your family? That’s what players and teams are: They get in your life, and they stay there. Every day. No matter where you go or what you do: They’re there.

This trio is an incredible rarity, three of the oldest players in baseball all having such shared history with one team. (It almost feels like a strange dream that Pujols was in Anaheim for nearly a decade.) But it is even rarer when, as is happening in St. Louis this weekend, that an entire city, an entire fanbase, whole decades of baseball fandom, get to celebrate the trio together one last time.

The Cardinals-Pirates series at Busch Stadium this weekend, Friday-Sunday, features the final three regular-season games at Busch for Molina and Pujols. And they could be for Wainwright, who is a free agent this offseason and has not announced his plans for 2023. All three games are sold out, and Sunday’s game, which features a pregame ceremony for Pujols and Molina, will have the feel of a grand, final goodbye. (Even if all three players will play in the Wild Card Series next weekend, which will also be in St. Louis.)

It is the culmination of what has been a magical season in St. Louis, for Wainwright, for Molina and especially for Pujols, who has been welcomed home by a fanbase that adored him as much as they once adored Stan Musial (the franchise’s singular avatar) and missed him terribly for 10 years.

But it’s more than that. It’s a connection. It’s an 8-year-old baseball fan, like my own son, who, someday, 70 years from now, will be able to say he saw Albert Pujols play in person -- just like my grandfather used to say he saw Willie Mays play in person. It’s a 73-year-old baseball fan, like my father, who can sit with his 46-year-old son and say goodbye to players they first watched together when they were both much younger men. It’s generations of baseball fans letting go of part of themselves. Baseball players, and baseball teams, are the quiet spines of our lives, one of the few constants left in this chaotic world. To appreciate that -- and to have the chance to say goodbye -- is a blessing. It’s a gift.