The lines weren’t straight. Some were written backwards. Some needed rewriting. But each line carried a genuine sense of regret:
âThank you for not hurting me. I liked you playing football. I liked it when you smiled. I hope you come back.â
Adults talk about contracts. About rebuilding. About strategy. Children don’t. Children only say what they feel.
And that letterâshared by his family with a few close friends, then spreadingâtouched the deepest feelings of Cardinals fans: Nolan Arenado left behind more than just statistics. He left behind memories.
One fan wrote: âWe can argue about anything, but if a child writes a letter asking you to stay, youâve done something right.â
During his time in St. Louis, Arenado wasnât always perfect. There were periods of decline. There were games where he was booed. But he never turned his back on the fans.
The little girlâs letter inadvertently became the most powerful reminder: what a player leaves behind isnât sometimes on the scoreboard, but in someoneâs heart.
Arenadoâs wife once said: âThank you for being tolerant of my husbandâs mistakes.â Now, this letter shows that St. Louis is not just tolerantâbut also loving.
No one knows if Nolan Arenado ever read that letter. But in St. Louis, it’s believed he felt it. Because things like this don’t need formal announcements. They spread through emotion.
She wrote: “I miss you.”
That’s the difference between a star and an icon.
If one day Nolan Arenado returns to Busch Stadiumâin any jerseyâit’s believed a family will stand up and applaud sooner than anyone else. And perhaps, somewhere in the stands, a little girl, slightly older, will still call him by his old name:
“Uncle Nolan.”
There are irreversible farewells. But there are connections that never fade.
And sometimes, what holds a legend back⊠is just a small handwritten letter, written with the genuine longing of a child.
