You can’t turn down $325 million. Over the next 13 years, if Giancarlo Stanton breaks his leg or falls victim to a voodoo curse or develops a crippling case of sesquipedalophobia or happens upon any other sort of unfathomable malady, the Miami Marlins still will owe him that $325 million, a sum greater than any franchise has owed any individual in the history of organized sports.

And with that out of the way, and Stanton’s signature soon to dry on a contract that guarantees him this ungodly sum, comes the answer to a question philosophers and paupers alike have asked for eons: Apparently, the price of a soul is $325 million.

View photos Giancarlo Stanton, 25, is about to sign the biggest contract in sports history. (AP) More

What Robert Johnson did with a guitar, Giancarlo Stanton does with a bat, and in order to preserve that in Miami, Jeffrey Loria promised Stanton just shy of what he spent on his entire team’s combined payroll for the first eight seasons he owned it. This is a staggering deal, a monumental deal, the sort of deal in years and dollars that fits the New York Yankees’ or Los Angeles Dodgers’ or Boston Red Sox’s bailiwick.

Here, instead, are the Miami Marlins, owned by Loria, the man who along with his ex-wife’s son, David Samson, weaseled his way into taxpayers building him a brand-new ballpark despite his continuous ability to trade away all the players worth a damn under his control. He has done this again, and again, and again, and this time he swears it’s different, and maybe it actually is, because Stanton and the advisers that surround him are intelligent, conscientious, forthright people who wouldn’t sign just for the years and the dollars.

What that combination can do is make you want to believe the best in people, even people like Loria and Samson, whose last endeavor into big money ended in a spectacular fire sale that drew Stanton’s ire. He was the last person they wanted angry: a monster power hitter in a sport with a dearth, a marketer's fantasy with his handsome looks and multiple ethnicities that appeal to a wide swath, a good person and a grand presence and a dream anchor around which to build, if only the Marlins could build something Loria and Samson would keep together longer than a sneeze.

The fine print of the contract remains a secret for now, and perhaps it contains a greater explanation of what took Stanton from vehemently against any sort of extension with the Marlins to offering Loria and Samson his prime. Surely an opt-out clause helps. Ultimately, this may be baseball’s version of a football deal: big in years and dollars, far smaller in reality. If Stanton gets an opt-out at 30 years old, say, this would essentially be a five-year contract with an eight-year insurance policy for Stanton.

Giving the Marlins a half-decade to prove Loria’s previous decade-plus of ownership was a mirage is generous of Stanton. He could’ve waited two years, hit free agency and landed the mother lode then. Only he saw, with one Mike Fiers pitch in September that shattered his face and required surgery, how little is guaranteed, how the baseball gods can smite even the good.

The Marlins did right by Stanton during his recovery, engendering good will before meeting with him and delivering the sort of staggering contract proposal that included a huge chunk of we-know-you-can’t-stand-us money. The Marlins tried to wipe away their misdeeds with zeroes. And no matter how principled a man, how stubborn he may be in his opinion, staring at this – $325,000,000 – at 25 years old forces him to ask the logical follow-up: OK, so what now?

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