I grew up in East St. Louis, Illinois – right across the Mississippi River from St. Louis. I loved the St. Louis Cardinals and still do. Every night during the season, I would go to bed listening to Harry Carey and Gabby Street broadcasting the end of the Cards game. That’s right, Harry Carey. Before he became the voice of the Chicago Cubs, he spent decades with the St. Louis Cardinals.
My Dad played professional baseball. He was a catcher and spent most of his time in the minor leagues. When he was catching for the Albany Senators (NY), his roommate on road trips was Ralph Kiner. If you don’t know who Ralph Kiner is, that is OK. Most people don’t. But, the hard corps fans know he played for the Pittsburgh Pirates and led the National League in home runs from 1946 through 1952, and is in the Hall of Fame. Dad taught me and my brother, Bill, how to be a catcher. The Rice household was big on baseball (on being a catcher) and the Cardinals were our team.
I now live in the Washington DC area and cheer for the Washington Nationals (except when they are playing the Cardinals). So when the Cardinals came to town last week, I had to go see them.
The University of Missouri Alumni Association held a tailgate party for the Saturday night game. My daughter Missy, visiting for a few days from Jacksonville, Florida, and I went to the tailgate. The temperature was 98 degrees and there was no shade. The food was great, but hot and steamy. There was free beer! A much appreciated donation from, who else, Anheuser-Busch. Yes, being a St. Louis fan has its advantages.
Even free beer couldn’t keep us from escaping the sun. When we got to our seats, there was somebody sitting in them. Our entire section was practically empty, except for the four people sitting in and around our seats. This was not a problem. They had just sat there to avoid the sun while they ate. We told them we would sit elsewhere while they finished their dinner, but they were embarrassed and moved right out.
The game turned out to be a Redbird disaster. The final score was 12-1 and Albert Pujols didn’t play. What a bummer. They got beat like an old rug. The only high point in the game was that we didn’t get anyone seriously injured. Other than that, it was a washout. Here is an example. The Nats had a runner on second base and the batter laced a line drive to center field. Jim Edmonds, our center fielder, has a great arm and I just knew he would throw the runner out at home plate. I have seen him do it any number of times. I glanced at the runner and he is rounding third and heading for home. I look back to center field and Edmonds is sitting on his butt. He obviously slipped on the turf. As I said, the good news is he wasn’t seriously hurt.
A sociologist would have a field day at the park. There is as much entertainment in the stands as on the field. Sitting across the aisle from us was a guy all decked out in Redskin regalia. He also had a large Redskin banner that he paraded up and down the aisle. I concluded that it probably was about the best time to cheer for the Redskins. We hadn’t even lost a pre-season game yet. It didn’t surprise us to find out that our Redskin fan was drunk. He was a friendly drunk, which is the best kind. He told me he was a Cardinal fan and a National fan. So rather than make a hard choice, he dressed as a Redskin fan. I wondered how that would work in politics. If you liked both Obama and Hillary, you could just start combing your hair like John Edwards.
The good news for our section was that all the altercations were of the verbal variety. Close, but no fisticuffs. My daughter thought we might have to step in and defuse the situation. I told her she needed to come up with an alternate plan that moved us in the opposite direction. One man accused another of touching him. This led to shouting. The thing I found humorous was that all the participants were National fans. This was not about team allegiance (which I could understand), it was about personal space.
I think the score was 10-1 when we decided to relinquish our personal space. By leaving early, we failed to see Tony La Russa, our manager, put second baseman, Arron Miles, in to pitch. Miles did better than our real pitchers. Maybe La Russa is on to something.
As we wandered around outside the stadium trying to find our car, I was smiling. Nothing that happens this year can take away from that warm wonderful feeling of last year. We stumbled and fumbled into the playoffs and then, won it all. The only way we got into the playoffs was by Houston losing the last game of the season. The playoff memories of knocking off the Padres, the Mets and then, the Tigers to win the World Series are still fresh. The Championship came with a two year smile warranty.