Baseball Weekend 2006

This was the guy weekend. Years ago, my brother and I began to go to St. Louis for the last weekend of the season. Later, at age three, his son joined the excursion. A year after that, our father signed on. A couple years after that, my stepson. Then this year, our brother-in-law and nephew made the trek with us for the first time.
My wife and I used June's Annual Conference (it's a Methodist thing) in Paducah, KY, as a "Hey, we're half-way to St. Louis anyway" excuse to check out Busch Stadium III. It is fabulous! Several years ago, the Cardinals came to Memphis to celebrate the new relationship via the AAA Redbirds and christen AutoZone Park. The Brass, and especially Mr. Buck and Mike Shannon, raved about our downtown jewel. Their degree of appreciation became evident upon walking into the new park in St. Louis. It IS AutoZone with Major League seating. Couldn't be any better.
I knew what my family guys were going to enjoy, and the payoff was well worth the wait. Then, in that splendid setting, the stumbling, bumbling (thanks, Boomer!) Cardinals put the stumbling and bumbling on hold for us. On Friday night, Jeff Weaver channeled that guy who pitched so well for the Tigers years ago that the NYA forked over big bucks for a new contract that never paid off for them. Add to that The Great Pujols' 48th homer of the season, and a grand night was had by all.
41,718 stood in the bottom of the sixth when Ernie Hays followed the Sound Effects' guy's BOOM-boom-boom-boom, BOOM-boom-boom-boom with a Busch Stadium rendition of the Tomahawk Chop tune. We all chopped and cheered with all our might when the final was posted: 4-1 Braves! Rookie Chuck James had bested Roger Clemens! Maybe the Baseball Gods weren't going to wreak total vengeance on the Cards after all! Fifty minutes later, the magic number was down to 2.
The Spawn of Satan Fox Television Network moved Saturday's game to 12:25, so there could be no celebration of a clinch at the park. Nevertheless, the Cards took care of business. Scott Spiezio, son of ancient Redbird Ed, delivered a three-run pinch-hit triple to provide all that was needed to vanquish the Brewers and make the magic numeral 1. The only times I had ever heard Cardinal Nation louder than on Spiezio's shot was when Mark McGwire tied Babe Ruth on the Saturday before Labor Day in 1998, and then Big Mac tied Roger Maris two days later.
We tried as best we could to listen to the station that should still be KMOX, but the clock radios in the Westport Best Western just weren't up to the task. Sportscenter let us know that Sunday would matter.
We were passing Cape Girardeau when the house Chopped again on Sunday afternoon, courtesy of John Smoltz' 16th win and Bob Wickman's 33rd save. (I believe that if Smoltz had had Wickman behind him all year, he would be the 2006 Cy Young Award winner at age 39) The Cardinals had won their third consecutive Central Division title. Mike Shannon, lucid for a few minutes, pointed out that this was the first time since 1942-44 that the Cards had posted three straight championships. He then went on to try to explain where they would play in the first round. It was classic Mike. Check out the website and give it a listen. You won't be sorry.
We started going to Cardinals' games on August 4, 1971. That night, we saw Bob Gibson win his 200th game, Joe Torre go 3-4 in his MVP season, Willie Mays played Center Field, Gaylord Perry took the loss, additional future HOFers Brock and McCovey were in the game, and should be HOFer Ted Simmons was in there, too. Bobby Bonds earned a family of life-long fans when he opened the window of the team bus and kept signing autographs after a 20 minute session on the sidewalk. Two little kids from Union City, TN, got the then-great young player's name written on their scorecards, and have never forgotten it more than 35 years later.
Dad grew up poor on a small West Tennessee farm. In his younger days, his folks never had time for things like baseball, band, camp, Vacation Bible School or any of the other things that my brother, sister and I got to take for granted. He had to work in the fields. Always. Many of my friends' dads had grown up similarly. A lot of the other dads took out their frustrations over hard upbringings on their own kids. Our father wanted us to have a different experience of life than he had known. That's why he and mom somehow scraped together the money to take us on a vacation to St. Louis in 1971, to see a baseball game. He didn't know the game well; he didn't know the players at all. But his boys had been bitten by the baseball bug, and that made it important to him to take us to see the real thing.
Our first stop Friday night was outside the Home Plate entrance to Busch III. There, at Gate 2, Section D, lies the brick I bought last Winter. It bears the inscription "Piercey Boys' Baseball Club Est. 8-4-1971." I wanted Dad to know that I remember, and am grateful. I also want my nephews to remember, when they are bringing their own kids and grandkids, that it mattered to Granddaddy and Nana that their family know that life is supposed to be fun, and shared with people you love. It just doesn't get any better than this. I already can't wait until next year!