He loved the lake, and he loved the Cardinals. And he loved me so well.
I miss him a lot in the summertime. Baseball season.
Busch Stadium II. The Bottlecap. Baseball Heaven.
The seats were red and they were so hot in July. Yes, St. Louis is north of Arkansas and Tennessee, they get more snow in the winter, but it gets darned scorching hot in the summer. We had excellent seats, which meant we were very close to the 120-degree turf and there was no chance of shade. I was nine, maybe 10. I didn’t really care how hot it was. I made sure to sit next to him because I wanted to hear him explain what was happening on the field. He told me about throwing around the horn, taught me to fill out a scorecard, and corrected me when I got confused and wrote five instead of six for the shortstop.
I remember the loud “whack” that made me jump when Bob Gibson’s fastball hit Ted Simmons’ mitt as they warmed up before the game. We got there early to watch batting practice and get autographs and I didn’t want to miss one moment.
I watched Gibson warm up from about 10 feet away. I’m not sure how long I stood there watching, but I can’t imagine myself leaving that scene voluntarily. In the 1960s, there wasn’t an MLB At Bat app, nor a smart phone, so I found out that Gibson, my favorite pitcher, was taking the mound when we got to the ballpark.
That’s Hank Aaron kneeling on deck at Busch II
Dal Maxvill played a pretty good shortshop, but he could not hit. Steve Carlton still pitched for the Cardinals, and Joe Torre played the infield. The outfield was Brock, Flood, and Maris. Pitchers often pitched complete games, and no one talked about pitch counts.
Brock batted leadoff. When he got on base, Daddy would point to him and tell me to watch while his lead off first base grew until he finally ran, blazingly fast, to second base, safe, while the crowd roared.
Yes, it’s baseball, but it’s so much more — I know what it meant to him, and I remember how thrilled I was to share it. I think of the passions of mine that I’ve shared with my girls — some of them silly, and some important. We laugh at inside jokes, share funny stories and memories that others can’t appreciate.
I’m so grateful my Daddy shared his love for baseball with me, and for the many hours we spent watching, whether in St. Louis, or at home on our TV on Sunday afternoons. We always listened to the Cardinals on AM radio on the way home from the lake on Sundays.
Not too long ago, Jim and I were in the car while the Cardinals were playing. He was searching for the XM station where they broadcast the games. I told him, no, we had to listen on AM — the sounds I remember from my childhood, when I knew Daddy was at the wheel, the Cardinals were on the radio, and all was right with the world.
I’m at a World Series game. No, really. Game 4 at Busch Stadium.
Cardinal baseball isn’t just my obsession, it’s a family tradition. And to baseball-obsessed folk, the World Series is pretty much the ultimate dream.
When I found out I was going, thanks entirely to the generosity of my sister, Sara, and brother-in-law Robbie, there may have been a tear or two.
Getting on the road. That white piece of paper in the lower right corner is a World Series ticket. That’s Robbie on the left, hiding behind (sleepy) Sam. Sara’s over my left shoulder.
We arrived in St. Louis around 1:30 p.m., and the first stop was the Team Store at Busch Stadium.
There were surprisingly few World Series items; they sold out a lot the night before.
St. Louis is a baseball town. There were banners on many of the buildings and the water in a nearby fountain had been dyed red.
In our Cardinal gear. We handed our iPhones to a nice lady who was taking photos for tips.
These are my two of my three all-time favorite players (along with Musial), Lou Brock (left), and Bob Gibson, right. Former Cardinal manager Red Schoendienst and Cardinal broadcaster Mike Shannon are in the middle.
Bob Gibson throwing out the first pitch
Also, here’s Hank Aaron presenting an award. I have no idea what the award was for, I just know that’s Hank Aaron.
And then there was the game. Even though it was 37 degrees, and the game ended with that ugly pickoff at first base and resulting Cardinal loss, the thrill was the same. Win or lose, it’s still the World Series.
Starter Lance Lynn threw five good innings.
Battery love
Big Matt Holliday swing
Cold. And loving it.
I had fun people watching and marveling at just how much some fans are willing to do for their team. I stopped each, complimented them and asked if I could take their picture. Here are some awesome folks who are true fans, beginning with my sister’s foot:
Other than marriages and the births of my grandchildren, I’m not sure I’ll ever have a bigger thrill than the World Series. The electricity of the crowd, more than 40,000 people wearing Cardinal red and cheering, rally towels, seeing Lou Brock, Bob Gibson, and Hank Aaron in person (even from a distance), and a few Boston fans sporting their Red Sox jerseys — the experience of a lifetime.
If you want to see the rest of my photos from St. Louis, check out my Flickr Set.
My sister’s prized possession: 1946 Cardinal jersey, signed by Stan Musial, especially for Jason Motte
Stan Musial died today. And it made me cry.
Stan Musial, for those who aren’t baseball fans, is the greatest Cardinal who ever played the game. He played his entire career — 22 years — in St. Louis. His statistics are impressive, to be sure, as he was the consummate player. Off the field, he was reportedly humble, approachable, friendly and kind to all. He was married to his high school sweetheart, Lillian, who passed away in May 2012, for 71 years.
His accomplishments and his character were admirable, but that’s not why I cried.
My total obsession with love of baseball comes from my dad. I grew up on Cardinal baseball — Sundays we went to church, ate lunch and settled in to watch the Cards on TV. As we watched, Daddy would explain things to me; he’d point out the break on the pitcher’s curve ball, he’d get just a little bit giddy when Lou Brock took a big lead off first base, and he was always awed by Bob Gibson’s fastball. When we traveled, he’d search the radio stations until he heard Jack Buck’s familiar voice, then we’d settle in and listen, cheering and groaning as if we were there.
But Musial was his idol, his all-time favorite player. I think they must have been a lot alike; both married their high school sweethearts, both kind, gracious, generous and known as gentlemen with character above reproach. Musial retired in 1963, probably a couple of years or so before I started watching baseball, so I never saw him play. But I heard my dad talk about him so much I feel as if I did.
We met him once, at his restaurant in St. Louis, on one of our yearly baseball trips. We asked for his autograph, and I don’t remember much, but I remember how nice he was. And his sense of humor when my brother, then probably four or five, began to tear up the photo he had just autographed.
Sara in the Musial jersey and Robbie in Carlos Beltran’s All-Star jersey
This past November, Cardinal closer Jason Motte and his wife, Caitlin, held a benefit for cancer research, which we attended with my sister, her husband and their 11-year-old son. The silent auction featured many great items of sports memorabilia, mostly Cardinal-related. But the last item presented, the ultimate, was an authentic 1946 Cardinal jersey, signed by Musial.
When the Musial jersey came up for auction, I was not that surprised to see my sister’s hand go up, though the starting bid was more than she had said she’d spend. As the bidding became heated, her hand kept going up — along with my heart rate. She won the auction and the jersey was hers for far less here in Memphis than it would have sold for in St. Louis. Motte told us afterward that he went to Musial’s home to ask him to autograph the jersey especially for the event.
Brother-in-law Robbie, Cardinal closer Jason Motte, me, Sam, my sister, Sara, Jim with the Musial jersey
She felt, as I did, the connection with Musial through my dad. It meant more than its monetary value, it reflected a piece of our childhood, a legacy that we now share with our own children. As we all took turns trying it on, I imagined the smile that would have lit up my dad’s face when he took his turn.
So now I’m comforted by the idea that Daddy and Stan are talking Cardinal baseball in Heaven. And I’m sad about the loss of someone who impacted the life of someone I loved, and, therefore, my own.
Rest in peace, Stan the Man. And be sure and tell Daddy about the 2011 World Series.
We don’t travel a lot and we don’t take many long vacations, so this last week has been a little wild and epically wonderful.
First, Jim and I took a quick trip to St. Louis for a Cardinal game. We drove up on Tuesday for that evening’s game, arrived early in the afternoon and had a couple of drinks at the 26th-floor bar at our hotel before walking across the street to Busch Stadium.
I still get emotional when I walk into Busch Stadium. Maybe it’s the sheer excitement of the in-person experience, the enormity of the World Series victory or the thrill of the crowd and the crack of the bat you don’t get from a TV broadcast. But I think it’s more than that. It takes me back to days when I sat next to my dad in the old Busch Stadium. He taught me to use the scorecard to keep up with every play, told me about his favorite player, Stan Musial and explained the finer points of the game as it unfolded.
We saw an incredible game, with a dream of a pitching matchup: Cardinal ace Adam Wainright vs. 2011 Cy Young winner Clayton Kershaw with the Los Angeles Dodgers. As much as I despise the heat, the 102-degree game time temperature didn’t matter. The game was exciting and the Cardinals won. We collapsed in our cool hotel room afterwards, enjoyed a good night’s sleep and drove home on Wednesday.
Back to reality, to the daily routine and the Cardinals on TV — that night in an even hotter game (104 at game time) that went into extra innings.
This weekend we took the girls and their boyfriends to the lake. It’s a lot of fun to have adult children and our girls and the guys they have chosen are all genuinely great young people that we enjoy spending time with. We spent the entire day on the boat, swimming, napping, relaxing and just enjoying the company of the ones we love most. We watched a beautiful sunset on the lake.
There was some action-packed inner tubing that unfortunately ended with a trip to the emergency room when Elizabeth perforated her eardrum. She’s been in a lot of pain and we weren’t able to go back out on the lake on Sunday, but the girls and I had a nice leisurely trip to Wal-Mart while the boys unloaded and covered the boat.
Left to right: JP, Elizabeth, Sara Ann, Ethan
Few things go as smoothly as planned. What I love about our family is that even when they don’t, we find a way to enjoy each other even in Wal-Mart.
Parents of young kids, take heart. Your best times with your kids are yet to come. One day we’re changing diapers, the next we’re sending them off to senior prom and the next we’re discussing real-life issues and challenges with people we’ve come to respect and admire for their intelligence and character. Enjoy every phase and don’t dread the next; there is goodness ahead.
I’m not much of a museum person. But this one is different. It’s a baseball museum. Precisely, the Louisville Slugger Museum and Factory. For $10, you get to see the museum and take a tour of the factory where the famous Louisville Slugger bats are made. If you’ve ever played softball or baseball, chances are you’ve swung one. (I have. I batted cleanup on my softball team in the sixth grade and played a decent third base.)
I knew this was going to be a great day when I walked into the lobby and saw a wall of small wooden tiles with signatures; the signatures of the players who were under contract with Louisville Slugger, made from the plates that were used to stamp the signatures on the players’ custom bats. The first one I looked for — and found — was one of my favorite players of all time, former St. Louis Cardinal Hall of Famer Lou Brock.
When you enter the museum, one of the first things you see is an area that is staffed by an attendant. There are actual game-used bats from several baseball legends, which you can hold if you put on a pair of gloves. This is me holding a bat used by Mickey Mantle. I’m not a Yankee fan by any means, but Mickey Mantle is … Mickey Mantle.
I love this one, as I followed Hank Aaron’s home run challenge to Babe Ruth’s record closely back in the day. This is the bat Aaron used to hit the 700th home run. This was pretty darned thrilling.
This bat was used by Babe Ruth; it may not be visible in the picture, but you can see the notches Ruth made in the bat for each home run he hit. Chills.
Ok, now here’s a little confession. I broke a rule. You are not supposed to take photos inside the factory tour. But I just could not help it when I saw these billets (cylindrical pieces of wood) that will soon become St. Louis Cardinal Lance Berkman’s personal bats. So I snapped this on the sly with my iPhone during the tour. I know, I know …
And, even though I hate pictures of myself, I love this one. It’s me holding Mickey Mantle’s bat. Yeah, I know my stance could use some work. It’s been a year or two … or 40.
If you’re ever in Louisville, don’t miss the chance to visit this place — even if you’re not a huge fan, you’ll love the simulation of a 90-MPH fastball. It features a video of Phillies ace Cole Hamels winding up and a machine that shoots a fastball right at you as you stand behind a protective wall. There’s a reason Albert Pujols gets the big bucks.
Special note: It’s only appropriate that I post this on this date; it would have been my Daddy’s 77th birthday, and he was the one who instilled in me the love of baseball. He loved the Cardinals and his favorite player was Stan Musial. Though I never got to see Musial play, he’s one of my favorites as well.
A hysterectomy is no minor procedure. Like anything involving an abdominal incision, it’s one of the biggies. So when I realized that’s the direction we were going, I made plans to live it up with my family and a few friends before being out of commission for several weeks.
And we did. Beginning with WordCamp Fayetteville. Jim’s and my trip to northwest Arkansas was great. The next weekend we enjoyed one last trip to Greers Ferry Lake with the kids and extended family. And last weekend — my last one before surgery — we enjoyed dinner with long-time friends on Friday night and left early Saturday morning for St. Louis, for what was my first Cardinal game in probably about 40 years.
Old Busch Stadium sometime in the 60s or 70s.
This was a particular thrill for me, as my daddy, who passed away suddenly in 1993, raised me on Cardinal baseball. Watching the games on TV and listening on the radio in the era of Lou Brock, Bob Gibson and the 1968 World Series was a family ritual and Daddy’s comments and insights taught me more than most girls knew about the game.
As I write this, I’ve begun the slow recovery from surgery and am making progress, but it helps to remember this time last week, when we were at the ballpark after a late lunch in Downtown St. Louis with a dear high school friend and fellow Cardinal fan. We got to the stadium early to walk around and see it from every angle. I wanted to see the somewhat-controversial statue of Stan Musial, the smaller statues of former Cardinal greats and just soak in the atmosphere. Pretty much all of Downtown St. Louis decks out in red for game day and lots of folks get there early, as we did, to watch batting practice.
Catcher Yadier Molina (left) and Manager Tony LaRussa (right) in the dugout
After watching the tail end of Cardinal batting practice, we headed for the Stadium Store, to spend the dollars I had earmarked for t-shirts and souvenirs for everyone. We took our bags full of gear and headed for our seats to settle in for the game.
Jim had rented us a Nikon D7000 with a telephoto lens for the trip; I told him I wanted to be able to shoot Albert Pujols’ nostrils. Not really, but I did want to be able to zoom in close. And it was awesome. I started snapping as soon as players and coaches started filtering into the dugout and got really excited watching Yadier Molina strap on his gear for the game and seeing Manager Tony LaRussa emerge from the clubhouse. Sadly, the game was not ours to win, and wasn’t even a decent contest, but I did get an awesome shot of Albert at bat.
And this awesome shot of me with my girls and their boyfriends sitting on the Cardinal dugout.
Win or lose, I’ll always love my Cardinals, just like Daddy raised me to do. I’m so glad we had this time for me to share it with my girls like he did with me — we all agreed it would be a great family tradition to continue into another generation.
And it’s an awesome way to take my mind off this icky surgery …
