From Misery To Missouri & The Fall Of The Rome of the West
Much of this is presented in a language that isn’t easy for everyone who reads it to understand, but that’s by design. I got in my car on March 10th, 2011 heading to Tampa, Florida with no intent of making the drive back north or to anywhere else for that matter. I had a serious case of the blues a penchant to drive bit too fast, gambling, and sharp objects and a stack of letters to be read post-mortem. But my cry for help turned into an awakening thanks to the green grass of places like Steinbrenner Field, City of Palms Park, Joker Marchant Stadium, Florida Auto Exchange Stadium, and Bright House Field. It wasn’t trying to forget that saved me, it was remembering. Remembering being that kid who would tape a strike zone sized box on the side of his dad’s garage at the age of twelve then walk off sixty feet six inches and throw 100 pitches in the summer time, the batting practice sessions with my sister who would work to become a collegiate softball player, the dime-a-dog nights, and everything else that came along with nearly thirty years of loving the game of baseball.
So here I am in a hotel room on August 10th, six months later, in St. Louis, Missouri, remembering, rejoicing, and recounting not only everything that led me to Busch Stadium III for the game between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Milwaukee Brewers, but how lucky I am. I honestly have no clue where I’m going next in regards to the game, and that’s what’s most fulfilling about this, it’s random and the only calculation involved is/was the decision to do it and the gas mileage. After that, it’s pretty much who is playing on the days I’m free from the trappings of work and can I get there? So with that break from character out of the way, let’s slip back into “the madness” that is my latest revival at yet another venue in what I affectionately call the Church of the Sacred Bleeding Heart of Major League Baseball.
The journey to St Louis’ Busch Stadium actually was more about seeing the team opposing the hometown Cardinals, than a scheduled quest to see yet another Populous created cathedral at 700 Clark Street. The Friday prior to making the trek from the small town boredom that is my typical daily existence, I spent the majority of my day at work pacing back and forth from pallets of precious metals to scales with the thought of baseball on my mind and where I would be heading on my three days off. The desire to see the Brewers was at the forefront of my mind as I’ve been fond of the franchise since the arrival of Prince Fielder at Nashville several years earlier, adopting them as my National League team of interest. I’ve often joked, that if the Yankees are my wife, the Brewers are my mistress. In fact, the Brewers were a part of one of my most cherished baseball moments, a yet to be written account, at Great American Ball Park in Cincinnati, Ohio in 2009 when I had the pleasure of running the bases with a former girlfriend while the theme from the film “The Natural” blared from the stadium’s public address system. It’s a rare occasion to step foot on the hallowed grounds of a Major League stadium, let alone “touch’em” all, but that’s another tale for another time.
My original hope for this most recent pilgrimage was to drive to Milwaukee, Wisconsin and visit Miller Park, but I’d picked a week to long for “my mistress” when of course they were on the road. Of course, those often mentioned baseball gods and the folks in charge of scheduling for MLB had them in St. Louis to do battle with their National League Central foe in St Louis. So without hesitation I purchased my ticket to the second game of the three game series and booked a room in a Maryland Heights, Missouri hotel where I am now pounding away on my keyboard post game.
My arrival to Missouri, which brought me across the flat lands of Indiana and Illinois, all the while scanning AM Radio stations for a frequency carrying ESPN radio that more often than not offered a plethora of religious and political programming of the right leaning nature, was celebrated with a summer afternoon down pour of rain. A surprise no doubt, since the forecast called for the contrary earlier in the day, but served as yet another example of the inevitability of instantaneous change being ever-present and why I tend to prefer my weather reports by simply stepping out the front door to assess the situation. Heavy rain is also always quite the delight when navigating unknown highways heading to never before seen destinations as a motorist. Similarly for any baseball fan, rain on a game day is our version of finally landing the date to the cinema with the prom queen to see the blockbuster film of the summer only to have her stand you up to go watch the local theater troop perform a play written by one of her friends she’s also into who turns out to be gay. In other words, it’s fearsome, threatening, and to be avoided at all costs. Rain is an element for football, or handegg, whichever you prefer. But I digress.
When I arrived at my hotel, no worse for wear from the unexpected precipitation, I struck up a conversation of course with the attendant working the desk. In all my years of roaming off and on, these encounters can be both pleasant and downright spooky. Lucky for me, this particular instance would fall in the first of those two categories. Upon finding out why I was in town, he inquired on which team I was pulling for in the game. Like a true diplomat aware of my surroundings, I replied by saying I was mainly there to see the stadium. He replied by saying that was a good answer because if I’d said Milwaukee, he would’ve placed my room on the fifth floor, which obviously was not a good place to be in a summer rain storm at a hotel with only three levels. Despite his joke, he wished me the best on my future journeys and stated it was a bucket list adventure he hoped to one day undertake and not to fret about the weather, stating “they’ll play tonight”.
Despite the seemingly never-ending or long and drawn out aspect to the MLB schedule, tonight’s game, as well as the three game series as a whole, was actually a crucial point in the 2011 MLB season. Moreover, it represented the rise of one franchise and the decline of another in regards to this year’s postseason picture. The nickname of the city the Cardinals call home, “The Rome of the West”, is rather fitting in respect to baseball as they have built and can boast at having an empire only secondary in nature to that of the New York Yankees in regards to their history, fan loyalty, and most importantly World Series championships. Tonight however, a proverbial fire that had recently been sparked during a series between the Cardinals and the Brewers that saw the teams’ elite power hitters being hit by pitches and brought forth a litany of questions and controversy from sports media outlets and criticism via internet message boards for St. Louis manager Tony Larussa, grew into a roaring flame of Milwaukee Brewers players executing at crucial moments of the game that spread the two teams further apart in the standings. While many a fellow fan and those more qualified to do so would call me insane at this juncture to make the following statement, I’m hard pressed from what I’ve seen throughout the season thus far and firsthand to believe the Midwest’s and National League’s version of baseball’s Roman Empire is burning, and I have been privileged enough to sit within good view of its flickering flame grinning and playing my proverbial lyre.
Ryan Braun Preparing To Face Cardinals Pitcher Jake Westbrook
Somewhere Bob Uecker is smiling, as he should be. Milwaukee has become the clear-cut darling of the National League Central. The win earlier tonight places them 5 games ahead of St. Louis in the standings and the aggressive nature displayed by Milwaukee seems indicative of their intentions to march into the postseason.
Diary Of A Mad Fan 