<%@LANGUAGE="JAVASCRIPT" CODEPAGE="1252"%> Whisky Pants
     
     
     

Look, I'm not doing this for you, but for my own dark and twisted reasons. Oh, and because everyone else is doing it.

 
 

October 21, 2004

my first big dance

I can't even remember my very first baseball game - all I know is that I've been going to games since I was knee-high. As a native St. Louisian, my allegiance has always been with the Cards. The concept of becoming an Ex-Expos fan is nearly incomprehensible.

My dad had season tickets till he retired a few years ago. Those seats were amazing. Right behind home plate on the very first tier above the field. Fourth row back. We knew all our neighbors.

But in 1982, I remember sitting all the way out in center field for the World Series. My sister and I alternated going to the home games with my dad, and it was a damn cold WS. I have a signed baseball from that season - Lonnie Smith, Ken Oberkfell, and some other guy... I wonder where that ball went? My dad was going through a particularly non-politically correct time where the phrase "base-a-ball been berry berry good to me" cracked him up pretty regularly. Beers didn't cost $7.50 each and parking didn't cost $14.00. Ozzie Smith could still execute backflips without freaking out management.

I can still smell the nachos and the peanuts. I can feel the crowd's crazy happy excitement. I remember exactly how cold I was. My dad was still funny to me since I was still a rather dorky little 12 year old, so we had a ball. And when St. Louis beat Milwaukee, well, it was simply magic. I'd give my eye teeth for an opportunity to take my dad to see the Cards play the Red Sox.

I've been really lucky. Dad - oh - and the Cardinals - have taken me to two World Series and a pennant. I can't adequately describe the frenzied build-up and state of grace simultaneously experienced, but I can tell you that there's nothing like your first.




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