Last visit to Busch II, much like the first
Sunday, November 6, 2005
I tried. Honest to goodness, I really did.
Let me explain. If you read this column very often, you might have read my several weeks ago love-fest for my elysian fields.
I therefore accepted the offer of a chance to see the Oct. 1 game at Busch Stadium II. I knew this would be my final chance to see a game in the place and I really wanted to care that something else, something substantial was disappearing from the baseball scene. Chris Cluck was taking his son, Jake, to see a game as a birthday present and wondered if I might like to go along.
A chance to see that game was met with more than usual anxiety because of what has already happened to this misbegotten football season. This was coming on the heels of Nevada's unfortunate experience with Webb City and Kansas City's disgraceful Monday performance (or non-performance) against Denver. Looming just beyond the horizon was another oh-fer weekend with even worse performances in more quarters. It just proved that no matter how bad things get, they can always get worse. And I used to love football so very much before it turned on me.
Baseball games in St. Louis aren't like games in Kansas City. They are happenings. It was the next-to-last game of the season and meant nothing in the standings as the Cardinals were already champions. The packed house headed out of the stadium in all directions to the tune of various musicians after the game. People wore all kinds of Cardinal jerseys with most saying Pujols. I did smile at the one that read Musial and bore his famous No. 6.
There were some similarities in the first and last games I saw in Busch Stadium II. Both games were against Cincinnati, both were won by the Cardinals, Bob Gibson pitched the first one and was on hand for the second one. While there was a major brawl in the first one, the benches only emptied this time.
I sat in the press box and recalled some of my moments there. I saw Tom Seaver pitch when he was "Tom Terrific." Whenever the late, great Kenny Boyer would see me he'd always point and say, "You mean Nevada is still there? Webb City will catch you." Cloyd, his older brother, lives near Webb City.
I was in Whitey Herzog's office when he was offered a lifetime contract. And I still have a copy of the picture I took of Whitey, Mark Littell, Darrell Porter, Steve Braun and Chuck Hiller holding a sign the former Royals made for their favorite former teammate, Duke Wathan, predicting the I-70 World Series -- in 1981 no less.
It was in that press box I sat down with my lifelong hero Duke Snider and interviewed him for a Nevada Daily Mail story.
And sometimes a good thing can be offset by bad. It was good when they ripped out that awful artificial turf and planted real grass, the kind God invented. But it was so very bad when they removed that huge Busch eagle from the scoreboard that used to flap its wings and made whatever noise eagle's make when a Cardinal hit a home run. I know August Busch Jr. was the Big Eagle and I also know that the brewery no longer owns the team, but that eagle came over from Sportsman's Park (or Busch Stadium I)for gosh sakes. It flapped its wings for Stan the Man.
One of the brightest moments in my last trip to Busch Stadium II came as I sat in the press club and watched as an elderly man, aided by two canes, struggled into the room and sat down. Within seconds, a woman had come over and placed a large glass filled with Scotch in front of him.
I figured I had to meet that guy and looked for a nearby vacant seat with a name on it and no one sitting there. On the corner was one word. It read "Amadee," and I immediately knew who that was from a youth spent reading The Sporting News that featured Amadee cartoons on the cover. He also redrew Gene Mack's great drawings of the old ballparks. After he went to his seat (with a fresh Scotch) I introduced myself and learned that he is now 94 years old and still has that steady drawing hand. I'm not certain if he has all his faculties or was kidding when he asked me if I was Jimmie Foxx, who died in the summer of 1967 when he choked on a steak.
I think Amadee uses that one-word name because his actual last name is Wohlschlaeger. It would take a while to sign that on works of art.
I later walked onto the concourse and as I watched the skeleton of Busch Stadium III going up, I thought back to the cookie cutter genre or the National League quintuplets as I called them: Atlanta, Cincinnati, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and St. Louis with the only difference being the miniature arches that top the Busch facade. The other four have now vanished and this one was just weeks from its own implosion.
Good riddance to them all.
Source: http://www.nevadadailymail.com/
I tried. Honest to goodness, I really did.
Let me explain. If you read this column very often, you might have read my several weeks ago love-fest for my elysian fields.
I therefore accepted the offer of a chance to see the Oct. 1 game at Busch Stadium II. I knew this would be my final chance to see a game in the place and I really wanted to care that something else, something substantial was disappearing from the baseball scene. Chris Cluck was taking his son, Jake, to see a game as a birthday present and wondered if I might like to go along.
A chance to see that game was met with more than usual anxiety because of what has already happened to this misbegotten football season. This was coming on the heels of Nevada's unfortunate experience with Webb City and Kansas City's disgraceful Monday performance (or non-performance) against Denver. Looming just beyond the horizon was another oh-fer weekend with even worse performances in more quarters. It just proved that no matter how bad things get, they can always get worse. And I used to love football so very much before it turned on me.
Baseball games in St. Louis aren't like games in Kansas City. They are happenings. It was the next-to-last game of the season and meant nothing in the standings as the Cardinals were already champions. The packed house headed out of the stadium in all directions to the tune of various musicians after the game. People wore all kinds of Cardinal jerseys with most saying Pujols. I did smile at the one that read Musial and bore his famous No. 6.
There were some similarities in the first and last games I saw in Busch Stadium II. Both games were against Cincinnati, both were won by the Cardinals, Bob Gibson pitched the first one and was on hand for the second one. While there was a major brawl in the first one, the benches only emptied this time.
I sat in the press box and recalled some of my moments there. I saw Tom Seaver pitch when he was "Tom Terrific." Whenever the late, great Kenny Boyer would see me he'd always point and say, "You mean Nevada is still there? Webb City will catch you." Cloyd, his older brother, lives near Webb City.
I was in Whitey Herzog's office when he was offered a lifetime contract. And I still have a copy of the picture I took of Whitey, Mark Littell, Darrell Porter, Steve Braun and Chuck Hiller holding a sign the former Royals made for their favorite former teammate, Duke Wathan, predicting the I-70 World Series -- in 1981 no less.
It was in that press box I sat down with my lifelong hero Duke Snider and interviewed him for a Nevada Daily Mail story.
And sometimes a good thing can be offset by bad. It was good when they ripped out that awful artificial turf and planted real grass, the kind God invented. But it was so very bad when they removed that huge Busch eagle from the scoreboard that used to flap its wings and made whatever noise eagle's make when a Cardinal hit a home run. I know August Busch Jr. was the Big Eagle and I also know that the brewery no longer owns the team, but that eagle came over from Sportsman's Park (or Busch Stadium I)for gosh sakes. It flapped its wings for Stan the Man.
One of the brightest moments in my last trip to Busch Stadium II came as I sat in the press club and watched as an elderly man, aided by two canes, struggled into the room and sat down. Within seconds, a woman had come over and placed a large glass filled with Scotch in front of him.
I figured I had to meet that guy and looked for a nearby vacant seat with a name on it and no one sitting there. On the corner was one word. It read "Amadee," and I immediately knew who that was from a youth spent reading The Sporting News that featured Amadee cartoons on the cover. He also redrew Gene Mack's great drawings of the old ballparks. After he went to his seat (with a fresh Scotch) I introduced myself and learned that he is now 94 years old and still has that steady drawing hand. I'm not certain if he has all his faculties or was kidding when he asked me if I was Jimmie Foxx, who died in the summer of 1967 when he choked on a steak.
I think Amadee uses that one-word name because his actual last name is Wohlschlaeger. It would take a while to sign that on works of art.
I later walked onto the concourse and as I watched the skeleton of Busch Stadium III going up, I thought back to the cookie cutter genre or the National League quintuplets as I called them: Atlanta, Cincinnati, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and St. Louis with the only difference being the miniature arches that top the Busch facade. The other four have now vanished and this one was just weeks from its own implosion.
Good riddance to them all.
Source: http://www.nevadadailymail.com/
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