My friend and colleague Tana was lucky enough to have gotten to go to Friday’s Game 5 clincher. When she told me she was going, I can honestly tell you that I felt no jealousy toward her. I was just happy someone I knew was going. OK, maybe I was a little bit jealous, but it’s still awesome that she got to go. This is her story:
When my husband told me Tuesday that he (and his boss and not me) had been given two tickets for Game 4, I could not have imagined, even remotely, the scenario that resulted in me being at Busch Stadium seeing the Cards win the World Series.
Despite me cursing my husband to my co-workers (loudly and often) and a few threats of divorce, my husband and his boss (and not me) went down to St. Louis for the originally scheduled Game 4, where, of course, their chances of seeing a game dwindled with each raindrop. I felt a little ashamed about secretly confiscating all the umbrellas, but my jealousy was karmatically replaced by disappointment when the game was cancelled. I apologized to Dave and refocused my energy on hoping the weather would allow the Cards to play their home-field games and finish the series without having to go back to Detroit.
After a night in the rain, my husband’s boss decided he was “too old to sit in the rain again” and told Dave he was giving his ticket to me. Gaah!
And with a win that night, there was a chance our “Game 4” tickets would be ones for a clincher. Gaah!
So, after work Friday, we sped down to St. Louis. The feeling around the city was just electric. As we parked and made our way to the stadium, we exchanged “We’re really gonna win this thing!” glances with every fan we met. We arrived at Busch in just enough time to get the traditional hot dogs and nachos before the national anthem. The place was a bundle of energy just waiting for a spark, and all of us in the stands collectively held our breath as Weaver threw the first strike.
The celebration was equivalent to Pujols hitting a homer. I realized at that moment that although I’ve seen perhaps two dozen games at Busch – including the one where McGwire tied the record – this one was going to be a whole different experience. No one in our section (23 rows behind third base) sat down until the inning break, and the cheering – never half-hearted – was continuous. We had a “cheerleader” at the end of the row in front of us (you know, some spunky guy who always goes hoarse starting “Let’s-go Card-nals” chants), and we all went hoarse with him, yelling our support at the top of our lungs.
We really felt like our fan outpouring was working as Weaver built up his Ks, knocking down Tigers one-two-three for two innings. He kept the same cool, collected routine with every pitch … hurl the ball, watch for the call, catch the return, pace to the back of the mound, blow on his hand, set for the next pitch, repeat. He looked like he easily could have done it all night.
Then, in the third, a hit went right at him. Without thought, he caught it and tossed it to Rolen, who chased Inge back to second.
“Catch him!” I hollered. He did, and we in the stands went absolutely crazy. I’m certain stadium’s structure was physically vibrating with our cheering.
Everyone around us agreed the night was Weaver’s night. Between innings, the big screen showed signs: “Leave it to Weaver,” “Dream Weaver,” “Weave us a win,” etc.
But in the fourth, Duncan erred, letting a Tiger on base. It was like a disturbance in the force. Casey’s homer right afterward resulted in the first quiet I’d heard at the stadium. Dozens of Tigers fans, including the father-son pair next to us, applauded as their team took the lead. The other tens of thousands of us had nothing to say.
After allowing Casey his small piece of glory, the cheerleader started, loud as he could: “Let’s-go Card-nals!” Soon, the whole stadium was, once again, fully behind Weaver, confident he would get us out of this mess. Two quick batters later, he did. We paid homage: “Wea-ver! Wea-ver! Wea-ver!”
When the Cards came back with two runs, seats became a thing of the past. Who could sit through a game like this? During the next few at bats, a few of us in the row said how nice it would be to get a “safety” run and have a “cushion,” but we were just glad the Cards were up even by one.
For the next inning or so, we kept up the everything’s-like-a-home-run energy level. I thought our enthusiasm was at the max, but then Weaver snatched a would-be hit aimed at his head. Amid the deafening applause for our man Weaver, people around us taunted the Tigers fans next to us: “You wish your pitcher was as talented as ours.” It was the first real sign of animosity, but I think deep down, the dad Tigers fan agreed.
When Duncan was taken out, the buzz around the stadium was one of relief – the missed catches were too much of a risk. Even he admitted later it was the right decision.
More signs flashed on the big screen: “This would not be possible if I were a Cubs fan” and “Gas: $30, Tickets: $500, Seeing Game 5 with a Game 4 ticket: Priceless.”
The Cards did get that “safety” run in the seventh, and as the Tigers fans next to us turned their hats to the “rally” position, many of us looked at them as if to say “Yeah. That’s going to help.”
At last, it came down to it – the ninth inning. We weren’t going home without the win. We just weren’t. With the Tigers’ Polanco up to bat, the fans at Busch were all on edge, ready to explode.
“Lock it up!” I kept screaming at them, as if they didn’t know what to do.
They, in fact, did not lock it up, and Polanco walked, with the soft sound of disappointed “Oh”s filling the stadium.
But when Inge stepped up, the place again raged with cheers. Hoping I wasn’t jinxing anything, I pulled out my camera just in case celebration broke out.
It happened so fast. Wainwright got the K, and Cardinals players flooded the field in a huddle. Within seconds, confetti burst from the upper levels, and utter celebration broke out in the stands. Fireworks shot off from the big screen.
A yellow Corvette (to be given to Eckstein) was driven out, and a stage was set up for interviews. For an hour, it was non-stop celebration in between snippets of speeches from Pujols, La Russa, Edmonds, and, of course, Eck the MVP. They each thanked the fans profusely, which always resulted in renewed waves of applause.
Amid all this, our Tigers-fan friends somehow slipped away unnoticed.
We eventually left the stadium to go home and relieve our babysitters. The blocks surrounding Busch were wild with one big party, and we got high fives and shouts from everyone we passed on the way to the car and even while in the car inching toward the Interstate.
The whole string of events was truly surreal, but something I will look back on often and think how wonderful it was to be a part of the crowd that helped “oomph” the Cards to a World Series victory.
Oh, and something all fans who have been to Busch can appreciate: I snagged a towel sling-shot into the crowd by the Cardinals’ girls between innings! I rallied with my “special towel” the whole game, which, I am certain, helped get the win.
