On baseball....

"People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring." - Rogers Hornsby

I'm having difficulty remembering if it was the 1985 or 1987 NLCS that caused me to run outside and yell- to no one- "We're going to the World Series!"  I know I did a weird little dance in the middle of the street and came back inside....

Articulating my love of baseball and the St. Louis Cardinals is not difficult for me, but for whatever reason, it's difficult for a vast majority of my friends to understand.  Either it's not cool enough, it's not smart enough, it's not hockey enough, or it's too mainstream, too silly, too this, too that.  I get made fun of quite a bit for my rabid passion.  I don't really care what people's opinions are; I like what I like, end of discussion.

Now that my Redbirds' season has ended in defeat, I reflect upon my love for baseball.  I have no hockey to distract me, no World Series to celebrate, no massive free agency deal to worry about.  My boys are on a plane (or are back), somberly reflecting on what could have been, and I- having just driven past a darkened Busch Stadium- am doing the same.

I love baseball.  I fucking love baseball.  And I love my St. Louis Cardinals.

Baseball is a warm summer day, sitting in a lawn chair with my grandparents in South City, listening to the game on KMOX.  Jack Buck's gravelly voice, Mike Shannon's laugh.

Baseball is playing catch with my dad in the front yard in spring.  As a girl without an athletic bone in her body, I still cherish the memory.

Baseball is my mother, who I still consider one of the most learned people when it comes to the rules of the game.

Baseball is the spring vacations with my Greg, traveling all over Florida to watch the veterans practice and the youth show off their stuff, stalking my favorite players with my camera, and reporting my thoughts about the year to come with excitement and anticipation.

Baseball is rivalry- be it the tried-and-true Cubs-Cards contests, or the newly hated Reds.

Baseball is beauty.  It's a beautiful game.  A child's game that grown men play.  Watching the strategy of which chess piece to play next (Bunt or swing away?  To steal or not to steal?  Intentional walk to get to the pitcher?).  The dimension of the field.  Watching a curveball being delivered and the alien way in which a pitcher's arm bends and moves.  Remove the bravado, the millions of dollars, the endorsements, and you have a simple, lovely game.

I could go on for hours, honestly.  The memories, the sheer joy I get from simply enjoying something, the fun in getting to know the personalities of the players- it is home to me.  It is part of me.

I'm not going to lie and say that not getting to the World Series is totally okay.  It sucks.  I was at Games 3 and 4- my first playoff games ever- and I felt that this team could win it all.  And while it hurts right now, it's still okay in the long run.  I've been a Cardinal fan my entire life- when we were terrible, when we ruled, when we won it all.  I have no intention of stopping now.

Chin up- 161 days to go. :)