My Old Girlfriend Didn't Call

The phone rang at 1:35am. I wasn’t surprised…..or alarmed. “Daddy, can you believe it! Can you believe it!” Josh, his voice ringing with excitement, was checking in just seconds after David Freeze’s homer cleared the centerfield fence in game six of the just completed World Series. And no, I couldn’t hardly believe it.

Our beloved St. Louis Cardinals were down by 2 runs going into the bottom of the ninth. The Texas Rangers led the series 3 games to 2. And they had arguably the best relief pitcher in the major leagues. I knew enough baseball to understand the difficulty, if not impossibility, of scoring 2 runs off a guy throwing 97 mile an hour fastballs. Yet the Cards managed to do it and send the game into extra innings. It was a near ’bout miracle for sure! When Texas scored 2 more in the top of the 10th, you knew it was over—you don’t get two miracles in this game. But the Cards did! They tied it again in the bottom of the 10th on the best piece of hitting in the entire series by Lance Berkman. Freese’s homer in the 11th won it. “Have you ever seen anything like it?” Josh was like a 10 year old kid with a new bike. “And Dad, this series is over. The Rangers can’t come back from a defeat like this. There is no way they can win game seven.”

I lay awake long after he hung up replaying game six of the 1985 World Series. The Cards seemingly had that game won when umpire Don Denkinger blew a call at first base which gave the Kansas City Royals the game. The Cards, with victory snatched from them, put up very little fight in game seven and were soundly defeated. Josh was right, this series was going to the Cardinals.

Baseball is an amazing game. No clock. No time limits. My mind instantly dialed up 1964. The Cards came from way back in the pack to win the pennant on the last day of that season. And beat the Yankees in the World Series. I was as excited as a ten year old with a new bike. I drifted further back to an old stand up Zenith radio that brought the Cardinal games into our living room before t.v., Sputniks and microwaves. Daddy pulled his chair up close; we would gather around at his feet and hold our collective breaths as Stan Musial, Rip Repulski or Wally Moon battled Warren Spahn, Robin Roberts or Joe Nuxhall in the late innings of a tight contest.

You could walk to town on Saturday afternoon and keep up with the game. You wouldn’t hardly miss a pitch. Each house had the game blasting away. If either team had runners on base, we might linger in a yard to see if anyone scored. Harry Caray, the venerable Cardinal announcer, kept us abreast of score, inning, hitter, weather, fan activity, wind direction, cloud movement and how the rival Brooklyn Dodgers were fairing on any particular day.

Life wasn’t complicated by “political correctness”, scud missiles, Fannie Mae or Homeland Security alerts. Baseball was timeless. Symmetrical. Endearing. Constant. Seamless. I’ve seen life hang in the balance in that split second as we waited on a call on a close play at second. I’ve known grown men to leap for joy over a diving catch in right. I’ve seen little league mothers’ hands at their throats, a prayer on their lips as their pride and joy toed the rubber or settled into the batter’s box. I’ve rounded first base with the wind in my face…..

I don’t care how mad me and Leon and David Mark were at each other over whose turn it was to rake or mow or feed up, put a baseball in our hands and all was forgiven. I wish I had a nickel for every hour we spent in that backyard, throwing ground balls to each other. On this sleepless night I thought of Jackie Burns, Bobby C. Melton, and his little brother, Don. I thought of Chick King, Bobby Jack Cantrell and the Paschall boys, Buddy Wiggleton, Johnny Stoker, Deake Bradley and Roger Williams. Listen, a hundred names rolled over in my mind. Way more than just friends; we had played baseball together! We had pulled for the Cardinals together!

I thought of a long ago high school girl friend who insisted I take her to the dance over at the Lexington National Guard Armory on Friday night instead of playing in a baseball game up in Murray, Kentucky. Listen, you talk about a short lived romance! Baseball was serious business for us. And what a common denominator! A tie that binds forever……

Jess called before sunup. I hadn’t slept more than an hour, “Dad, was that not the greatest game you ever saw?” John Stewart sent an email congratulating ME on the Cardinal win. You think about that! Deake checked in. Chick called. Leon wrote a story on how God was a Cardinal fan that dwarfs my little effort here. Cathy’s brother-in-law wore his Cardinal “Sunday” hat to the Arkansas-Vanderbilt football game. It’s been a week now and the calls and letters keep pouring in. It’s way more than a St. Louis Cardinal World Series victory. It evokes a lifetime of memories, friendships, close plays, heartaches, triumphs and wonderful afternoons with the smell of leather in the air and the crack of the bat breaking the stillness. Baseball and best friends have intertwined down through the ages.

You realize it’s not about one win. It’s about the game. It’s about the people along the way. A thousand faces that touched my life in some shape, form or fashion have flashed across my mind since Allen Craig caught the last out. And that, dear hearts, makes me a World Champion!

Respectfully,

Kes