Last Wednesday, I received a curious package. I opened it to find a bright red St. Louis Cardinals necktie. The tie had been sent as a gift by a friend who knows how dear the redbirds are to me; he also knows the reason for my sentimental attachment. My father was a big fan of the game. He raised me to love it, too, sharing his biases for the National League, which was undefiled by the designated hitter, and the position of catcher, the noblest on the field. (Dad was a former catcher.)
When we lived in St. Louis, I went to a lot of games with my father. Baseball courses through that city like the muddy river upon whose banks it is played. I have shared with many of you the memory of reaching into my father’s shirt pocket to fish out roasted peanuts while we leaned forward in our seats cheering every pitch. To this day, watching a Cardinals game is an exercise in remembrance. And every time they play for a pennant I find myself laughing like a little boy and asking out loud, “Dad, did you see that?”
The friend that sent the tie knew that I would be excited about it. What he didn’t know is that I would take it out of the box and put it on, wearing it for the rest of the night, though it didn’t match my shirt. The deacons took note a couple of hours later, smiling at my brazen ensemble as the Cardinals beat the Brewers. The following evening, I forgot to wear the tie and the Cardinals lost. A day later, I wore the tie and my team won again. Now I’m not superstitious, but…
So yes I was wearing it when the Cardinals clinched. But something much more important was happening.
Along with all of the silliness of the necktie, the joking about baseball superstition, and the simple pleasure of listening to ballgames on the radio and hearing my favorite team do well, I had taken a sentimental step. I gave my son his first Cardinals cap. Donning it proudly, he asked me about the St. Louis Cardinals, the rules of how baseball is played, and what it was like to watch baseball with my Dad, his grandfather. Every day we’ve been telling stories. And every day I’ve laughed, cried, or both as I give thanks for my father and my son. The seasons of this life are a gift, and this fall feels especially sweet.
Covenant is a church full of baseball fans. I wonder, this week, what the game evokes for you. What lessons has it taught you? What memories does it bring?
With aloha,
J
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October 18, 2011 at 9:37 pm
Cathy Tutterrow Flanders
Jeremy, when I was a kid in St. Petersburg, FL, Chuck Hiller, 3rd base coach for the Cardinals, was our neighbor. His kids were a couple of years older than me but we played together – once I had a massive bike wreck riding John Hiller’s bike – it was way too big for me. I can show you the scar. One time they had a garage sale and my brother bought a bat (complete with pine tar) that had belonged to George Brett.
We also used to go watch the Cardinals’ Triple A team play there. My brother’s Little League team was the Royals, so we liked the Major League team too, and my grandmother loved Dale Murphy, so we paid attention to the Braves. Then I moved to Georgia for college and became a Braves fan on my own (and learned the beauty of listening to the game on the radio while watching it on TV with the sound muted) – I remember very well my first Major League game. Sid Bream slid into home to win the pennant on my 21st birthday. I just turned 40 last week, and the story that is told at least once a year was told again: my dad was in seminary in Louisville when I was born – when it was time to go to the hospital my dad was excited because the Reds were in the World Series, and the hospital waiting room would have a color TV. He was disappointed to discover upon arrival that the TV was broken. It seems like baseball inspires more nostalgia and sentiment than other games do – until I started responding to your post I didn’t realize all of the many ways it makes me feel connected to who I am and the people I love, through many phases of my life. I’ll be cheering for the Cardinals, but it will be a house divided: my Texan husband (and all of his family) will root for the Rangers. Go Cards.
October 19, 2011 at 1:19 pm
Jeff N.
I was a bookish kid on north Florida but the stars seemed to line up for me to be a New York Mets fan. Was it God’s will?
The Jacksonville Suns were the AAA farm team for the Mets in the late 1960s. Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman, Nolan Ryan, and other future MLB stars played in my hometown. I was 11 in 1969 when these young players formed the core of the 1969 Miracle Mets and captured my loyalty.
Being a baseball fan changed my life, I think. I was a bookish kid in the deep South, the only child of a single mom. Following baseball, memorizing stats and rosters, helped me connect to other boys and to make friends of other baseball fans. This is still true.
In late September 1973 I became very ill and spent three weeks in the hospital. In that time, the Mets came out of nowhere to win the NL East, upset the Reds in the NLCS, and take a 3-2 lead in the World Series before finally losing in 7 to a great Oakland team. I was able to watch every game of these series, even though they were all day games, because I was in the hospital and excused from school. How great was that?
Later, when Angie and I met and married in New York, our first apartment was in Queens, just a mile on foot from Shea Stadium. We could walk to games and pay $2 for admission. Once again, Providence was at work, because the 1982 and 1983 Mets teams were terrible and it wasn’t hard to find a great seat. In 1983, Tom Seaver returned to the Mets and I was again able to see my childhood hero pitch live for the home team.
We moved to Houston in 1986, and we were the only Mets fans we knew during that historic 1986 NLCS. Sorry Astros fans, but it again seemed that fate had linked my life to the Mets. Over 25 years in Houston, the Astros became my favorite team. But the Mets were such a big part of my life for so long. Thank heavens.
October 19, 2011 at 4:36 pm
el toro
Although I love going to games, i don’t really follow baseball. My family worshiped at the altar of football, a game I have always disliked even when I played it in high school (it’s what one did). I did play one game on the junior varsity high school baseball team. Unfortunately, on my first at bat I got hit by a pitch. Bat in hand, I took off after the pitcher and we were deep into center field before I was brought down. The coach suggested that I might prefer rugby and banished me from the fields of play.
My other baseball memory is of the summer i spent at Camp Ozark, where baseball was a major focus. I played right field (like hell, the place where bad people go) for my cabin team which, in spite of my presence had made it to the playoffs. In the bottom of the ninth we were one run up and they had a man on third with two outs. The batter hit a long fly ball in my general direction. I was utterly horrified. In spite of the hopelessness of the situation, i felt like I had to give the impression of effort, so I started running. Though my fielding skills were nonexistent, I had a gift for the dramatic, so I even threw in a dive as I neared the ball. As I got up I couldn’t even find the ball to throw back to the pitcher who, I suddenly realized, was running toward me. accompanied by the rest of the team. I thought, “Okay, this is the way it ends. Beaten to death by my own teammates.” As I started running in a vain attempt at escape, I noticed the missing ball was in my glove. I was carried off the field on the shoulders of my friends. It is the best mode of transportation I have ever experienced. This is the completely true and unembellished story of my only athletic triumph.
October 21, 2011 at 1:48 am
Jason
Growing up in the suburbs of Philly and Boston, my first experiences going to major league games was also my earliest encounters with urban America. I remember my father locked our car doors when we stopped at an intersection in a black neighborhood. His reflexive act marked me deeply. What was dangerous about this place and these people? It’s been hard to overcome that boyhood fear of city neighborhoods and dwellers.
Dad caught two foul balls during our childhood. At the time it seemed straightforward that he grabbed one for me and one for my brother. Boys don’t appreciate the commonality of their fathers and the odds against catching a foul ball. Dad hasn’t caught a third ball yet.
I never played baseball beyond little league, so most of my experience with the game is as a fan. When we moved to New England I embraced the local teams with a passion that’s reserved for eleven year olds. When the Red Sox and Pats both lost championships in 86, It felt like the profoundest tragedy. Those defeats left me physically ill.
Both teams have done much better lately, and it’s hard to reconnect with that passionate boy at times. To me baseball is urban fear, the fanaticism of youthful allegiance, and my fathers improbable foul balls.
October 23, 2011 at 6:29 pm
Jennifer
My earliest memories of baseball are of my grandfather, Poppadaddy, listening to the Tigers on the radio in his kitchen. He would sit by himself at the kitchen table, often with a little snack on top of a napkin. Surely the games were broadcast on t.v., but he preferred to sit in the quietness of the post-dinner-clean kitchen. Poppadaddy and my Grandma took me to a few Tigers games during the summers. Poppadaddy was a huge fan and he attended baseball signing events. Sometimes he would pass along autographed headshots to me. (I remember Alan Trammel was one of them.) And then there was the 1984 World Series. I clearly recall watching the final game at my aunt’s house: my nuclear family plus my aunt and my 2 cousins. I can still name a half dozen of the key players on that team. These are all very fond memories for me.
I went to my first Astros game in 2001. I enjoyed myself immensely, although I knew absolutely nothing about this team. I’m sure much of this was due to the connection I felt to my Poppadaddy and his love of this sport. Within the next 5 years, the Astros would become forever entwined in my heart with my life partner, Tom — a HUGE Astros fan from a HUGE family of HUGE Astros fans! Tom taught me to keep score during the games, something that my Poppadaddy had done for both Tigers games as well as recreational games in his neighborhood. It seems that life has truly come full circle.
For me, baseball is full of nostalgia, full of family, and full of love. I cannot claim to enjoy any other team sport and feel that baseball offers something truly special that the other major ones (football, basketball, and yes-I’m-from-Michigan hockey) do not: slow-moving and methodical, baseball is full of nuances and mystery. Perhaps this is why so many Covenant Church friends are fans…
October 26, 2011 at 5:00 pm
Angela Ledgerwood
My mother is a *rabid* Philadelphia Phillies fan, a season ticketholder for nearly 30 years. I saw the Phillies clinch the 1980 World Series over the Kansas City Royals – I was six years old at the time, and – we learned later that week – I had chicken pox! Sorry, Veterans Stadium crowd!
I like going to baseball games, & I usually watch the World Series. But I am not a big baseball fan. The season is too long for my attention span.
October 28, 2011 at 1:09 pm
jeremyrut
Dad, did you see that? What a Game Six! I don’t think I loosened the necktie until about midnight.
The first pitch of the season’s last game is tonight at 7:05 p.m. in St. Louis. Hats off to an already great World Series.
October 28, 2011 at 2:02 pm
Angela Ledgerwood
My entire office is chattering about the game. It was amazing!
October 28, 2011 at 2:24 pm
Jeff N.
Hats off, but keep your tie on!
That was a Game 6 for the ages, along with 1975 and 1986 in my memory.
October 31, 2011 at 12:30 am
Laura Mitchell
I love the story about baseball. It’s amazing the emotions that this time of year brings out in all of us. I grew up as a huge Dallas Cowboy fan. I learned to love baseball through my son, Grady. We would spend the summer doing the summer reading program at the library. One of the prizes for reading the books was four tickets to the Houston Astros. I would take Grady and Katie and their choice of friends to the Astrodome to watch the Astros. It was one of my fondest memories of hanging out with Grady and his friends.
Grady also played baseball for about 6 years. I remember when his dad strapped on the catcher’s outfit and sent him behind home plate when he was barely 6 years old. I know that those were good times for Grady but they were wonderful memories for me.
Baseball just seems to bring out the best in everyone!
October 31, 2011 at 4:04 pm
David R
My parents, maternal grandparents, and my paternal grandmother were dutiful sports fans: they would attend games (and enjoy them, I think) if one of their offspring was playing (or marching at half time), but Granddad Ramsey was a baseball fan. He organized trips to town from the farm to coincide with times the town team had a game, then he’d watch the game and give quarters to players who hit home runs or made other significant plays. This was during the dust bowl depression is rural Kansas, so it had to have been important to him.he died before my 4th birthday, so I didn’t get to sit beside him at any games, but I know it would have been a lot of fun.
My first major league game was in Kansas City between the then Kansas City A’s and the New York Yankees. I believe it was 1960, and many legendary players were on that Yankee team. Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford and Elston Howard, but Bobby Richardson was my favorite.
Some earlier commentators have mentioned the NL results in 1980 and 1986. As an Astros fan, I can only say, “We was robbed!” (Sorry, Jeff, but Craig Reynolds was SAFE at 1st, whatever Fred Brocklander said!