I write this just after watching the 4th game of the World Series. The St. Louis Cardinals and the Texas Rangers are now tied two games each. Although I have lived in Silicon Valley for over 20 years, I grew up in St. Louis, so I've spent hours listening to or watching this year's post-season games.
But when I remark to my San Francisco Bay Area friends and co-workers, "How about those Cardinals?", people look at me quizzically and say, "Oh, I forgot baseball season was still going on."
In a conference call on Friday, I had to check if I had inadvertently set my phone on mute, because my attempt at baseball banter before the meeting began was completely ignored in favor of discussing the merits of sun-dried tomato bagels versus everything bagels.
No fair, you guys. I stayed with you throughout last year's post-season, cheering on your San Francisco Giants. I bit my nails off with the rest of you. I bragged about having seen Buster Posey play with the San Jose Giants. I wore orange, for gosh sake.
Now, I am alone, 2,000 miles from the town that continuously churns out the next generation of Cardinals fans by giving free tickets to young students with good grades. The town that broadcast the 1967 World Series over my elementary school intercom while we all worked on art projects. The town that, as the old saying goes, has it from A to Z: Arch, Baseball, um, a bunch of other stuff, and Zoo.
I realize you never got to enjoy those 90-degree Fahrenheit night games at Busch Stadium, sipping syrupy Cokes and singing along with Harry Caray to Take Me Out to the Ball Game. You were too busy enduring sub-zero temperatures at Candlestick in July. But I have sympathized with your pain and your joy. Now, where are you when it's my turn?
Tomorrow, when I say to you, "Did you see that blow-out game on Saturday night?", why not at least pretend that you did, and that you care.
Give a St. Louis gal a break. Or is that as likely as a smile from Tony La Russa?
