10-21-2004, 04:01 PM
NOT TODAY
Busch Stadium is not our house.
So I will not waste your time this morning talking about the
importance of
the Cardinals protecting our house in Game 7 of the NLCS. I will not
broach
the obscenity of seeing Houston players spilling champagne on our
living-room carpet.
Busch Stadium is not our house.
It's much more important than that.
It's where many of us watched our first game, caught our first foul
ball,
begged for our first autograph.
It's where Gibby ruled the mound, where Brock ran like the wind, and
where
Ozzie made all the folks go crazy.
It's where the El Birdos dominated, where Sutter struck out the last
batter
of 1982, where Mike Shannon has worked since the joint opened in 1966.
The Ol' Redhead managed there. Stan the Man played his harmonica
there. The
White Rat led us back to glory there. This is where Gussie drove the
Clydesdales, where Willie McGee tracked down fly balls, where Joaquin
Andujar summed up his philosophy of life in one simple word:
Youneverknow.
This is where Big Mac smacked No. 70, where Tommy Lawless flipped his
bat,
where GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY...BRUMMER'S STEALING HOME!!!!!!!
This is where the greatest St. Louis team in Busch Stadium's history
performed. That's right, the 2004 Cardinals. They had the best
home-record,
the best record in baseball. Right on that field.
Ted Simmons played there. Kenny Boyer managed there. And a beloved old
man
in a bright red jacket told a mournful nation why it was good and
right to
play baseball after Sept. 11.
My friends, Jack Buck's coffin rested on that field. Daryl Kile
pitched his
last game there. And many of cannot walk into that stadium without
thinking
of loved ones who are no longer with us.
Not today.
We don't lose today.
Not against the Houston Astros. Not against a wild-card team. Not
even
against a one of the best pitchers to ever play ball named Roger
Clemens.
Not in Busch Stadium.
No, it's not our house.
It's simply the place where our memories congregate, where our
baseball
dreams are stored, where the voices of millions of fans and the ghosts
of
seasons past await their call to arms.
Folks, it's time to wake 'em up.
*edit* oh yeah GO CARDS!!!
Busch Stadium is not our house.
So I will not waste your time this morning talking about the
importance of
the Cardinals protecting our house in Game 7 of the NLCS. I will not
broach
the obscenity of seeing Houston players spilling champagne on our
living-room carpet.
Busch Stadium is not our house.
It's much more important than that.
It's where many of us watched our first game, caught our first foul
ball,
begged for our first autograph.
It's where Gibby ruled the mound, where Brock ran like the wind, and
where
Ozzie made all the folks go crazy.
It's where the El Birdos dominated, where Sutter struck out the last
batter
of 1982, where Mike Shannon has worked since the joint opened in 1966.
The Ol' Redhead managed there. Stan the Man played his harmonica
there. The
White Rat led us back to glory there. This is where Gussie drove the
Clydesdales, where Willie McGee tracked down fly balls, where Joaquin
Andujar summed up his philosophy of life in one simple word:
Youneverknow.
This is where Big Mac smacked No. 70, where Tommy Lawless flipped his
bat,
where GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY...BRUMMER'S STEALING HOME!!!!!!!
This is where the greatest St. Louis team in Busch Stadium's history
performed. That's right, the 2004 Cardinals. They had the best
home-record,
the best record in baseball. Right on that field.
Ted Simmons played there. Kenny Boyer managed there. And a beloved old
man
in a bright red jacket told a mournful nation why it was good and
right to
play baseball after Sept. 11.
My friends, Jack Buck's coffin rested on that field. Daryl Kile
pitched his
last game there. And many of cannot walk into that stadium without
thinking
of loved ones who are no longer with us.
Not today.
We don't lose today.
Not against the Houston Astros. Not against a wild-card team. Not
even
against a one of the best pitchers to ever play ball named Roger
Clemens.
Not in Busch Stadium.
No, it's not our house.
It's simply the place where our memories congregate, where our
baseball
dreams are stored, where the voices of millions of fans and the ghosts
of
seasons past await their call to arms.
Folks, it's time to wake 'em up.
*edit* oh yeah GO CARDS!!!