I always get a little choked up when I see the Budweiser Clydesdales trot around the field at Busch Stadium on opening day. That song, those majestic horses and the dalmatian sitting proudly and obediently besides the driver, (why doesn’t my dalmatian behave that way?), gets me every time. I know it’s marketing genius but I can’t help myself.
I don’t know that I remember the first time I went to the old Busch Stadium to watch a Cardinal game but I do have quite a few memories going to St. Louis with my family. The drive was long and boring. It still is but upon catching the first glimpse of the Gateway Arch on the hazy horizon over the swampy landfills, my brothers and I would always perk up in excitement. My Dad would grip the steering wheel tighter in the ever increasing traffic. My Mom acted as navigator and lookout. You needed more than one pair of eyes driving through that traffic. We were hicks, no doubt. St. Louis was the “Big City”. We might as well had been riding in on a bale of hay.
Crossing the Mighty Mississippi was a little nerve wracking at times. I remember going to a double-header against the Cubs and the traffic was horrendous. It was backed up for miles and our car was stuck on the bridge crossing the river. We could have swore the bridge was moving, swaying back and forth and then we realized it was moving and swaying back and forth! My Dad wanted to fetch the life jackets from the trunk of the car. They were still there from a fishing trip. Now I know where I get my nervous tendencies from. We were all green by the time we reached the other side and grateful to be on firm ground – that is until the New Madrid fault flattens St. Louis.
We’d always get to the game at least 5-6 hours early to beat the traffic and accommodate for my Dad’s bad sense of direction. We actually get lost inside the parking garages. After one game, we drove around in circles inside the garage trying to find the down ramp. My brothers would yell at him, “There it is!” And we’d go back around again. “There it is!” And we’d go back around again. I hated those parking garages. I still hate them. There’s nothing like feeling like the lunch meat of a concrete sandwich.
We’d walk down to the Arch and stand at the base. The sun reflecting off of the stainless steel hurt my eyes but I looked anyway. We only went up once. The elevators are similar in size to the inside of a large commercial dryer. I don’t remember the trip up taking long but I remember the view from up top and most especially the door on the floor. We wondered what it was for. My Dad and I looked at it and stepped far from it. We should have packed parachutes in the trunk of the car too. We didn’t stay up there very long.
And then we’d eat on the McDonald’s river boat. My parents hated McDonald’s food and this was the only time as a kid I ever ate it. I didn’t care what the food tasted like. It was just cool to be on a river boat with logs the size of small homes floating by. Again my Dad would turn green and exit as quickly as possible.
But as green as my Dad would become, it paled in comparison to the first glimpses of the AstroTurf inside the stadium. I’d catch small glimpses of it while walking up the never ending ramps to our nose bleed seats. The smell of beer, hot dogs and maybe I don’t want to know what else, filled my senses. I wondered why big cities smelled so funny. Coming from Decatur, you would think I would have been use to funny smelling cities. We’d finally reach our section, usually the very upper deck and feel relieved to finally sit down and take it all in.
My oldest brother always kept a score card. I didn’t know what the chicken scratches he marked on it meant but I could tell it was serious business. I’d always watch the first couple innings but then my eyes would begin to wander. The people in the crowd always became the far more interesting and intriguing entertainment of the night. There was always some family who would eat themselves to oblivion. There were always plenty of drinkers. How on earth some people can hold so much liquid in their bladders, I’ll never know. There were the lovebirds who made everyone feel uncomfortable. Really, get a room knuckleheads. There were the fans three times wider than their seats. The smokers who gagged everyone around them. The yelling fools. And then of course, my attention would go back to the game when a loud cheer went up.
Whenever something good happened everyone stood up and a I couldn’t see a thing. I just knew from the cheers the Cardinals must have done something right. And it always seemed my favorite player, Willie McGee would deliver the winning hit when I was there. His jersey number should be retired!
Growing up I didn’t see baseball played on television very often, if at all. We listened to it on the radio so it was something special to see a game played before our eyes – even if the trip was exhausting and overwhelming to the senses.
The ride home was a good way to decompress. The night air coming through the windows blew away the funny smells. We’d get home around midnight but I could never fall asleep. I just lie awake thinking about the events of day. It was all good!
Well, I’ll be taking my kids to Busch Stadium, the newer and much improved version, in early May this year. I bet they’ll get the same kick as I did. The tall buildings, the smells, the claustrophobic parking garages, the crowd noises, and a little bit of baseball! No Willie McGee but maybe Pujols will deliver.
