photo courtesy Sonja Lee / Scroll

Tearing down paradise and putting up a parking lot isn’t always a bad thing, especially if you are an Idaho hick and it’s the fifth game of the World Series.

 Being that Idaho hick, I always thought a whole city couldn’t love just one team. Before I was an Idaho hick, I was a California brat, where there are multiple teams for almost everything: the Los Angeles Dodgers, the Anaheim Angels, the Lakers, the Giants, the Clippers; the list could go on forever.

I had no idea how strong between a ball club and its city could be. Then I came to St. Louis and started seeing red.

The Cardinal color was everywhere. The city fountains flowed with red water. The waitresses and waiters wore the team colors. The businesses had “Go Cardinals” or “Go Cards.” The whole city acted as if it had a personal relationship with the red birds.

Going to dinner with two St. Louisans revealed the love goes both ways. The popular first baseman Albert Pujols makes regular visits to the local hospital and he and his wife established a foundation for children.

On the way back to our hotel, our group stopped at every television or plasma screen we could to catch the game. Most of the TVs were in bars.  Being St. Louis, home of the Budweiser Plant, you can image we stopped quite a lot.

Each time I saw those men in red, my blood started pumping harder and harder. This game suddenly became as important to me as it was to the average St. Louisan.

By the time we reached Busch Stadium, I was pumped. There I was standing in what could be baseball history. After all, the Cardinals could win the World Series in the first year in their new stadium. This should earn at least a mention in Cooperstown. 

When one of my friends suggested we go to the top of the car garage adjacent to the field, I jumped at the chance. 

So, there I was, standing on a parking lot and watching the fifth game of the World Series, and for an Idaho hick, it was pretty amazing. 

Even more amazing was how quickly I had changed my Idaho hick uniform for the Cardinal’s uniform. In the bottom of the seventh, when the last Cardinal crossed home base, I cheered, slapped hands and generally made a fool out of myself. That was okay because we are Cardinals fans. 

I even remember yelling, “three quick ones” when last Detroit Tiger had the dubious task being batter with two strikeouts against the team. What do I know about “three quick ones?” Did it matter? Apparently not, I was among friends. 

After the last out and the Cardinals began its reign as the world champion, a reporter from Eastern Illinois University interviewed me. He asked if I was a Cardinal’s fan. My reply? I am now.