Shades of Shea

"There's hits in that chair," Keith Hernandez reportedly said in the dugout as he headed back to the clubhouse during the extra innings of Game Six of the Mets' 1986 World Series run. So he went back to sit in the chair. The Mets went on to win the game and the series in a come-from-behind fashion never before seen in the postseason.

Twenty-five years and two nights later--last night to be specific--baseball history seemed to repeat itself as the St. Louis Cardinals, down to one strike left in their season three times by my count, managed to pull out the 11th-inning "11-th Hour" victory. You're welcome.

As soon as the Virginia-Miami football game was through, we switched over to watch the end of Game Six. It never came. Eighth inning heroics were followed by ninth inning heroics, and so on. The Texas Rangers raised the bet to seven and the Cards saw it. The Rangers upped the ante to nine, and again St. Louis "met" them. At the end of a tied tenth inning I could see the writing on the wall: This was 1986 all over again. I told hubby, "there's hits in that bed," because on October 25, 1986 I had given up the ghost for the Mets and gone to bed, only to miss the live version of events. (Thank goodness for VHS--I still have that game on videotape.) I knew that if St. Louis was going to get this done, and if hubby was ever going to be released from his recliner, I had to go to bed. Hernandez would've insisted. And it worked. I hadn't had the time to turn out the light when hubby came down the hall announcing that I--I mean the Cardinals--had won, finally.

I like the baseball, or as George Will might say when asked if he likes the sport, "No, I'm a Cubs fan." I too like the Cubs and would love to see the ghosts of Wrigley exorcized going back to 1908, Ernie Banks and goat or not. But I'm not really a Cardinals fan. I know one and he has a special spot in my heart--hi, Der Dribber--and I find LaRousa interesting, but I cannot claim fanhood. Same goes for the Rangers; though I used to love Nolan Ryan, I'm not a fan of his team. I thought the Phillies pitching staff would prove untouchable--I was wrong. I thought the Red Sox would play in September--I was wrong. I was hoping for a Brewers-Tigers series, mainly for the economies of those beleaguered cities, but that was not to be. So why the overpowering need to (up until now) anonymously assist the Cards last night?
Because somewhere in the dark of a St. Louis night, a fellow I know and enjoy likely stumbled out of a bar crying and laughing into his to-go beer cup.

Here's the story. Among hubby's co-workers are two guys, one a Rangers fan from childhood, the other a Cardinals diehard. Hearing them volley over the series at work one day about a week ago, hubby suggested they purchase Game Seven tickets, just for the hell of it, to see if they might get to see their teams go for it all in person. They did. They're in St. Louis right now. And they're in for a great game tonight, I'm sure. So you see it had to go to Game Seven. And the to-go cup guy spilling over with emotion? He's the Rangers fan, who had to hope against his team's winning its first ever World Series title last night so that he could go to the game tonight. Talk about being torn. Much like the shirt off Mr. Freese's back, I'm sure our boy-by-the-arch is feeling some world class agonizing joy about now. (Sadly they don't put that on display at Cooperstown. Maybe he can make a shadowbox when he gets back here.)

So while I'd just as soon the Cards win after all that magic last night, I'm just gonna pull for two pals, sitting somewhere amongst the roaring throng at Busch Stadium--one dressed in blue, the other red--hoping...little kid hoping for their miracle in that sweet, gut-wrenching fashion so well-known to lovers of the heartbreakingly poignant game called "baseball".