"This rabid loyalty also lends itself to opportunities for swelled hope. Although they are not officially eliminated from the hunt, St. Louis is not going to the playoffs this year. By looking and listening to the fans in the stadium it'd be hard to tell. They were adorable the way they clung to post-season hopes, watching and rooting for their team. While they carefully observed the happenings on the field with one eye, they kept their other eye on the out of town scoreboard, jeering the Milwaukee Brewers. I'm sorry to break you the bad news St. Louis, but not this year."
I wrote these words after the St. Louis game on September 11. That was foolish of me. I love the game of baseball and following and playing it over the years has reminded me time and time again that, in the immortal words of Yogi Berra, "it ain't over 'til it's over." This very true statement, that wobbles in the waves of its own simplicity, was hardly more evident than in game six of the 2011 World Series played in the very place where I had previously left hope for dead, scoffing at its persistence: St. Louis, Missouri.
Last night I sat on the edge of my chair for more than three straight hours as the Texas Rangers and St. Louis Cardinals played one of the most thrilling baseball games I've ever seen. The St. Louis Cardinals for Pete's sake. I kept thinking, as the camera panned the often breathless crowd, about how I had dismissed the Cardinals and their chances for October baseball as hopeless during my visit to their home stadium. This same ballpark, surely filled with many of the same people as on September 11, was now hosting one of the great World Series' games. A game that acted as a transition, for fans and players alike, from the brink of certain despair to pure, incredulous joy.
Of course I didn't know at the time that it'd end up all hugs and kisses for St. Louis in the end. During the game however, I could easily recognize the wrap of hopelessness at the door. I watched on television. I found myself ignoring the knocks and, just like those people in the stands, hoping for a miracle. All of those wonderful St. Louis fans were inspiring me now and I thought about how beautiful it'd be if St. Louis came from behind to win. After all, they'd already come from 10 1/2 games back to improbably catch the Braves and squeak into the playoffs. Once in the playoffs they'd squarely defeated the two teams holding the best records in the National League. Why couldn't they come from two runs down with two outs and two strikes in the bottom of the ninth against the Texas Rangers?
They did just that. David Freese, down to his (and the Cardinals) last strike tripled to deep right, just over the outstretched glove of Texas rightfielder Nelson Cruz. Incredible. The drama was palpable. Alas! Texas is a very good team too and when Josh Hamilton hit a two run homer in the top of the 10th it seemed that all of our previous hoping was now in vain. A comeback couldn't possibly happen again, could it? I imagined that even the strongest of Cardinal fans was finally ready to succumb. Of course it did happen again and perpetuated, as I already said, one of the most thrilling games I've ever seen.
Games so incredible and filled with such dramatic moments can only occur in baseball. That's my belief and it's because there is no artificial time limit telling you when it'll be over. In fact, as the suspenseful games draw nearer to their finish the play seems to slow down and the contest between pitcher and hitter becomes magnified by the pitch-to-pitch anticipation. Additionally, without a clock a team can presumably bat forever as long as they do it well enough. Or a team can be stuck in the field forever if they can't pick up the ball. Of course these things don't even happen in Little League, let alone the World Series. But that is not the point. What is the point is that the game truly isn't over until it's over. And sometimes, sandwiched between those thoughts, is when a memorable experience can be shared.
As I hooted and hollered along with the other patrons at the Greeley Avenue Bar & Grill I thought about some of the other great baseball games I knew of and wondered if this one could possibly compare. Although there are many great baseball moments (Kirk Gibson's 1988 home run off of Dennis Eckersley for example), there are few games that can be hailed as classics. Interestingly, the two that first came to mind were also game sixes: 1975 Reds vs. Red Sox and 1986 Mets vs. Red Sox.
In a post-game telephone discussion with my dad we observed that a few specific circumstances must be in place in order for a game to be so dramatic: the game must be a World Series game, it has to be late in the series and one team (if not both) is facing elimination, the team facing elimination must come from behind, and as an added bonus: the come from behind team must be the home team.
All three of the aforementioned games met the conditions. Now within those conditions there must be, among a variety of other scenarios, questionable managerial decisions; timely hitting; strong pitching; memorable plays and a dramatic finish. I wasn't around in 1975, but I've heard enough stories and seen enough highlights to know that all of these things happened. I'm of the opinion that the game between the Red Sox and Reds is still the greatest game ever played. From everything I've learned it was a perfect game. A hunch tells that is due to the glorification of reminiscence retold. I don't care.
Unfortunately last night's game and the one in 1986 were marred by errors and this is what generates a distinction. The memorable play in '86 was Mookie Wilson's grounder rolling under Bill Buckner's glove to give the Mets the victory and Buckner a life filled with suffering. In 2011 the memorable play was David Freese hitting a home run. Of course this is the very same David Freese that, in the top of the fifth, dropped a pop up that my sister could have caught; the most memorable of the five (five!) errors during the game.
But reflecting on these three games and David Freese's transition from goat to hero, I realized something about errors and the very real opportunities they can create. For instance, I made an error in judgment when I wrote off the Cardinals back in mid-September. I could have easily gone back into the blog and erased what I had written; pretending that it hadn't occurred (not that it would matter to anybody but me), but I didn't. Why? Because it had occurred. Now, I realize that sitting and watching the Rangers vs. the Cardinals carries an added point of interest for me. I'm more connected to the World Series and the St. Louis Cardinals than I had previously thought. Sitting in a bar in Portland, Oregon I can easily remember those fans I talked to and how remarkably loyal and hopeful they were. Say what you will about the merits of sports spectatorship, but those fans are real people and I have very real memories of dismissing their hopes as fantasy. Here's the point: the sixth game of this year's World Series was extremely entertaining but, because of my error in judgment, I had a better time watching it than if I hadn't have erred in the first place.
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