About that crying in baseball …

At some point this month, it’s a good bet that the bat of Albert Pujols will meet a baseball and send it over the wall for the 700th time. When that happens, time will stop for a brief, glorious moment. Our family text group will light up with a “He did it!” and our sons will share with us the unadulterated joy that comes with being a Cardinals fan.

We’ll also chime in the last time Yadier Molina catches Adam Wainwright, chat about how close Paul Goldschmidt is to winning the Triple Crown, and share the first post-season pitch and playoffs, however long they last. 

My goodness, has there ever been a season like this one? It’s magic, pure and simple, and my diabolical plan of exposing our two sons to baseball at every opportunity has worked. They’re 25 and 28 now, both with lives of their own. But still we share baseball, and this delightful, head-scratching, pinch-me-if-I’m-dreaming ride of a season. 

Last Christmas, I opened an envelope from Matt, the oldest, now living and working in Chicago. It was a gift of two tickets to a Cardinals-Cubs game at Wrigley Field, sometime in 2022.

That day turned out to be Aug. 23. On a sun-drenched Tuesday in Chicago, Matt and I took the Red Line from Lake to Addison, decked out in Cardinals red. Ten hours later, we headed back downtown. We stayed for two — a doubleheader split, the record says. Didn’t matter. I spent 10 hours watching the Cardinals at Wrigley Field with my son, and all I had to buy was a few hot dogs and beers. Who says there’s no crying in baseball? 

I choked up the moment we walked under Wrigley’s iconic red sign. Memories started swirling around my head, such as the April night he was born in 1994, a Cardinals game playing on TV in the room. And then he’s 4, and I’m letting him stay up to watch Mark McGwire hit his 62nd home run. He’s 12 and Wainright is jumping into Molina’s arms for the last out of the 2006 World Series. He’s 17 and he puts his homework aside to see David Freese hit the ball into the next day.

In between are dozens of trips to Busch Stadiums II and III for both boys; jerseys to outgrow; playing catch with dad in a cornfield in Iowa; souvenirs and scorecards, nachos and Cokes, and staying up late to watch SportsCenter. 

“Mom, did you see those highlights from last night?”

Sure, the score matters in baseball, but baseball is awesome because the moments that get you to the result matter just as much. 

Get ready for the coming days with Albert, Yadi and Waino, Goldy and Nolan, Ollie and all the young players who are promising that an era may be ending, but the future looks just fine. Set your phone alerts. Text your kids. There will be crying in baseball. 

Originally published in the Webster-Kirkwood Times Sept. 16, 2022.