Ode To The Redbirds

 

Dear St Louis fans, 

Allow me to begin by offering my condolences in the passing of Cardinals legend Bob Gibson. When a team icon passes we tend to gather together in strength, sharing memories and telling stories going back to their rookie years. Adding insult to injury, large gatherings are not very popular these days and I know you all would rather be at Busch Stadium celebrating one hell of a pitcher and one heck of a man.

As a lifelong San Diego fan (who worked in the Padres Entertainment Department for thirteen years), the Cardinals were something of a monkey on our backs or better yet considering our 1-9 postseason record, we had the whole dam zoo on our backs.

Yet through the years, I’ve respected no team more than yours. From my grade school years delivering newspapers, reading about Ozzie Smith and Vince Coleman to digging up books at my school library and reading about the Gashouse Gang to this day, when your local nine had me biting my fingernails in anticipation of yet another playoff rout; your organization and more important you, as fans, have been a class act all the way.

As I stated in an earlier blog, I’ve never worn the cap of another team. Yet there was a time I came close to donning a Cardinals hat. The setting? 1994 baseball strike and the Padres ongoing fire sale. Mind you, my complete loyalty would not have shifted and it wasn’t just because my Padres were losing. It was because then-ownership and Major League Baseball in general was leading me to nearly stop loving the game itself. And I must admit, part of the reason was Axl Rose had taken to wearing one onstage.

And I have a feeling you all were equally angered as we were when Tony Gwynn’s quest for .400 was dashed by the strike. Speaking of Mr. Padre, it was Tony’s quest for 3,000 that cemented a permanent place in my heart for the St Louis fans and organization. We had the opportunity to see a 500th home run and 3,000th his in the same game and from my perspective, you treated Tony with every bit of adulation and respect as you did Big Mac.

Every team has its rivalries and I am quite surprised there has been little to no talk of a Padres/Cardinals rivalry. Then again, going one and nine against you makes me think of a fight between Mike Tyson and Steve Urkel. Yet never once did I see any gloating, never has a Cardinals fan claim superiority over what the teams on the field do. In fact, I can safely say that in over a thousand games as an employee and several hundred more as a paying fan, not once did I hear or see a negative word or action from the St. Louis faithful.

When the season schedule came out every year I eagerly looked for two things; who we were playing Opening Day and when the Cards were coming to town. I knew when the ‘birds came to town we were sure to see baseball at its most pure, on the field and in the stands.

While your season ended a little more than you hoped, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Think of your team’s history and hold your head high. Think of the class, grace and dignity shown by your fans over the years and hold your heads even higher.

I don’t get out to the bars much these days but if you do spot me at one, say hello. And you’ll have a .394 Pale Ale on me…

Twenty Four Years in the Making

 

I’ll have to preface this by tipping my cap to the St. Louis Cardinals. I’ve never rooted for a team other than the Padres, never had more than one team. Though I did root for the Giants (or to be more specific, Bruce Bochy, Tim Flannery and a handful of dear friends who love the Giants just as much as I love the Padres) during the 2010, 2012 and 2014 playoffs.

Yet there was a time where I was on the verge of buying a Cardinals hat. No excuses, but this was during the Werner-era fire sale AND Axl Rose had also taken to wearing one on stage. Looking back, I think Tony Gwynn was the ONLY reason I didn’t just go ahead and do it. And it should come as no surprise that #19 factored in the massive respect for the Cardinals organization and fans. Just one hit away from 3,000 and on the road, Tony stepped to the plate to a standing ovation every at bat.

These weren’t trash talking, fair weather idiots at Busch Stadium, these were BASEBALL fans who cherished all that is good in the game. In later years I looked forward to the Cardinals coming to town. I can’t count how many times we had swept a team and some of their fans would get in my face and say “Padres suck!”.

I had heard it from nearly every team in the league after we had just beat them. And of course, the fans of teams who may have won a World Series or two would start a conversation only to interrupt every reply with “How many rings you got?!” much like the semi-literate Raider fans used to back when I actually gave a crap about football.

Never once heard such a thing from a Cardinals fan. Yet more than once I heard “good game” after a rare occasion in which we beat them. Also resonating tonight is the conversation I had at the 2016 Home Run Derby with a kid half my age, wearing a Stan Musial jersey. And of course I’ll never forget the good-natured ribfest between myself, two elderly female Padres fans and two Cardinals fans; each of whom were about the size of two offensive lines. Not two linemen, two lines. Just good fun at the old ballgame and St. Louis fans knew and still know how to do it better than most.

HOWEVER, there was always a small part of me that would cringe when I would hear about the Cardinals. What self-respecting Padres fan wouldn’t? It was Cal Ripken breaking Lou Gehrig’s record which brought me back to Major League baseball and it was the Moores/Lucchino/Towers trifecta which brought me back to Padres baseball in 1996. Ironically, it was a Cardinals fan who literally got me into the game in 1998 and another Cardinals fan who led me for many years after.

But until tonight, my rear end still stung from that sweep in 1996. I think I still have broom marks from 2005. And even though we finally won a playoff game against them, 2006 wasn’t much better.

So began the drought. Until now. As little as we are used to being in the playoffs, we Padres fans are historically not used to being regarded as one of the best teams in the majors. Yet that’s exactly where we find ourselves this weekend.

And of course, we can’t be there. At least, not in person. But that’s the great thing about being there in spirit. Because when you’re there in spirit, you can be everywhere. 

Earlier today I thought of Ken “Chicken Man” Olinger; who was such a fixture along the first base line at the Murph he became part of Tony Gwynn’s daily routine. Of Frank and Barb Glenski; who traveled so well they toured the Great Wall of China with Kevin Towers when our local nine played an exhibition series in Beijing. I thought of Opening Day 1996; when Ken Caminiti knocked me over and picked me up in one motion as he was walking out of McGregor’s, neither of us looking where we were going. I shudder to think how many of my bones would have been broken had he been walking a little faster. I think of the night in that same bar as I sat with Bruce Bochy and Goose Gossage; drinking Coors Lights and talking duck hunting on the Rio Grande.

I think of my fellow 1998 rookie coworkers Carly, Courtney and Kerry; who acted like giggly little schoolgirls when Archi Cianfrocco walked by. And yes, I think of how I was ten times goofier than all three combined when moments later; Tony Gwynn, Steve Finley and Davey Lopes rounded the corner.

I think of master tailgater Akira Edamitsu, who used to show up for games at six. AM! Also of Dave “Faithkeeper” Moore and Al “Batman” Price, who had such a flashy tailgate spot set up, I think it led to them holding the record of drinks bought for them at McGregors from visiting players.

And yes, I from time to time I unfortunately about my first solo on field assignment; which involved a grass skirt, coconut bra and a hairy chested man. Of course, not all the memories were glamorous. Some of them were downright enchanting. Like the time I got on the elevator and wondered why the hell they were playing the Dodgers broadcast, only to look behind me and see Vin Scully stepping onto the elevator behind me. Or a few years later on the very same elevator; where on my left stood Junior Seau and on my right stood Tony Gwynn.

Yes, this kid from Chula Vista has some memories and some stories. Some of the stories are warm and fuzzy; like the many times I made the day for a family; one moment they’re in the upper deck, the next moment mom and dad see their kids storming the field with the Pad Squad.  Getting paid every day to create memories that will last a lifetime. And best of all, the knowledge of how one kind act could resonate for years, even decades. Such things happen in baseball; so many things off the field only preciuous few are even aware of.

On the surface, it appears that a love for the game is what drives people like me; the few who are in the position I held for over a thousand games. But at least for myself, it’s the love of the game that gets me there. What really drove me was discovering the ability to create such memories for others, and having literally thousands of opportunities to do it every night.

 I often wonder about those fans; the ones I met only once. The family who was having a bad day because the youngest was having an even worse day; and the smiles on all their faces after a quick radio call to the Swingin’ Friar changed the day for them all. The elderly woman who showed up three hours early for an event, on a 95 degree day; who ended up spending most of that time in the ticket office, a small cooler of water bottles by her side courtesy of some kid from Chula Vista. Or the little one who looked like the Pepsi girl with the Joe Pesci voice. What was her name again? Anyway, if anyone sees her, tell her Brown and Gold is a little more stylish than Black and Orange. Even in October.

I know this might sound a little rambling, but give the kid a break, will ya?! Let’s see you try and consolidate a thousand games and a million memories into a two-page blog! Seriously though, I can't recall when more memories flowed in such a short time.

Sometimes as I’m thumbing through the ol’ memory bank I wonder Where Have All The Good Times Gone…

Today, the answer is Right Now…