laura hough smith

It seems every October I get to write a St.
Louis-cardinals-made-the-playoffs column.
Woe is me.
I wrote a column in 2011, when we won the World Series and I think I
wrote another in last year’s postseason, when we were still playing
ball.
This baseball season was different for me, though. Early in the
summer, after reading a great article on The Cardinal Way, I came to
accept – after 10 years – that our home simply is not a baseball
household. I’m never going to come home to a baseball game on the
television. I grew up in a home where the Cards game was on as soon as
my dad walked in the door. My household today is ruled instead by
recruiting classes, the top signees out of this junior college, BCS
rankings and the like.
This was the year I quit wishing we were more tuned to baseball and I
quit feeling guilty that we aren’t. I didn’t mean to give in. I simply
didn’t keep up much this summer, and come August, I was pulling out
every good tailgating recipe I had. I was genuinely excited for Rebel
football for the first time.
Being a football fan has been fun. Every Saturday morning, as we’ve
done for a couple of years, Wesley, Lollie and I grab pom-pons,
American flags and whatever else we can find and march around our
house to “College Gameday’s” “Coming to Your City.” That’s always been
fun, but now that I actually look forward to the game, it’s even
better.
The Rebels are faring about as well as expected, but I’m not letting
it get me too down. I learned from my dear Cardinals that you win some
and you lose some.
As September neared an end, my ears perked up a bit at Cardinals news.
A sorry old Braves fan and friend called me. My dad started sending
Morgan and I daily updates. I was unattached. Emotionally distant.
Disconnected.
Then one night. October 9. I knew we’d made the central division
playoffs, and I knew we’d drawn it out to five games. I was
indifferent though, right? No big deal.
I scrolled through my Twitter feed one night and saw that we were up
6-1. With a vague feeling that this might be it – that we could clinch
the central division – I considered turning on the television. But you
know baseball fans can be just a tad superstitious? Especially those
raised by a baseball fanatic? (The Cardinals do better in the
postseason if I either pace for an entire game or if I don’t watch
until the last pitch. They also win national league championships if
Wesley follows my father’s instructions and doesn’t move from his spot
on the floor of my parents’ den for the final two innings of Game 5.)
Was the 5-run lead at the top of the ninth enough to withstand my
turning on the game?
That night, I turned on the tv. I found the game. Adam Wainwright
threw a pitch. Strike. He threw another and then roared to the
heavens. Yadier Molina – my main man besides Wesley – flipped up his
catchers’ mask and ran for Wainwright. In seconds, the pile-on by the
rest of team was upon them. Fireworks streaked the sky in front of the
Arch.
I saw Wainright and Molina inch a little away from the fracas, still
embracing. I cried. I replayed the last pitch, the embrace, the
celebration no less than five times that night.
The following morning, I read a wonderfully written column in the
Post-dispatch about the Cards. The columnist lauded the Pirates. I
sent the link to my dad and sister.
Just a couple days later, we marched to Game Day and watched the Rebs
take on the Aggies. And I wondered if my embracing football helped
push the cards to the playoffs? Surely, that’s not too superstitious
of me. And, even so and even without winning the whole shebang, I’m
giving up all over again next season.

© Laura Hough Smith and laurahoughsmith, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Laura Hough Smith and laurahoughsmith with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.