Game 7: the view from St. Louis

I meant to watch Game 7 at a certain bar near Busch.

So did several hundred others.

I guess they were more committed.

So instead I headed back toward the stadium, pushing through Pujols jerseys.

“Rangers just scored,” I overheard, and then, “2-0.”

I found a place in right center, a gap between gates where I could stare at a television screen inside, along with thousands of people in red.

Two runs? Eh.

It was tied after an inning.

I shivered.

And then Allen Craig hit yet another home run to give St. Louis the lead.

I high-fived several men in their 50s, and a few women about my age.

And asked for more runs.

“YADI! YADI! YADI!” turned to roars for a bases loaded walk.

“He put in a lefty?” a man yelled, and cursed Ron Washington.

“He hit him! He hit him!” I cried, when that lefty and Furcal made it 5-2.

That catch. That catch. That catch.

Dotel ended the 7th with no runs in, and I looked at the people around me.

Bright eyes.

(And soon, 6-2, St. Louis.)

Only two innings left of the season, I thought.

Sad.

“6!”

“5!”

“4!”

People climbed up on the concrete barrier, clutching the fence with their fingers.

One man scaled the fence, and hopped inside the park.

A soldier grabbed him.

“Let him go!” the crowd yelled.

He didn’t. But there were more of us than them.

I hit the concrete with my gloved hands.

“We’re good on runs,” I thought but didn’t say.

(Because what if they came back?)

“2!”

“1!”

Fireworks and shrieks.

I caught a piece of red confetti.

And then I walked away, slapping hands with grinning fans.

I stepped over broken glass and bought a Post-Dispatch.

I stared at tiny fans standing on the very top of a parking garage.

And then I watched the Baseball Tonight crew turn around and smile.

Someone had set up a television so we could watch the show as it was taped.

(Like everyone else.)

Not at all like everyone else.

I called a friend to tell her where I was, and on that screen I saw “11th.”

And that could only be one team.

That’s when I knew.