This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, June 1, 2009 - The first Busch Stadium was actually the “old” Sportsman’s’ Park on Grand near the present site of the Herbert Hoover Boy’s Club. It carried that name for a bit before the “new” Busch Stadium was constructed downtown and saw its first game during the torrid summer of 1966.
I’m told I saw a game at the first Busch, but I don’t remember that day. My stadium, my love, was the so-called cookie cutter multi-purpose home of the St. Louis Cardinals and St. Louis Cardinals. A storied baseball franchise and a troubled football franchise.
To me, it was a baseball stadium in which a football team happened to play. And part of that stadium belonged to my late dad and me.
Section 350. General Admission. It was the upper deck, directly behind home plate. From that vantage point you can see the beauty of baseball. There truly is a diamond before you and the position numbers – 1 through 9 – make absolute sense. You watch as outfielders move into a slightly different position with each batter and see middle infielders begin moving a split second before the baseball leaves a pitcher’s hand because they know what pitch is being unleashed.
The stadium I loved is no more. But I’ll never sit in better seats than those in Section 350. And I’ve sat in some of baseball’s finest.
While I’m no stranger to the “new” Busch Stadium press box, I have the most fun during a season when my daughters and I are at a game. It’s better than hanging out with the boys of the sports corps or friends having a great time on a hot summer night.
But the girls want no part of the new Busch Stadium’s equivalent of Section 350. Nope, they have grown fond of sitting near the field or in a suite. Last season, we even got to see a game from those fancy exclusive green seats behind home plate where stadium staff members take your order and bring you your food. They were too young to remember now the first time I read them the “pay-attention” riot act when we were sitting in box seats. I never took my eye off the plate to make sure they didn’t get bonked by a stray foul ball or errant thrown bat. In fact, the only times since I was their age that I haven’t kept score at a game was when they were younger and my eyes were peeled for danger.
Trust me, I still had a blast.
School is usually out before we attend our first game of the season and that fell last Friday, May 29.
True to form, the Reids will be at Friday’s game against the Colorado Rockies. We will probably go to four or five games during the summer. Some nights are so hot you can’t breathe. We have to dodge raindrops at least once and pray we don’t get struck by lightning. But we’ll have a few gorgeous nights, too. It doesn’t matter if the Cardinals win or lose when I’m with my family. You can watch the scoreboard and see that the Chicago Cubs are pummeling some other team and only smile.
Albert Pujols might not hit a home run, and Chris Carpenter might not pitch a gem. Ryan Howard might hit two home runs and the Philadelphia Phillies might blow the Redbirds right out of the park. (Yes, I’m speaking from Reid family experience.) Baseball in St. Louis is many things, but it still remains a family thing. I know at each game we attend someone is sitting high above the field directly behind home plate.
They might be with a son or daughter. And that son or daughter might wind up covering baseball, being in the winning clubhouse after the World Series, watching a record home run sail over the wall, seeing the game’s best shortstop ever or binge honored with throwing out a ceremonial first pitch.
I’ve done them all. And it all started in Section 350 of the second Busch Stadium.
Thanks, dad.
Alvin A. Reid is a weekend host on the new ESPN 101.1 FM. His weekly Major League Baseball - St. Louis Cardinals column, which is now published on The Beacon website, was honored by the Missouri Press Association as Best Sports Column in 2004 and 1999. He is co-author of the book, "Whitey's Boys: A Celebration of the 1982 World Champion St. Louis Cardinals" and was a member of the inaugural staff of USA TODAY Baseball Weekly.