1998 was an
historic year in baseball. Two players launched an assault on the single season
home run mark set by Roger Maris of 61 homers in (coincidentally) 1961.
By the time
May arrived on the calendar one of those two players was well ahead of the pace
needed to break the esteemed record. His name was Mark McGwire and he played
for the St. Louis Cardinals. Fans across the country packed the stadium when
McGwire and his Redbirds played, many of whom wanted to say they were there
during one of the games McGwire crushed one of the homers on his way to 61+ and
history.
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I've known my
Dad's friend Danny my whole life. He worked with my Dad at the post office and
was my first Little League coach. It just so happens that Danny is a St. Louis
Cardinal fan so when McGwire's assault on Maris' record started to take shape,
Danny had even more interest than the average baseball fan.
One day that
spring my Dad called to let me know he had landed three tickets to an upcoming
game between the Cardinals and Brewers in Milwaukee. He shared that he and
Danny were going and asked if I'd be interested in joining them. The word 'YES'
was out of my mouth in about .3 seconds and soon thereafter it was settled:
They would drive to Milwaukee from Aurora, IL and meet me at the game, as I'd
be coming from Janesville, WI. Dad mailed me my ticket so I didn't have to wait for them to arrive.
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I had a
difficult time controlling my excitement while at school during the day of the
game. When the work day finally ended I headed straight from school to
Milwaukee. By the time I pulled into my parking spot at the ballpark after the
75 minute drive I was downright giddy! I was at the game!
I was indeed
at the game, but I was so early that the gates were yet to be opened to the
public. I planted myself in line outside one of the entrances behind a half
dozen others and waited. And waited. And waited.
An hour plus
later and my feet and back were killing me from standing the whole time and a
certain percentage of excitement had drained from my being, but the pain seemed
to magically disappear when I saw a couple of people unlocking and opening the
gates. The long wait was over! My thoughts went through a checklist of sorts as
the line started to move forward: Bathroom, concession stand, find my seat,
kick back and eat/watch batting practice until Dad and Danny arrived. The
excitement had returned! The wait outside the ballpark was painful, but I was convinced
that this would all work out now that I was headed inside. Nothing but
positives ahead on this night!
Or so I
thought.
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So there I
was, inside the stadium with my little cardboard tray filled with a couple of
hot dogs and a soda. I check my ticket and head toward the gate that will lead
me to my seat. As I walk up the ramp I glance at the playing field for the
first time that day. My heart rate and pace quicken as I simultaneously check row numbers and sneak more glances at the field.
I arrive at
my designated row and look up to find my seat, only to find my Dad now standing
right in front of me! Before I can say anything he grasps my elbow and starts
to guide me back down the steps, saying, 'Come on, we have to go.'
Shortly thereafter I find myself being led out of the stadium just minutes after I
ended the excruciating wait and entered. Confusion reigned in my mind but I
continued walking because, well, he's my Dad and he was obviously distressed
about something, although I had no idea why at this point in the evening.
Soon I found
myself walking past the very same spot I had stood for an hour plus just
minutes beforehand. I saw that spot and stopped dead in my tracks, looked at
Dad, and said with a sense of urgency, 'Just what in the heck is going on? Why
are we out here?????'
'We need to
go get Danny. He's laying in a cemetery (Dad points to a spot in the distance).
Let's get your van and go over and get him. Where'd you park?'
On the walk
to my van further conversation reveals that Dad and Danny had parked at a bar
several blocks from the stadium, had a few drinks, and then decided to save
money on parking and walk over to the ballpark. They took a direct route,
cutting through fields until they came upon a low lying stone wall. Danny, in
his excitement to get to the ballpark, ran ahead of Dad and vaulted himself up
and over the knee high wall. However, on the other side of the wall the ground
was a few feet lower and Danny landed awkwardly, crushing his left heel upon
landing in what was a cemetery. Dad (smartly) peeked over the wall before going
over and when he did, he saw his friend lying on the ground writhing in pain
amidst the countless gravestones.
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Dad and I
weave our way through the parking lot and come to my van. It's immediately
obvious to me that we won't be going anywhere with this vehicle anytime soon.
There are tailgaters everywhere, grills humming, tents out, and people lounging
in chairs in the open areas between cars. Dad grasps the problem too and says,
'Well, we'll have to walk over' as he points to a spot (uphill of course) in
the distance that doesn't appear to be anywhere close to where we currently
stood.
So we head
toward the cemetery on foot. It turns out to be at least a mile walk uphill and
I can't help but notice the sounds of the ballpark fading from earshot behind
me as we venture further toward our downed friend. I'm trying to be
compassionate over his plight in my head, but I'm fighting it with thoughts
such as, 'I just want to watch the game!' and 'We're going the wrong way!'
going through my head as well.
As we move
toward the top of the hill my Dad says, 'He's just over the top here.' We come
to the peak and look down at the cemetery below. It is every bit the scene of
gravestones and flowers you're picturing in your mind, sans one important
detail: Danny isn't there. I turn to my Dad and say, 'So...............you
think they just cut to the chase and buried him?'
*******************************************************************************
We're now
standing in the cemetery. There isn't a Cardinals hat, jersey, no one playing
Taps, not a sign of him anywhere in the graveyard. My Dad is bewildered and
mumbling, 'He was right here!' It's obvious he doesn't know what to do next, so
I walk over to a guy I see directing traffic on the adjacent road and ask him
if he happened to see an overweight 50 something year old man dressed in
Cardinal red from head to toe laying (above ground!) in the cemetery. The 20
something African American replies with, 'Aw yeah, I saw that guy. They just
rolled him out of here in an ambulance a few minutes ago.'
I sigh and
say, 'Any idea where they would have taken him?' and he points to (another) far
off spot in the distance and replies with, 'The Veterans' Hospital is up there.
That's my best guess.'
So on we
trudge toward this hospital, not even really knowing if he's actually in the
building. During this latest mile plus walk I hear cheers from the ballpark and
realize the game is about to begin. I grit my teeth and trudge onward, thinking
what I'd like to do to Danny's other heel if I had one of Mark McGwire's bats
handy.
*******************************************************************************
We arrive at
a side door of the hospital. I push a button on an intercom and a voice says,
'Can I help you?' I have a fleeting thought of saying, 'Do you have a son of a
b**** with a broken foot in there?' but I
think better of it and ask if they have a guy named Dan (last name) inside. It
turns out they do (even though he's not a veteran) and they buzz us inside.
When I enter
the hospital room I see Danny lying in bed with his leg propped up and wrapped
in a cloth or cast of some sort. It becomes obvious he's drugged up when he
sees us and says, 'Hey! Come on in you two! I have the game on right here!' as
he nods toward a tiny television hanging from above. A doctor enters and shares
that they've taken some X rays and are analyzing his heel. He adds that
Danny won't be going anywhere for at least a couple of hours. After some
awkward silence my Dad says, 'Do you want to go back to the game?' I don't know
what else to say or do so I nod and we head back toward the stadium.
My Dad and I
can talk about baseball for hours. It's always been that way. This night
however sees absolutely no interaction between us, despite the fact we're now
sitting side by side (with a second set of tickets) at a major league baseball
game. We're both reviewing the evening's events in our head while trying to
watch the game. After McGwire flies out to the warning track to end the 7th
inning he says to me the first two words we've shared inside the stadium since he
said we had to go some two hours prior: 'Wanna go?' I did want to go. I wanted
to go straight home, bury my head in my pillow, and forget this entire debacle
of an evening.
*******************************************************************************
The story
ends with Danny begging to be released from the hospital with the promise that
he'll go straight to the hospital in Aurora if they let him go. The doc
reluctantly agrees but there of course had to be one more element to further ruin my
evening. Danny is instructed to keep his leg elevated the entire drive. When he
gets in the passenger seat of his pickup truck he discovers that the only way
to follow that order is to have his foot sticking out of the window. So Dad and
Danny end up taking my van back to Aurora, as he can sit in the back with his
leg up and inside the vehicle for the long drive back home. Meanwhile, I'm driving back to Janesville in a pickup truck, which will be my sole mode of transportation until I get my
van back. God only knows when that'll be.
When I get
home my wife says, 'How was the game?' and before I can answer she asks, 'Whose
truck is that out front? Where's our van?' I just sigh and walk upstairs,
mentally and physically exhausted.
It was the
crappiest sporting event of my entire life.
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