3 : 356 : 7 : 15

The world was gray, cold, and wet again. For a mid-May day in St. Louis, it wasn’t impossible, but it certainly wasn’t common. Halfway through the afternoon, and the silver drizzle still fell. Rain-washed honeysuckle on the back fence. A dribbly kind of day.

Meanwhile, at school, Puck had earned four points for his team during Spirit Week by dressing as a – what he later told me he’d decided to call instead – tourist/spy from Mexico. Mariachi spy. Apparently being a bird watcher just wasn’t going to be good enough.

After carpool, he and Bob spent about an hour throwing an animal cracker lid “frisbee” up and down the halls with Yali before we had to call it a day. They are an easy group to keep entertained.

Some hours later I found myself shivering further and further into the recesses of my hoodie while waiting out another Cardinals loss downtown. Didn’t help that the Blues weren’t doing such a hot job themselves just a few blocks away.

It also didn’t help that – despite our good seats – Carrie’s view of the plate was blocked for about half the game.

“That guy’s big head is right in my way,” she said. “Tell me if it’s a strike or a ball.”

Several minutes later…

“Whoa! What happened to the ball? Was that a strike?”

I looked at her funny. “That was a pick-off.”

Clearly this guy’s head was larger than Carrie had originally realized. He was also a college kid Rockies fan a little more interested in chatting with the girls in his row than actually watching the game.

As the uneventful innings dragged on, it became clear that the large bottle of Icelandic drinking water was not going to be necessary. Dehydration wasn’t going to be a realistic factor on a night like that.

And judging by Matt Holliday’s somewhat elongated temper tantrum in the dugout about halfway through the game – which isn’t exactly a common occurrence – the Cardinals weren’t getting much of a kick out of the weather either.

As the game ended on an unsuccessful note, we heard a female fan squawking behind us. “Thirty-eight degrees?! It’s thirty-eight degrees out here?!”

Seemed a little low for the situation, but if she was right, we’re talking snow territory. And that’s just inappropriate for a May 17th, even by St. Louis standards.