Man of the People
It was a cold, cold drive downtown, low visibility from the flying powder that somehow managed to surprise me when I looked out the window that morning.
Tyler Lyons was already signing baseballs and bats as Irish and I walked into the ballroom to claim two seats up front. Yes, we were playing hooky from church. No, I didn’t feel super about doing that, but I really, really didn’t want to miss Adam Wainwright. And if Adam Wainwright was playing hooky, I figured it might be okay for me to do it, too.
Sure enough, there came Adam, walking just about a yard away from us on his way to the autograph table. At six foot, seven, the guy is just so dang tall I guess he can’t always see all the way down to the ground. So when he tripped a little over the wheelchair of a young woman next to us, he turned around, apologized, and gave her a hug.
A self-proclaimed man of the people, he did his dues and spent about two and a half hours signing for fans, laughing, chatting, and apparently handing out more hugs.
At about 12:30 when he casually walked across the stage in preparation for the 2006 World Series panel discussion, he received thunderous applause. I’m pretty sure all Adam Wainwright would have to do is sneeze, and he’d receive applause.
Shy Michael Wacha on the other side of the room. Mike Shannon on stage announcing the closing of his restaurant by the stadium. Rick Horton doing a little Q&A; every time I see him the first thing that still comes to mind is how Mom and Dad taught his kids in Sunday School all those years ago.
Then Matt Holliday took over at the table at two o’clock – fully bearded – resembling more a lumberjack than a left fielder.
Meanwhile, Irish and I survived off a bag of yogurt stars, unmoved for six hours to avoid losing our prime seating. Between sets, Irish brought out her knitting; an older gentleman complimented her on it. Meanwhile, Yadi’s batting helmet and shattered bat were auctioned off for three thousand dollars.
I hated to leave in the middle of a Matt Holliday autograph session, even if I’m not one to request autographs, but we figured we’d leave early and beat some traffic. We walked out in a two-degree windchill, frigid enough to render our ears senseless by the time we walked down three levels into the parking garage to get the car.
When we rejoined the rest of the family at the Big House, Yali got busy completely plastering Thumper’s face with stickers before she and Irish went out, probably to Vanbuskirk’s. Those girls eat, sleep, and drink Vanbuskirk’s coffee.