Twenty-One

Now that public school was back in session, Puck was short his morning/afternoon playmates. So, to make up for that deficit, we visited Target for a variety of exciting items: printer paper, hand sanitizer, foaming soap dispensers, a few bars of deodorant.

This time, it was Grandma’s turn to join us at Busch. She hadn’t been to a game in years, so after we convinced her it would be no inconvenience whatsoever, and that church had a wheelchair we could borrow for the long walk, she was in.

So while the boys picked up Chick-Fil-A and fixed the printer at home, I drove us four girls downtown.

Police helicopters circled the airspace over the stadium. Never can be too safe, I guess.

So while Grandma and Mom chowed down on hot dogs and ice cream, Carrie and I walked up a few levels, sporting Descalso and Cruz, respectively, and tucked ourselves high up in the right field terrace. Carrie munched on a little mastic gum (tree sap). We live it up.

There were a few words about standing up against violence, “this does not reflect us as a people,” spontaneous applause, etc., before the anthem. Always annoys me when St. Louis gets painted incorrectly, so it was the right thing to do.

Anyway, Uncle Rico had clearly donated his tickets to another party that evening. This meant no goofy sideshow. And with Lackey on the mound, we were a little less keyed into the mound than usual.

Police lights whirled across the street as they blocked it off. Apparently there was another demonstration taking place a few streets down at the Arch. No one seemed to pay attention. Probably because the game was close and featured some nice plays, pushing St. Louis back into second place in the National League Central. Also saw Jhonny Peralta tie the Cardinals home run record in a single season for any short stop in team history at 16; pretty big deal. And all that stuff no one pays attention to if they don’t keep up with baseball.

Anyway, we got in our win, and Grandma got a fantastic game-setting on one of the mildest August evenings in St. Louis’ recorded history. No doubt. The elderly usher at the gate even handed her a Fredbird card on the way out.

As we exited the parking lot, Grandma hooted to some women dancing near their car, “You go, girl! Victory dance!”