2012 St. Louis Cardinals Opening Day Roster

Here are the twenty-five lucky guys traveling by plane and receiving big-league meal money.

Infielders:
First Base- Lance "Big Puma" Berkman
Second Base- Tyler Greene
Shortstop- Rafael Furcal
Third Base- David Freese

Outfielders:
Right Field- Carlos Beltran
Center Field- Jon Jay
Left Field- Matt Holliday

Catcher:
Yadier "Yadi" or "Mr. Clutch" Molina

Bench:
Yadi's Backup- Tony Cruz
IF- Matt Carpenter
IF- Daniel "Dirty D" Descalso
OF- Erik Komatsu
OF- Shane Robinson

Bullpen:
LHP- Marc "Scrabble" Rzepczynski
LHP- J.C. Romero
RHP- Kyle "K Mac" McClellan
RHP- Scott Linebrink
RHP- Mitchell Boggs
RHP- Fernando Salas
RHP- Jason Motte

Starters:
RHP- Adam "Waino" Wainwright
LHP- Jaime Garcia
RHP- Kyle Lohse
RHP- Jake Westbrook
RHP- Lance Lynn

Disabled List:
Allen Craig (knee)
Skip Schumaker (oblique)
Chris "Carp" Carpenter (shoulder weakness/ nerve issues)

Marching Orders:
Conquer the National League!

'Til Later

The Rise and Fall of Carpenter = The Rise and Fall of the Cards

Observe:

• 2003: The Cardinals sign Chris Carpenter, hoping that he'll be able to pitch by mid- season. He is not able to compete because of a muscle tear in his shoulder.
• The Redbirds finish third in the division. (They'd won the division in 2002).
• An aside: I'm not too sure this year should count, since he wasn't on the 40 man roster. 
• 2004:  Chris Carpenter re-signs with the Cards. He finishes the season with a 15-5 record. Unfortunately, a nerve problem in his bicep prevents him from pitching in the postseason.
• The Cardinals win the NL pennant, earning their first World Series appearance since 1987. 
• 2005:  Carpenter wins the NL Cy Young award with a 21-5 record. 
• Cardinals lose to the Houston Astros in the NLCS.
• 2006:  Carpenter finishes the regular season with 15-8 record.  He is healthy and pitches in the postseason.
• Cardinals win their first World Series since 1982.
• 2007: Carp pitches on Opening Day, the only game he pitches this season.  Tommy John surgery in July places him out of commission until mid-season 2008.
• Cardinals finish under .500 at 78-84, behind the Cubs and Brewers.  
• 2008: In July, Carpenter returns and makes his first of three starts before being shut down again.
• The Cardinals finish behind the Cubs, Brewers, and Astros with a 86-76 record.
• 2009: Carpenter wins NL Comeback Player of the Year, and is runner-up in the Cy Young voting.
• Cardinals win the division and lose to the Dodgers in the NLDS.
• 2010: Carp becomes an All-Star for the third time and wins 16 games.
• The Cardinals finish second in the division to Reds.
• 2011:  At the beginning of the season, Carpenter pitched well, but receive little run support. He finishes the season with only eleven victories.  He logs the most innings of all major league pitchers, when the post season is taken into account.
• Cardinals finish second in the division, and enter the post season as wild cards.  They win their eleventh World Series.
• 2012:  As of today: Carpenter is out indefinitely due to nerve irritation in his right shoulder-- sources are reporting it's similar to the shoulder discomfort he dealt with in 2008.  According to Derrick Goold of the St. Louis Post Dispatch, Carp will have to let his shoulder recover, then restrengthen it. This can take a matter of weeks or months.
• What will the Cardinals do this year?  I still think they'll be pretty good.  Hopefully, they'll do what they did last year when an ace went down-- accept it and move on.  I don't want to hear anything about "treading water" until Carpenter comes back.  This team can win without Carp, just like they won without Wainwright last year.    
 
tl;dr:  With the exception of 2010, every year that Carpenter was healthy and able to pitch, the Cardinals played in the post season.  And every year he wasn't able to pitch, they didn't make the post season. 
 
And that, folks, is what I call Kate-analysis!  I know, I know, very hard hitting stuff.  You may hold your applause.
 
'Til Later
 
 

Strikkkkkʞkʞkeouts are Fascist!

Jaime Garcia had nine strikeouts today, striking out two batters looking-- which is apparently why scorers use backward k's.  I always thought it was just arbitrary..."oh, let's shake up this line of K's and write this one backwards," but alas, it appears nothing in baseball is without reason.  (Now whether that reason makes good and proper sense is another story.)

It's only Spring Training, but winning ballgames is a great habit start in March.  The Redbirds have now won five straight!  They had been doing that annoying flirt 'get a game over .500 and lose the next day' bit I especially hate, but now they have a 11-6-1 record.  Really, though, your spring record has no correlation at all with the regular season, but at least the players leave the field feeling happy.  I know if I were a player and I had lost a game, the rest of my day would be ruined.  Even if it's only spring training.

Today's game was beautiful baseball.  I liked the team that played today-- great hitting (But only one hit for extra bases and thirteen singles today, which is only great if they come in bunches or if you have a fast runner on who'll steal his way into scoring position), great pitching (only four hits allowed and  thirteen strikeouts, all by left-handers), and smart baserunning.  Gorgeous. 

Here's a fun video from the great movie Bull Durham when Crash (Kevin Costner!) tells Nuke (I don't know who this is, and I'm too lazy to google it.)  that strikeouts are fascist.

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Dear Albert, also known as:

"El Hombre"(an alias you've never actually assumed),

"Phat Albert," "The Machine,"

"Prince Albert" and "The Mang,"

Minute Maid's train

I will always remember that October night in 2005

when baseball fans coined the term "Lidged,"

for epically blown saves.

You sent Brad Lidge's pitch soaring

through Minute Maid Park, over the Crawford boxes,

and onto the railroad tracks.

Three runs scored, and the Houston crowd was so silent

I bet they heard the dirt fall from your cleats

as you step on home plate.  They had been so loud

that the TV crew kept mentioning the decibel level, marveling

at each new high.  After the umpteenth update I had wanted something

to steal the breath from the crowd, and was thinking of all the ways

I would break that infernal meter myself.  The louder

that crowd became, the more desperation replaced

hope in my heart and the louder the disbelief and doubt

pounded between my ears, but your home run restored my world.

I had Cardinals baseball for one more night.

In 2009, you hit five grand slams.  My favorite

was during this game against the Mets.  That game was a thrill

because the team had just done the impossible

against K-Rod-- scored not only one, but two runs to force

extra innings.  The only problem 

was it occurred shortly after that long, crazy

15 inning game against the Dodgers.  My nerves

couldn't handle another one of those games so soon.  You

saved my sanity with those insurance runs.

Last summer you stroked a double

for your 2000th hit.  As you stood on second, fighting

tears and acknowledging the crowd, I bet you could hear

how the crowd's congratulatory applause sounded

an awful lot like "please stay."  

You didn't stay.  I was relieved

that the Cardinals hadn't signed you to a ten year deal.  Relieved

because I wouldn't have to watch you at forty, hobbling to first

on a grounder to third.  There will be only good moments

for me to recall, spectacular memories to smile and mull over.

I am happy I saw you play ball

for eleven historic years.  And I am sad that there are only

eleven years of memories.  I am sad that your 3000th hit

and 500th home run won't come in a Cardinal uniform.

It would have been the perfect

story, wouldn't it?  It would've been sweet

if you had continued your starring role in St. Louis-- the city embraced

you because you so fully embodied our beloved team-- playing

for the fans who watched the central role you held in the Cardinal

memories formed since your debut.

In December, this letter would've only said:

Thnks fr th mmrs & good rddnce, #@!%! 

I feel no ill will now, and there's only this left to say:

Thanks for the memories, and good luck!

Good Bye.

Throwing Errors and Unearned Runs

Cardinals--

I hope you guys aren't making a habit
of throwing the ball
into "souvenir city" with men on base.

What is this urgency to get everybody
out on one play?
It only results in sloppy defense.

I love the aggressiveness you are showing, but
be smart and play under control.  Stop
playing dumb baseball.

I know, I know, you look brilliant if you record
the out.  But in order to do that, the ball
has to land in your teammate's glove-- not in a fan's beer.

And once it's in the beer...
you look foolish, not smart, as the runs
you were trying to prevent touch home.

So, please, once you get the sure out,
pocket the ball, it's the smartest way
to prevent unearned runs.

Now, don't overcorrect and begin playing
overly cautious and timid. 
Don't be stupid, boys.

'Til Later

Dirty Diamond Dreaming (Part 4- The End)

4. There are only two seasons--winter and baseball. --Bill Veeck

Last January, I was seriously wondering why winter spanned a full six months.  As snow fell outside my window, I stared dumbly at my fingers, counting and attempting to figure out how such weather was  possible.

My thought process went something like this:

How come it's still winter? I swear no other season is this long... Didn't winter begin sometime in October?  And it ends in March... so that's six months.  Huh. (I prepared my fingers for a recount) October, November, December, January, February, March. Wow, none of the other seasons are that  long! (Pause)  Hold up, winter began December 21 baseball ended in early October. Or, at least, the Cardinals' season did. Huh. That one quote was right. There realy are only two seasons.

And then I laughed maniacally, because baseball makes a person crazy.

Dirty Diamond Dreaming (Part 3)

3.  That's a winner!-- Jack Buck

By 2004, I was entrenched in Cardinal Nation.  It was probably unavoidable.  I mean, I grew up on the Mississippi river bluffs a mere twenty minutes away from the world's most baseball-crazed city.  It was inevitable.  I realized that it was my birthright, seeing as Dad grew up a Cardinals fan.

Now that I was a fan, and my sisters showed interest in the game (though Kaylee only watched so she could check out the Cardinals' second baseman, Mark Gruzielanek), Dad told us his childhood Cardinal memories.

"When I was younger, Daddy had bought us all radios, so I always used to listen to the game in my bed at night," he told us while we sat around watching the Cards win yet another series.

It was July and they were already 20 games over .500, and 10 games ahead of everyone else in the division.

My sisters and I laughed.  We tried to picture Dad as a three year-old with the radio tuned to the game.  I could imagine him listening to the game as a three year-old-- Dad probably came out of the womb knowing where to place the radio dial-- but I ran into problems every time I tried to turn him into a little boy.  I kept picturing his grown man's head on a little boy's body.  It didn't work too well.

"I wish I had memories of the Cardinals from when I was younger," I sighed, wishing that I hadn't raged such a hard war against the radio.

"Well, I took you and Kaylee to several ball games when you were younger."  Dad's brown eyes stared into mine, "but you all always complained about the sun, so we never stayed too long." As if it were our fault that St. Louis summers are only a shade cooler than Hell.

"Oh, well," I said in attempt to be offhanded, but I was pretty angry at the stupidity of my younger self and wished I had seized the opportunity to watch Ozzie Smith play short or hear the late Cardinals announcer Jack Buck proclaim, "That's a winner!" after a Cardinals victory.

I may have missed out on some of the great players of the past, but I was enjoying some amazing baseball.  In 2004, the Cardinals had a fearsome triumvirate in the middle of the lineup dubbed the "MV3," that is, the Most Valuable Three.  Albert Pujols, Jim Edmonds, and Scott Rolen led the Cardinals to a World Series against the Boston Redsox.  The Cardinals were the favorite to win-- they had won 105 games in the regular season-- but the Red Sox swept the Cardinals, breaking the Curse of the Bambino.  I was devastated.  I had ridden this rollercoaster for six months, going through the highs and lows (granted, it was mostly highs), only to see my team flatline.

I spent that winter trying to forget that baseball existed, but that proved impossible once the fresh, carefree breeze of spring arrived and carried away the autumn-chill of the loss.  I found myself again mesmerized by the solid ring of bat striking ball, the dull thud of ball striking mitt, and the rush of watching Jim Edmonds make highlight-reel plays in center field.

That summer was the last season the Cardinals played in the old Busch Stadium.  Dad and I went to a game to say farewell to the stadium that hosted six World Series and a brilliant cast of hall-of-famers.  I followed Dad closely as we walked through the press of the crowd.  The stadium was a maze to me.  The ramps and stairs seemed to head nowhere and everywhere at once.  Red-clad fans were walking these ramps and stairs with the single-minded purpose of finding their seats before the first pitch.  Dad led me to one ramp, and we walked steadily upward for what felt like a mile.  Thankfully, we made it to our seats in time to hear a clanging bell and see the ballplayers-- they looked like ants from this height-- run out the dugout and take their fielding positions.

I quickly discovered that the action on the baseball diamond is complementary to the interaction with family members and surrounding fans. Cardinals hall-of-famer Lou Brock once said that "baseball is the background music to America."  He is right.  Everyone knew exactly what was happening in the game, but there's also ample time to converse and develop a friendship with the stranger sitting next to you.  Life happens in the midst of the game's thrills.

Dad and I laughed at the drunks in the stands, and rose with the crowd to watch a home run disappear into a lucky fan's glove.  We handled other fans' money and drinks-- we passed the money down the row to the beer vender ("Git yer ice cold Budweiser here-ah") the fan had flagged, and sent back the cool, sweaty drinks.

During the seventh inning, the speakers played Keith Urban's "Days Go By" as the number signifying the days remaining until the Cardinals moved into the skeletal ball park next door was torn from the right field wall.  At the seventh inning stretch, I stood with the crowd and sang "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."  Dad, the crowd, and I smelled the sweet scent of victory on the horizon and shouted, "Root, root, root for the CARDINALS" at the top of our lungs.

The next year, 2006, was a bumpy ride.  I was accustomed to my team winning all the time-- the 205 victories in two years had spoiled me-- and had forgotten that there are teams out there like the Royals and Pirates that consistently finish 20 or more games under .500.  That October, the Cardinals limped into postseason play with a sad tally of 83 victories, and by some miracle of God managed to reach the World Series to compete against the Detroit Tigers.  The Cardinals were such underdogs that the snarky pundits claimed that they would lose it in three games, which isn't even possible with a best of seven series.  I had faith the Cardinals could upset the Tigers; however, I didn't want to get caught up and experience the disappointment of 2004, either, so I went to a costume party to put my mind at ease.  I wound up hanging around the television with friends watching the Cards beat the Tigers soundly.

I watched the fifth game of the World Series at home with Dad and my sisters.  The Cardinals led the series three games to one.  They only had to win one more game to capture their National League leading tenth championship.  We followed every pitch attentively for the whole nine innings.  When Adam Wainwright's curveball landed in Yadier Molina's glove for a called strike three, my sisters and I began screaming and jumping.  I attacked my father at the same time the Cardinals piled upon each other as Fox announcer Joe Buck channel his father and proclaimed, "For the first time since 1982, the Cardinals have a World Series winner."

Dad wandered outdoors for some reason and quickly came back. "Hey, girls, come out and hear this!"

My sisters and I stood barefooted alongside Dad in the chilly October air and basked in the surrounding madness.  Car horns-- from the nearby interstate, I guessed-- blared continuously and loudly.  I heard the jubilant yells of neighbors.  My breath curled like smoke into the night air as I laughed at the rest of Cardinal Nation being just as Redbird-crazy as I.  When a particularly loud whoop reached my ears, I unleashed an answering one of my own.

Once again, the Cardinals had taught me another life lesson: don't give up when the odds are against you. The most important thing is to have faith in your abilities. 

Dirty Diamond Dreaming (Part 2)

2. I got Redbird Fever and the Cardinals are the cure.-- Gretchen Wilson

The book that planted the baseball seed in my soul (or, perhaps that seed was already there and the book only served as fertilizer) was The Speed of Light by Ron Carlson.  Recently, I've checked the book out from the library because I hoped to figure out why it made me such a fanatic.  The best I can work out is that the baseball that was wrapped around nearly every line of the novel wound up wrapping around me, too.  I still don't understand what possessed me to wander in my parent's bedroom that July afternoon in 2003, but I did.  I walked in, sat down, and watched the game with my father.

As I sat there, I realized that baseball was more than "three strikes yer out."  No, it was much more interesting than that.  It was confusing, too, for a girl who had made it her life's goal to avoid any baseball at all.

"Dad, what's an RBI?" I questioned.

To his credit, my dad didn't laugh at such an inane question. "An RBI means runs batted in--"

"Oh!" I interrupted with a laugh.  Duh, Katie, I thought.

"So, when a batter gets a hit, and a guy scores, the batter picks up an RBI." He was smiling.  His voice had that pleasant lilt it gets when he's answering a question for someone who genuinely wants to know the answer.

And that was my introduction to baseball statistics.  I don't think any other sport works with so many numbers.  In baseball, everything a player does is recorded.  You can even find players stats in the newpaper.  Just the basic stats, though, like batting average and earned run average.  They don't have any of the new-fangled sabermetric stats, which are near impossible for the average fan to decipher.  Back then, in the early days of my baseball fever, I only gave these stats a passing glance.  Now I follow them closely.  I know that hitting .300 is considered to be very good-- which is scary because that means the batter failed to get a hit seven times out of ten.  I know that the Mendoza line-- batting .200-- is considered the lowest average a non-pitcher can have and still be in the major leagues.  I know that a pitcher with a 3.00 or lower earned run average will win a lot of games.

But, like I said, I didn't really understand all the statistics back in 2003.  I didn't understand the Bo Hart fever that was sweeping through Cardinal Nation, but I caught it.  Unlike baseball fever, Bo Hart fever faded away.

Little Bo Hart is a red-headed second baseman who was called up to the Show shortly before I began watching.  His .460 batting average endeared him to Cardinal Nation.  The guy couldn't get out.  Plus, he was spunky and played hard.  Those facts bewitched me and other Cardinal fans until his average fell below the Mendoza line.

It was Bo's passion for the game that brought me back to my parents' bedroom those summer nights. He darted around second base, dove to snag line drives, and lept over the runners who slid into second with the sole intent to inflict harm and prevent the double play.  Of course, all second basemen dart, dive, and leap, but Bo did it harder.  It was like he knew that his days as a major leaguer were numbered, so he ran hard even when it was an obvious out, he dove for the balls way out of his reach, and he smiled.  Bo Hart taught me the first life lesson I learned from baseball: If your all wasn't enough, you have nothing of which to be ashamed.

Stealing Home!

The Cards beat the Mets 7-1 in a spring training game today.  Apparently, Waino was fighting his mechanics, but he still threw 3 scoreless innings.  His velocity was down, but no huge deal there ( I hope), because he's a stud and studs win even without their best stuff. 

The Cardinals scored those seven runs using power and speed.  Yes, speed.  Tyler Greene STOLE HOME!  I really want to see this during the regular season.  A few times.  Definitely once or twice against the Cubs.

I cannot wait to see the decisions Matheny make this year, I think he'll be more of a risk taker than La Russa in some areas.  If spring training is any indication, the 2012 Cardinals are going to bring more excitement to the base paths than previous years. 

Although, I suppose one could say that watching Yadi attempt to score from first on a double is exciting.  Or that watching Joe Thurston hit a double and get called out because he didn't tag first during that epic, everlasting July 2009 game against the Dodgers was exciting. (I almost broke the remote.)  And in 2010, when David Freese tripped over third whilst running home, breaking his ankle, I suppose that counts as excitement, too.  (I now think anyone rounding third is going to blow out a wheel.  Irrational fear?  Maybe.  Okay it is.)

I am looking forward to having excitement on the bases because of speed and good base-running and not because of lack of speed or bad base-running!  This team is long overdue.

'Til Later

Dirty Diamond Dreaming (Part 1)

The following is a creative nonficton piece that I will post in 4 parts.  I wrote it for a Intro to Creative Writing class a year ago.  This is how I fell in love with baseball. Enjoy!


1. Baseball is like church.  Many attend; few understand.-- Leo Durocher

And... he hits a long one! Get up, baby, get up!

My sister Kaylee and I squirmed in the backseat.  The sun was beating down on our bare thighs, and the wind rushing in from the window was hot and heavy.  My dad was driving us to our grandmother's house.  It actually only takes 30 minutes to get there, but back then my sister and I thought it took an eternity.  It was especially long when my father listened to the baseball game, and he was always listening to the game.

"Dad," I whined, "Can't you turn it off?  It's so boring."

The game made no sense to me.  It was just some boring old guy speaking through the cracks and pops of AM radio.  I absolutely hated it, but that was before I could appreciate the beauty of the game-- the way its quiet and loud moments crawled under your skin and conspired to make you love it.  There was a loud moment occurring right now.

"Well, Mark McGwire just hit number 33," Dad said, ignoring my request once again. "Griffey and Sosa are still close, though."

"Who cares?" I grumbled, "It's so stupid."

This conversation is evidence that I was a disgraceful sourpuss at nine years old.  My parents and I butted heads often, but on no topic was there more head-butting than where to place the radio dial on hot summer afternoons.  It was war, and I lost every battle.  In middle school, when lunchtime conversations turned toward Things We Hate, my answer was invariably baseball and bananas.  This was in strong contrast to the things my friends disliked, which was some combination of boys (this was always said after the speaker's quick glance at her newest crush), the creepy gym teacher (this was unanimous), and shop class (where the only thing we could do with certainty was sand wood).  Of course, I was throughly convinced that anyone would have my ice hatred for the game had they experienced those long car rides.

By age twelve, I surrendered and stopped raging a war against the radio.  Dad didn't want to turn off the game? Fine. I had my CD player, and a book-world to get lost in.  Ironically, it was a book that led me to baseball.

More Later!

           

23 Days until MLB Opening Night...

The Cardinals play the Marlins at Marlins Park at 6:05 PM CDT on April 4.  Since Opening Day is April 5, this game takes place on what Major League Baseball terms Opening Night.  I always thought Opening Night was an ESPN-broadcasted Sunday night game between the Red Sox and Yankees. (Har, har, har.  Ah, sarcasm.)

I do not like the Cardinals' travel schedule for their first week of games.  First, they are going to travel to Springfield, MO to play a spring-training game against their AA affiliate on April 2nd (at 6:10 PM), then there is this Opening Night/breaking in the new ballpark business in Miami, and on April 6 they play the Brewers in Milwaukee (at 3:10 PM).

I mean, does the league think these guys are schooled in apparition or something?  I'm guessing that the pitchers starting the first two games of the season won't be traveling with the team.  Some of the players on the major league roster will probably skip the trip to Springfield, too, which is unfortunate for Springfield fans. They're probably looking foward to seeing the guys in "The Show" on the cheap. Plus, I bet it's extra special to see players who played in Springfield before moving on to Memphis and the big leagues.

Meanwhile, the guys did have a similar travel schedule in the playoffs last year (travel day, followed by a set of games).  However, that schedule did not include a one day stop (except, of course, when they beat the Phillies in Game 5 of the NLDS and the Brewers in Game 6 of the NLCS), and, granted, there aren't usually travel days in the regular season, so I guess they'll be okay.

But I still think a one game series is silly.  Hold on, it's not even a series if it's one game, is it? 

Anyway, besides Opening Night, MLB also has the Japan Opening Series 2012-- two regular season games between the Seattle Mariners and Oakland A's on March 28 and 29.  The players experience Japanese culture and extreme jet lag.  Then they resume spring training in the States.  Silly scheduling, but worth it-- the proceeds from the series will assist with Japan's tsunami recovery. 

I want to visit Japan.  Why? Three words: Nippon Professional Baseball.  Observe:

Best. Catch. Ever.

'Til Later

Credo

This blog will contain more than letter-formatted posts.  I fancy myself a poet, so poems are inevitable. This particular poem is a sort of credo, containing things I believe in and exploring the contradictions of myself through a baseball motif.

Perspective: A Credo

If I ever root for the Cubs in this life, or any of my next lives, I'll go to Wrigley and hope

a drunk fan knocks me out for good with a fallen brick.  I believe in line drive hitters, ground ball

pitchers, the gray between the lines, winner's luck, a good defense, the pitch

that misses the sweet swing, sacrifices, honesty, and stealing

home.  I write to upset the cool businessmen in the party suite, and my words

are a salve for the fans scalded in the upper deck steam.  I am the victory

parade and the eight-game losing streak.  I don't think true love exists, but my soul

mate is going to be six foot two and handsome.  I am the dropped ball and the home run. I play

in shallow thinking and dive into the deep issues. I am the perfect

game and the ten earned runs. I love; but I fight

just as well.  I see the climbing baseball, the ball-busting catch, the opponent-spiking slide, and

my angle is off, my lens a bit dirty, my shutter too slow, but sometimes-- I think I get it right.

Mercurial Missives

"A baseball game is simply a nervous breakdown divided into nine innings"  Earl Wilson

The 2011 Cardinals' season was a crazy, emotional ride for me.  I mean, I was more bipolar than usual over the course of a season (and I've had some dark baseball moments over the years).  August was the lowest month because my team had so much talent but was not playing up to par, my team had shown so much heart-- fighting back after losing their Ace to Tommy John, overcoming deficits in late innings, rebounding after blown saves (second most in the league)-- only to die on the metaphorical field of battle after being swept by the Los Angeles Dodgers in late August.

From NLDS Game 4 Post Game Interview (as I heard on Fox Sports Midwest):

Reporter: How many times has this team been announced dead by the proper authorities?

Lance "Puma" Berkman: A lot, I mean, but y'know, that's what we're here for-- entertainment purposes.



I didn't lose all hope, but the Cards certainly looked officially dead, so I and anyone else with proper sense declared them as such.  Of course, gladiators that they are (supreme entertainers), the Cardinals revived themselves (again), played a brilliant month of baseball and with the help of the Atlanta Braves, Philadelphia Phillies, Chicago Cubs closer Carlos Marmol (according to Cubs fans), and Cardinal Nation (according to Tony La Russa) the Cardinals claimed the National League Wild Card.

It is because of that September rush and the thrill of "Red October," that I have decided to blog my experience of watching Cardinals baseball.  At first, I was unsure exactly what I was going to focus on-- some blogs go into player and game analysis, others are vendettas railing against the front office.  I want this blog to be a reactionary blog-- reacting to all the funny and frustrating things that occur over the course of a season.  The best way to do this, I think, will be to write letters to the team after each game.  I believe baseball fans would agree when I say that one develops a strangely close and personal relationship with the team you follow throughout Spring Training to those first wary, exciting days of April, and through the dog days of summer to the stretch run.  You understand their weaknesses, marvel at their strengths, you watch the team evolve as they take hits but stay resilient. You share 162 nights with your team, and the team and the personalities it encompasses become an intimate friend-- granted, one you occasionally yell at -- but a friend nonetheless.  This is why I will frame my reactions in the form of a letter-- because I will be addressing a friend.  They will be "mercurial missives"-- I am sure my views in some letters will directly oppose one another-- but that is because I am a bipolar fanatic!  And that's okay.  It's that silly (and occasionally pathetic) perspective that makes the season fun, because it makes a triple in the bottom of the ninth, down by two runs, with two-on, two-out, and two-strikes one of the best moments of my life. 

So... in this space I will write letters to my Redbirds, letters "for the birds"--  meaningless little ramblings in the world's view, but special missives in my view, in my world. Take a peek through my lenses and stay awhile!

'Til Later