The 1994 baseball season abruptly
stopped on August 12 that year and didn't resume until the following
spring, some 232 days later. It was the worst baseball strike; the
World Series was cancelled for the first time in 90 years — the
contest wasn't played in 1904 because New York Giants' owner John
Brush felt his American League opponent, the Boston Red Sox, were
“inferior.”
Two weeks earlier, on July 31, 1994, I
called it as I and two friends drove around Busch Stadium in an
endless loop while the Cardinals played Chicago inside. I begged my
pals to go to the game, saying it would be the last chance that year
we would have to see them. The Cards were scheduled to hit the road
after playing the Cubs, heading to Montreal, Pittsburgh and then
Florida. I knew it would be over soon.
They made it to Miami when the game
ended.
My friends and I drove up to St. Louis
for the day. We stopped at the train station just to the west of the
stadium and saw the crowd decked in their Cardinals' wear preparing
to head to the last game of the team's home stand.
I asked my friends if we could go, too.
We weren't in my car, even though I drove. (One of the Guys Rules is
that you do what the owner of the car wants, regardless who is behind
the wheel.) They both wouldn't go and they placated me, saying I could
go some other time that year. That's when I told them there would be
no “other time.” It was either that day, or forget it. The
baseball season would soon end. I may have even forecast the
cancellation of the World Series.
But they still held back. I went for a
more direct approach, asking them if they maybe had a quilting bee
they needed to attend then, or some cooking show they wanted to
watch. I said they could drop me off and then pick me up a few hours later after they stopped at their favorite dress stores. I asked the guys if their husbands knew they were out.. that
sort of thing. You know. Hit 'em where it hurts.
Still, no game.
So, I drove around the stadium several
times, peering inside in hopes of catching even a slight glimpse of
baseball. Eventually, we left downtown, went to some inane mall and
headed home, defeated, dejected and depressed.
And baseball changed. When the players
returned in April 1995, attendance dropped by 20 percent, according
to U.S Bureau of Statistics. Regardless of who was wrong in causing
the strike, fans stayed away. It took the 1998 baseball home race
between Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire to bring them back. And then we
learned those home runs were aided by steroids and, perhaps, baseball
commissioner Bud Selig may have turned a blind eye toward PED usage
in an effort to garner more fan support.
I, like a lot of people 20 years ago
today, lost a part of the love of baseball I had since I was a kid.
As we get older, we lose trust in lots of things, but we shouldn't
lose it in the sport that is supposed to keep us young. I still
embrace the history of baseball and that's where our APBA games come
in. We can replay seasons of ago that still maintain that trust and,
if we want, we can replay the 1994 season and ignore the strike and
keep it going like it should have done.
Rolling the dice in our APBA game —
sure beats driving around a stadium all day.
I know baseball has had it's ups and downs recently. But it's a great game no matter what. Watching the extra innings between Detroit and Toronto the other day was fantastic. Saw some things happened there that I've never seen before.
ReplyDeleteI'm also fortunate enough at 61 years old to still be playing baseball (not softball), but baseball. It's called Roy Hobbs baseball. There are some days that I don't feel like to going to play, but once I get to the diamond and play begins, it still a marvelous feeling and always reminds me what a great game it is.
I hope over time your feelings change back to what they once were.