Living Legend, Classic Tale

I may have spoken too soon in the previous analysis when I said Pujols wasn't "hitting them all out of the ballpark, yet."

It seems as though he is in fact hitting them all out of the ballpark. I was there Sunday afternoon, at the new Busch Stadium, to witness this living legend do the impossible, but what's come to be the expected. This man has come to shown us, time and time again, that his numbers are quickly proving to match and surpass some of the greatest that the game has ever had to offer.
First, I'd be remiss if I didn't give props and thanks to my cousin Safi. He's the poor fellow who had to give up his baseball tickets in order to cover some work days for his brother, who's M.I.A in Spain. It just so happens that my sister and I were available to commit to the sacrifice of going to the game. You know, for him of course.

We arrived at the ballpark and made our way towards our seats, not knowing exactly which side they would be on. What we did know was that these seats were on the highest level. Although we were late, my "adventurous" sister decided we should walk up the stairs to the fourth level.


Not up the ramp, people, the stairs. This thing shot straight up. By the time we reached a place that gave us a realistic view of heaven's pearly gates, I was panting and sweating like Jared the Subway guy pre-weight loss era. I vaguely recall stopping half way up and telling my sister to "just leave me and save yourself".
On our way to our seats I also bought my first scorecard. I shied away from attempting to use one in the past, but as fate would have it, I just felt like buying one that very instant. The encouraging look in my sister's eyes was all I needed to pull out the pink wallet and dish out $3 for the folded scorecard and red Cardinals pencil.

Of course, we had to travel one more flight of non-sensical stairs before we made it to our seats. I remember at this point thinking the owners were punishing us for having purchased (or in this case, accepted the charity of) such low priced tickets. In Safi's defense, he's a season ticket holder and it was a new stadium.


Either way, we found our seats easily and looked out at the splendor before us. Easter Sunday included a pleasant weather forecast and a buzzing crowd. Many were still in awe of the new stadium. My sister and I had toured the stadium a week before and so we weren't feeling quite as fascinated as the rest, but still anticipated what the new ballpark had to offer in terms of game excitement.
The stage was set as the Cards' Mark Mulder and Bronson Arroyo of the Cincinatti Reds were each the designated starters for this historic game. It seems the 3.2 miles up to our seats cost us some time and we were a few minutes late, missing the first two at bats. We searched around us and tried to locate another scorecard in the vicinity to see what happened.The masterminds behind the New Busch apparently forgot to have some sort of scoreboard in the half of the stadium we were facing.

It seemed like a regular game as the first inning provided for some mediocre drama. Foreshadowing a duel of a game, the Reds scored once in their half and we scored twice in ours on a John Rodriguez triple. Both pitchers threw well for the most part. It was a quiet game in terms of offense. Our 3-4-5 hitters-Pujols, Rolen and Rodriguez-went down in order in the bottom of the 3rd (still keeping up?).


All of our games throughout the first week at Busch were close and it felt like this game was on the same track.
t was halfway through the game in the top of the 5th inning that things started to take a turn for the worse. Mulder seemed to have lost some of the control I was raving about in my previous blog. Before I knew it, the Reds had taken the lead as Adam Dunn and Austin Kearns hit back to back homers, scoring three runs and giving everyone on this sunny day something to groan about.
I

"Keep 'em in the damn ballpark, you idiot", I said quietly to myself as I drew out two diamonds representing homeruns on my scorecard.

We soon found out that this would be the same inning where Albert Pujols would respond by immediately tying the game with a 2 run HR on a 2-2 count. The crowd jumped to their feet and lingered for quite a while before Pujols gave the fans the curtain call they demanded.

As always, I felt chills up and down my spine as the level of cheering went up 10 notches once the 'great one' ran up the stairs and waved. The party-like atmosphere continued to build as Rolen put the icing on the cake, homering immediately after.

Another curtain call, another day at the ballpark.
he day seemed to drag along as the overcast sun etched its way closer to our area. We debated whether or not to get up and get something to eat, but decided to sit it out and avoid the unfamiliarity of the food stands. In the 7th, Eckstein drew a walk and Arroyo quickly erased this baserunner when Miles hit into a 1-6-3 double play.
T

The two outs still weren't recorded when Albert Pujols stepped up to the plate again.

BAM!

We all jumped from our seats and marvelled at the shot that sailed away into the left field stands once again. Curtain call number two for Mr. Albert.

Another curtain call, another day at the ballpark.
We all sat lazily as the sun finally beamed straight on us with a few moments of reprieve here and there, the clouds taking turns finding their way towards the sun. It was a good day, a sunny day, and sure, a winning day (Why not?). The content was unanimous and everyone took part in what could have been most of the crowds' first wave in the new ballpark. Relief pitchers were coming in from both sides and although our pen gave us a fright for most of the first two weeks, we felt safe with a comfortable 2-run lead through the 7th inning and the proven Adam Wainwright on the mound for us.

The 8th inning was upon us, though. Do u know that icky feeling you have after a hard day of work or school, and you find yourself stuck in traffic. You know, that tired feeling you have when you just want to close your eyes and be home again?


We experienced that icky feeling in the 8th inning.

Encarnacion took over in right field for Rodriguez and the inning started with Wainwright giving up a lead off HR. gulp. That two run lead was quickly cut in half and we found ourselves in familiar territory: A close game with our unsteady bullpen.

Wainwright allowed another walk before Braden Looper came in. "No, I think he'll be OK", my sister told me. Maybe more for herself than for me. The next hit should've been an easy double play, but if you're Encarnacion and having a terrible first two weeks, of course the ball is going to fly straight towards you with the game on the line. He misplayed a fly-out, potential double play and the inning was extended.

Of course the next player up, Rich Aurilia, would hit a two run double and we'd be down 7-6. Groan. "He'll be OK?" I asked my disappointed sister about Looper.
The bottom of the 8th brought some more dramatics as the bases were loaded with only one out at one point, but we wouldn't cash in on what could've been our only chance for redemption. Cincinatti escaped the inning unharmed and I sat stunned as I watched many people head for the stands. "Where are they going?", I asked my sister, "Don't they know Rolen and Pujols are next in order?"


My sister agreed that they were foolish and we spent the next few minutes explaining why they were dumb for leaving, reiterating that Pujols and Rolen were guaranteed to have their at bats.
Looper easily mowed down the next three Reds' batters in the top of the 9th. We readied ourselves for what could be a great day or a lousy one, depending on the outcome. Everyone cheered heartily as our famous good-hitting pitcher, Jason Marquis, came up to pinch hit in the bottom of the 9th. Marquis hit a solid one straight up the middle on a 1-1 count.


Most of us smiled as the 'great one' strode to the plate. We all stood now, as we knew it was do or die. Everyone was buzzing with unabashed hope. Could he? Would he? Was it possible for someone to be so clutch, so many times, in such a dramatic fashion. "What if he hit 3 homers-the last to win the game?", many of us asked aloud.

"Why not?" I asked my sister as Pujols fouled off another on a 1-2 count. "why not?" were my last words before the next pitch.
BAM!
We all stared in disbelief as the towering shot once again sailed into infinity, into the history books, into the places in our minds reserved for happy memories, classic moments and a longing for this feeling to never end.


It felt like eternity as we wondered whether it would stay fair or not. We jumped up and down like dancing monkeys when we surely felt the elation Pujols was feeling, even in the slightest bit. It was like an out of body experience, sharing the moment with thousands of the Cardinal faithful.

We were all shocked into a happy fervor that continued down the ramps as we left the game moments later, chanting "MVP!" and spontaneously yelping in glee, high-fiving complete strangers feeling the same sense of maddening happiness.

But of course, only a few minutes earlier- before we left our seats-we stood with more chills running up and down our spines, beckoning our hero to once again emerge from the shadowy dugout and give us one last curtain call.

One for the ages. A third one in one day.

Another curtain call, another day at the ballpark.