Home BaseballSt. Louis Cardinals An Ode to Death: The End of the Cardinals’ Season

An Ode to Death: The End of the Cardinals’ Season

by W.E. Sauls

You’ll only get the joke if you read this is a posh British accent…not a London accent…a British accent

Dearest Daniel, 

I write you in a time of much reflection and sadness. I know not when I felt so distraught in my younger days. To die the slow and impotent death my beloved Cardinals did in the National League Championship Series is nothing short of a scar upon one’s face…forever visible…forever jagged…a constant reminder of pure failure and ineptitude. 

What was the genesis of this unparalleled fall from atop mount NLDS to the bottomless pit of D.C despair? Was it the ranting of a managerial lunatic, proclaiming the manhood of his players above all others? Was it in the Zues-like thunderbolts hanging from the right shoulders of Sanchez, Sherzer, and Strasburg? One may never know…yet there must have been a tipping point from exaltation to complete destitute. 

Every singular flail at a pitch not within a furlong of the plate left me vexed…terribly vexed. Were the eyes of the men in Cardinal red transfixed upon some distant jubilation…was their sight like that of Homer as he penned the Odyssey…or was it a far more mundane epiphany I have yet to have?? Your counsel would be much appreciated on this. 

As I stared longingly into the magic picture box within my front garret at the Bear with the yellow sleeve, I could not help but be perplexed. Is that as fleet as his feet will carry him in the outfield? Is his mind elsewhere whilst the battle quietly rages on? Or is he harboring a secretive maladie that hampers his gate? It must be something, for I would dare not question his effort. 

Then the golden one…ahhh the golden one. When he was spirited in this year last as the savior after all of these hapless seasons since the departure of the machine my heart soared! We had the one true one to lead us forth from the doldrums beneath those poundless mingers that are in fact your beloved Cubby Bears. Yes, he did do that…yet nothing more. He only waved his bat at incoming pitches like a blind maid waves at the sound of a distant fly…somewhat near…yet nowhere close. 

I still recall last summer when we all regaled at the dismissal of the Handsome One…Mr. Matheny. This was destined to be the solution to all of our woes. We brought forth a man from within…renowned for his possession and study of a book penned by Mr. Kissell. Back to the promised land we rejoiced, from Choteau to Gravois! The relief and cheers could be heard from atop the Fox Theater to the plains of the western most county in the bi-state viewing area. Yet, what difference did it make? By the end of the handsome one’s second year at the helm my Cardinals were two wins from the championship of the world…after two such years with the newest Michael, we fell upon the grasses of our nation’s capital like so many false empires before. I ask you again? What difference did it make?

Perhaps…yes…I am being too harsh towards all of those involved in the tortuous past four contests, but alas…I am a mere fan. A watcher of contests, maligned to the gallery, never to partake or influence an outcome. Still…I am saddened at the results. 

I ask you, what shall I do as the winter months threaten the skies and the days darken earlier and earlier? Meetings of the winter will bring some form of entertainment…the gladiators of the gridiron do supply Sunday distraction…yet…no baseball…no baseball. 

I leave you here…nothing more than a fan with a cracked heart as I slide into the final days of a decade that opened with such promise. Perhaps the dawn of the new year will harken back to the stewardship of Mr. LaRussa? One can dare to dream.

Until the springtime blooms once again,

Your friend,

W.E. Sauls

Son of Willard, Grandson of Estel 

Follow Sauls in Twitter @Will_ArchCity

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