Chris Carpenter waits for the National Anthem during his rehab start with the Springfield Cardinals.
A View from the Minor Leagues
As I sit at my desk on this snowy winter’s morning, looking out over the woods and the weeds that I call home here in the southwest Missouri hills, I quietly realize what time of year it is. It is that time that begins my descent into the quagmire that always exists for me beginning sometime in early January. Some may laugh or think it’s a joke, but my affliction is real; different but real. While the weather may play a small part, it is no way the underlying cause of my melancholy mind. Not only have I have had to self-diagnose, I have also had to label my own disorder. I call it the Season’s Untimely Demise Syndrome (SUDS). You can only imagine how many try to treat it. October baseball is but a distant memory, college football has reached its natural end, the Rams have been home for a while and my heart is completely broken (again) for the Chiefs (although Andy Reid has been a bright spot and I think I may love the man).
But alas, here I sit, knowing that college basketball can only do so much, waiting for the latest round of snow, and beginning my annual journey into what is seemingly the most difficult time of the year for me. My dark days of penance, preparation and self-reflection that begin every year just after New Year’s and don’t end until somewhere near the middle of February when the church of baseball (to quote Bull Durham) is alas resurrected as pitchers and catchers finally report for spring training.
As others look to Valentine’s Day and begin making plans for candlelit dinners and romantic getaways to get them through the colder weather, my family begins a celebration of a different kind of love, the love of Cardinal baseball. And as part of our healing process, we count down the days until the start of another season, the beginning of hope, that blessed time of the year when every team has the same record and each player has a chance at the 25-man roster. Here are just a few points of light that will help pull us through this gloomy haze otherwise known as the off-season:
i. Hope—not meant as a political slogan but rather the overwhelming sense that a great season is ahead. From the velocity of a Rosenthal fastball to the timely hitting of an Allen Craig, the youthfulness and energy of the parent club should be exciting for years to come. The expectation is that the minor league organizations such as our Springfield Cardinals will continue to produce amazing big league prospects with the likes of Steven Piscotty, Zach Petrick and James Ramsey. While all eyes are on Oscar Taveras as a young wonder in the organization, in truth he is a product of a minor league system that doesn’t settle for mediocrity but instills the value of hard-work and the acceptance of nothing less than excellence. Our young talent is not amazing by accident; make no mistake, the Cardinals minor league system is a well-oiled machine that Mozeliak will surely be looking toward.
For the fan in Springfield, this makes the season just that much more exciting as each day at the ballpark brings a new roster and a new line-up. This is where talent is honed and skills are perfected. We watch our boys head on up to Memphis and then on to the show and we’re proud to say “we remember when he played in Springfield.” This is what we do as minor league fans, we grow them, we nurture them, we love them and then we send them on with a dream and a prayer and hopefully some good memories of playing with our Cardinals.
ii. Family—it’s true. While they’re here we consider them family. It’s sports, you will hear a few disparaging words at the ballpark but for the most part in Springfield, we’re a tame crowd. The guy behind me did once point out to a shortstop that he was no longer in the independent league, therefore he could now dive for the ball since he didn’t have to wash his own uniform. That’s about as rough as it gets. We bring our kids, we expect you to bring yours and you better know your baseball.
Don’t come into our park and disparage our family. This includes the likes of our mascots Fetch and Louie. They’re like our weird distant cousins but we love them nonetheless. My boys still talk about when the Arkansas Travelers bench squirted water on Louie and they’re still indignant. I don’t care if you did bring us Mike Trout for a season. You just don’t mess with the family.
We love our coaches. Again, you better know your baseball. We know we trained Maloney; we know he’s coaching first base in St. Louis. We know Pop Warner was once ours and he now resides in Memphis. And we know we love Mike Shildt. It’s no coincidence that five guys who started with Springfield landed with the big club last year. We remember them well– Carlos Martinez, Kevin Siegrist, Keith Butler, Michael Blazek and Audry Perez. We know in 2012 we sent them Michael Wacha among others. And we were excited to send them because we know they couldn’t be in better hands than with Matheny. Matheny, who sent his son to play for our Missouri State Bears, on our Hammons Field. Yeah, it’s all part of the family.
We believe in redemption. After all that’s what family is about and that’s what the minors are about. We believe in second chances. Sometimes players come back to us, sometimes more than once. We welcome them home. We’re proud of where they’ve been and what they’ve accomplished. We sometimes get coaches who are looking for a new start. I, for one, will miss Phillip Wellman. We knew about his time with the Mississippi Braves, we knew how it ended, we loved him anyway. We brought him home, gave him the respect he deserved and are proud to watch him become the next manager of the aforementioned Travelers (maybe he’ll clean up their act a little and tell them to lay off of Louie).
iii. Love and Sacrifice–this is what it’s all about. We know we’re only here for one reason, to get these boys ready for the show. How much more exciting could it be? We follow them into the big leagues, we watch their Twitter pages, we want to know what happens to our boys. But along with that comes sacrifice, we give up our team for yours; and heartache, we live for the rehab assignments good or bad; and joy, those rare irreplaceable moments that we never forget.
Sometimes when you send them you just know. With Michael Wacha we all just knew. We were scrambling to get autographs, and begging the club to put him at the gate. He was something special. One of my favorite baseball moments from last season was getting to attend game 2 of the NLCS at Busch Stadium. You know that moment when the catcher and the pitcher and the pitching coach all walk out of the bullpen together and cross the field. It’s always been one of my favorite moments in the game, it’s like the gladiators entering the arena. But seeing Wacha walk out with Lilliquist and Yadi was surreal. To watch him face Kershaw who is equally amazing and then end it in a 1-0 Cardinals victory at the end of one of the best pitching matchups to hit the postseason in years was incredible. I almost cried like I was his momma. I felt like I’d been a part of it.
Sometimes you’re just not sure. I’m still wondering about Oscar Taveras. I’d like to say I know he’ll be a star but all I can really say is that I know he could be. Take August 30, 2012 for example. I remember the date because my oldest son had chosen to celebrate his 12th birthday at the Springfield Cardinals game. Josh Outman with the Tulsa Drillers was throwing a no-hitter against us. Skip to the bottom of the 9th, Cardinals down 9-0, Taveras saunters to the plate with 2 outs, gets down to his final strike and then casually singles up the middle and then proceeds to jog to first to break up the no-hitter. As I stood with my fellow Cardinals fans when Outman left the mound, we honored him in the only way we knew, with a standing ovation. We did this not only because of what he was able to accomplish but ultimately because of what had been stolen from him in such an inconsequential manner. We didn’t feel good about it and losing 9-1 had nothing to do with it.
Sometimes you feel the heartache. This past season I experienced one of my most poignant baseball moments ever and I am not new to the world of baseball. July 15th, I was down front for what I believe was the final successful outing for Chris Carpenter. The entire town prepared. We filled the stadium, security was tight and rumors were rampant. We were sure Matheny and Mozeliak were there. It was the All-Star break, we were certain that wasn’t coincidence. The veteran right hander completed less than 3 innings throwing only 54 of his 60 pitch limit. While he came out smoking and had some command of his fastball, it didn’t take long for those of us who knew we were watching a legend to know that we’d better save our ticket stub. This was one of those moments, and I have never heard a louder silence, nor have I ever watched a player that I thought wanted to play more. And this time I did cry. It’s tough to watch one of the grittiest, gutsiest, toughest pitchers of my generation bring it full circle, but fitting nonetheless to see him end it in the minors where it begins for every player.
So this year as I struggle through the winter months, I’ll think of these little treasures to keep me going. I’ll think of what it feels like to be at Hammons Field, in the sunshine, watching our Springfield Cardinals, with the score of the big club hanging on the Jumbotron during the hometown game. And I’ll remember that this is what life is all about, and this is what gets me through the off-season.
Photo courtesy of FoxyRoxy Photography
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DeAnn Short is a wife, mother of two boys, educator and high school counselor. Born and raised in Springfield, MO, she still resides in the Southwest part of the state. She earned both her Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees from Missouri State University. She is a devoted sports fan, proud citizen of Cardinal nation and self-proclaimed minor league aficionado. She also writes a blog called Raising Johnny Ballgame http://cdshort.wordpress.com/ in which she combines two of her loves, her boys and sports. Her favorite place to be– on the river or at the ballpark, any ballpark. Follow her https://twitter.com/DeAnn5372 on T
