Driving home from Illinois tonight, I decided to stop by downtown to see what I might see through my camera. The area surrounding Busch Stadium was almost completely deserted, a far cry from the crushing crowd that night in October when the Cardinals clinched the World Series.
And as I walked I wondered to myself whether or not this version of Busch Stadium, Busch III, could rightly be called “the house that Albert built.” I figured probably not, but he certainly was key in filling the seats in it and its predecessor for the 10 years he played here, which makes it all the more sad that there is a good chance that he may never have a statue at the stadium. If he had not ended up an Angel, he would almost certainly have had one to match the large one of Stan Musial outside the stadium’s main entrance. Though I am still rather upset with Mr. Pujols, still rather sore, I guess deep down I hope that one day he may, indeed, join Stan Musial, Enos Slaughter, and Rogers Hornsby in this pantheon of smaller statues–if that blasted personal service contract he signed will allow him!
One thing I do know–whether or not any night in St. Louis next October will approach the glory of those final two nights of the World Series this past October, the summer will be full of stories, nonetheless, of batting averages and home run totals and team records. It will be full of steamy days and rain delays, hot dogs and beer, Cubbies and Cardinals. And, yes, I will be keeping one eye on the coast.