Why does baseball matter?

It's called the National Pastime. Despite all the things that have come along to scar that image or take that title, baseball has always managed to recover. Maybe it has something to do with the natural drama of the game. Maybe it's the ability to find hope in the darkest of times, socially or within a single game. Two days prior to writing this, Albert Pujols gave hope back to the St. Louis Cardinals with a scene that could have come right out of The Natural.

I think the reason why basebal resonates is hope. Hope inspired by the players for their fans. Hope the fans have in their players, be it on the local team or long-time favorites. Hope that something close by, something very near to home, can have such an impact if the team is doing well. Hope that as we age, we can still find youthful enthusiasm, even if the situation is grim. Hope that we, as a people, have a shared mythology that is constantly growing.

Myths such as "The Curse of the Bambino" that haunted the Red Sox until 2004. Mythological figures like Shoeless Joe Jackson, who according to legend showed great prowess and determination even when his teammates were throwing the game for money. These are the tales that stay with us, the things that parents tell their children about as bedtime stories. "Casey at the Bat." Ozzie Smith. Big Mac and Sammy Sosa racing for 70 home runs.

The game is just a setting. The story is what happens around and within the game. "Build it, and he will come," the voice said. In one story, hearing that voice made a farmer build a baseball diamond, presumably to play baseball on, but in actuality to discover what legends about baseball really mean, as well as to remove the greatest regret from his life. None of that involves a single game so much as it is built in events surrounding a game or a series of games.

In my mind, the majesty of the game seems to mean more to people than the games themselves. Many people don't follow sports at all, even though they still have fond thoughts of going to a pro baseball game as a child.

I remember going to a live Cardinals game when I was little. It was during the era of Ozzie Smith, Willie McGee, and Whitey Herzog. The game was at Busch Stadium against the Mets. I remember the first time I saw the stands and the field. There were concrete steps leading up and down. The top of the stadium had no ceiling, as indoor stadiums were still relatively new. I felt a sense of order seeing the arches lining the top of the stadium, fitting in with the largest piece of scenery in downtown St. Louis. I don't remember much about the game itself. What I do remember is that I actually got to see Ozzie play with my own eyes.

In April of 2004, I made my second appearance at Busch Stadium. This time, I was much older, a graduate student rather than an elementary school student. I went with friends instead of going with my family and my sister's softball team. I took the game in, knowing more of what ws going on. One of my friends explained what a lot of the scoring actually meant. I saw Albert Pujols and Jim Edmonds and Reggie Sanders. I remember that the game was very close, coming down to the last few innings before the other team managed to edge out ahead of the Cardinals.

Now.... Now Busch Stadium is a thing of the past. The last game that will be played there has been played. The Cardinals finished for 2005 and the Houston Astros trying to start building their own tales within the myth of baseball. As the Astros celebrated their first trip to the World Series, watching the game on TV, I could hear the crowd stand and applaud in fairness, in honor, in respect--for whatever reason.

I think the main reason, even though St. Louis is a classy place to play baseball, was because Busch Stadium was closed. I think the crowd was thanking the stadium for the memories, the good times that had been had there over the years. Anything from World Series victories to Jack Buck to a souvenier bat given to a child as a keepsake from the first game they had ever attended.

The othe thing I heard from the crowd at the end of that game was a rally cry. "Let's Go" and another word. It wasn't "Astros," I'm sure of that. I thought it was "Cardinals," but listening closer, I found I was wrong. The cry was "Let's Go Chicago," the team the Astros would have to meet in the 2005 World Series. I think it's important to note this, not because of the unusual way that such a rally cry came up, but because of those myths I mentioned before. Since the days of Shoeless Joe, the White Sox haven't won a World Series. As something of an American legend, the actions of the Eight Men Out have marred the name of Shoeless Joe. The Astros may be out to carve a myth and a legacy for themselves, but the White Sox are out to redeem the name of Shoeless Joe Jackson once and for all. These are the things heroic tales are made of.