What Busch Means to Me

It stands there, at 7th and Clark, a giant structure of brick, mortar and dreams. It starts outside the stadium, where those giant red letters stick out like a (not so) sore thumb and can be read for blocks. As you walk the perimeter, you happen upon 10 bronze statues that depict the glory days of our heroes. As your eyes turn heavenward, you are taken aback at the red brick walls that seem to extend forever. The unique blend of history and hope in its architecture has, after 8 short years, been ingrained in the minds of every single fan that has walked through its gates.

As you walk through the gates at Third Base, you see as cool and collected a commotion as you could imagine. Thousands of strangers milling about, vendors advertising their merch, and that momentary peek you get at the red seats as you glance through the tunnel out towards the field. As you ride the escalator up to the terrace, you look around and realize just how spacious the inside of the stadium really is. The out-of-town scoreboard from its predecessor has been transplanted into the new stadium, still displaying the scores from Sunday, October 2nd, 2005.

As you step out onto the concourse, the air is clear. It smells of ballpark fare and excitement for the coming game. Making your way to your seat, you look out on the scenic downtown skyline, exposed by the absence of an enclosure in center field. The Gateway Arch dominates all, soaring above the Midwest and deepening your pride in the hometown. There isn't a single bad seat in the house, and the action feels equally close to each fan/

It's already played host to 31 playoff games. 13 white plaques are prominently displayed in the outfield to honor the retired numbers of the club's greatest. 11 banners hang high atop the out-of-town scoreboard in right to champion the 11 moments in history during which we stood on top of the world. The right-center field wall contains a lone, dark circle, bearing the notation "DK57", to commemorate the fallen role model we all miss so dearly.

As the middle school band makes its way onto the warning track, the fans collectively rise to their feet, remove their caps and honor America through the National Anthem. As the red, white and blue flap in the wind, you're reminded of the men who fought to protect the land we love- some of them wore the same jersey you do. The managers exchange lineup cards, final preparations are made by the starters in the bullpen and they journey to the dugout to join the team. The starters race out of the dugout likes horses out of the gate and your heart rate immediately jumps with the roar of the crowd.



All eyes are locked in on the starter as he peers in for the first sign. Nodding his head in approval, he starts his windup, and 46,861 hold their breath. The ball smacks into the mitt, the right arm goes up, and the crowd goes wild.

It's gonna be a fun night.

It's the one place where thousands of strangers all share a common bond unlike any other in professional sports. Fans of every shape and size are dressed to the nines in red and white, and you wouldn't have it any other way. You can strike up a conversation with anyone and everyone at anytime, and it's like you've known each other for years. We don't care what the haters and pundits say- nobody does it better than us.

It's a place where bonds are strengthened, memories are made, and dreams are realized. Where one swing of the bat means more than it does anywhere else on earth- where anyone and everyone is always welcome- where the sea of Red flows, unabated- where baseball's perfect warrior stands watch, staring down Spruce Street. It's the heritage my father gave to me, the Temple of the Midwest, the house that Stan built. It's baseball heaven. It's my home.

                                     That's what Busch means to me.