Matt Morris. Not a pitcher who's going to the Hall of Fame, but one of my favorite all-time players. I've seen Matt pitch live twice. Both times were in Wrigley Field and he didn't win either one. The first was a randomn Sunday, I can't really remember what year. It was while McGwire was with the team, to narrow it down for you.
Funny story about that game. I'd been having a tough time. I think this was after a girlfiend of mine transferred to ex-girlfriend and I was having a tough time getting over the wreckage of that relationship. I was depressed. So depressed, in fact, that I went to church*. I hadn't been to a church, outside of familial obligations at Christmas, since before highschool. So. This was kind of a thing for me. I'd thought about it for a while, but the idea of picking a church (with all the perils that congregations inflict on themselves and the rest of us) and trying to fit in was not appealing. But. I talked myself into one. It was a picturesque church that stood like a country chapel in the odd location of Addison and Broadway. (They've since redone and expanded and it doesn't look nearly as out of place or charming.)
Of course. I misread the sign and showed up for the second service which was actually done in Ugandan. (Not kidding.) The current congregation was leaving and I talked to the minister. She was a nice lady who told me the mistake I'd made and encouraged me to come back. I knew as I walked out that I wouldn't. I was the sort of upset that didn't respond well to this kind of mistake. Especially infront of a person of God.
As I was walking back towards the red line, I saw a sign for tickets. If you know Chicago, you know that Wrigley Field, home of the Cubs, is not too far from the red line. And right around the red line are all the ticket brokers. I'd never visited one before, but I walked in and bought a ticket for that night's game knowing that it was Matt Morris's turn in the rotation. Walking out to the train, I smiled a little and sat on the platform enjoying the cool May weather and laughing when I noticed the wooden owl** that sits on the building just east of the platform.
The game itself was odd. I went alone, which when you're a Cardinal fan in Wrigley field is not necessarily enjoyable. Especially when your team does not win. Not that anyone hassled me--generally they don't. But, baseball is a social game. It's meant to be seen with friends. And in a way, being there alone was not helping me.
But, still. I'd come early for batting practice and seen some McGwire bombs and watching Matty Mo throw is a good thing. He had an easy motion that looked easy and effortless to the crowd. But when you're watching at home, with all the close-ups on his sweaty face and cap, you can see the intensity. So, while the Cards weren't victorious that day, they played well and something about watching the game was comforting--even if not the perfect therepy.
The second game came amid better circumstances. A friend had gotten amazing seats--first row just one the first base side of the plate. Amazing seats. And it was a gorgeous day. Sunny. Awesome. And I'd just gotten a new Cards hat.
At the time, the Cards and Cubs were the top of the Central Division and these games really had an effect on the standings. I was into it. I was really into it. The Cards, if I remember correctly, hadn't been doing so well lately. And they'd been hurting in the bullpen. They needed a good start from Matt Morris.
Unfortunately, Matty Mo gave up four runs in the first inning. And I wasn't handling it well. I squirmed in my seat and was cursing Morris under my breath (though I think my breath was quite shallow, so it's quite probable it wasn't as noticeable as I would've hoped).
But. The Cardinals were firmly within the Pujols era. And a comeback was not outside the realm of possibility.
In fact. We were sitting near some rabid Cubs' fans. Rabid. Since we were right near the visitor's batting circle, they had the opportunity to taunt the Cards before they got to bat. Which was fine when they did it to Tony Womack and he dribbled a ball to the infield. But. (And this is my favorite baseball memory.) You don't do that to Albert Pujols. I remember them yelling something at him and Albert turned, looked at them, made note of them and laughed. It was an easy laugh. Nothing to worry about. No care in the world.
And then the greatest thing happened. Albert stepped to the plate and I watched him unleash, in a gracefull torrent, the most fluid display of strength I've witnessed from that distance. And the ball. It suddenly hung in the sky, flying high above the buildings and bleachers across the street. There was no doubt. And I was on my feet and happy. Jubilant.
And as Albert crossed the plate, he looked at the man who'd taunted him, put a finger over his lips and let them know.
I mean, if someone told me this story, I wouldn't believe it. But I was right there. Amazing.
It was a good game. And before I knew it, I was looking up at the 8th inning and noticing Matt was still out there. He'd given up nothing since the first and he'd gutted out a good start. He'd given the team a chance to win, but more importantly (I think anyway), he'd given the bullpen (except one guy who came in for the 8th and 9th) a night off. He'd done his job and given the team exactly what he needed.
So many times in sports we laud the people who win or who do the spectacular. Like I did with Pujols. It's easy to do. And if you asked pretty much any fan, they'd tell you they go to sporting events to see amazing things happen. And that's great, and I love that part of sports. But what is at least as important is noticing the people who tough it out. The people who do their jobs well, even if things don't go as planned. And that was Matt Morris. That day, he got behind and battled to stay on the mound and do his job.
I doubt that anything from his 7+ IP made the highlights, aside from the first inning. But it was a beautiful thing to be able to watch it happen. And it's too bad that kind of effort goes unnoticed so often in sports. Because that kind of effort is as spectacular as the spectacular. It is harder to describe, I'll admit.
But, when they pulled Morris, I was more than happy to stand and applaud. Matt was often doing amazing things on the mound, but watching that game was the one that made me really a fan of his.
*Note. It's not that I'm not a religious person, I'm just not an organized religious person.
**Note. It's still there. Presumably to scare pigeons away? Either way, I find it amusing.
Funny story about that game. I'd been having a tough time. I think this was after a girlfiend of mine transferred to ex-girlfriend and I was having a tough time getting over the wreckage of that relationship. I was depressed. So depressed, in fact, that I went to church*. I hadn't been to a church, outside of familial obligations at Christmas, since before highschool. So. This was kind of a thing for me. I'd thought about it for a while, but the idea of picking a church (with all the perils that congregations inflict on themselves and the rest of us) and trying to fit in was not appealing. But. I talked myself into one. It was a picturesque church that stood like a country chapel in the odd location of Addison and Broadway. (They've since redone and expanded and it doesn't look nearly as out of place or charming.)
Of course. I misread the sign and showed up for the second service which was actually done in Ugandan. (Not kidding.) The current congregation was leaving and I talked to the minister. She was a nice lady who told me the mistake I'd made and encouraged me to come back. I knew as I walked out that I wouldn't. I was the sort of upset that didn't respond well to this kind of mistake. Especially infront of a person of God.
As I was walking back towards the red line, I saw a sign for tickets. If you know Chicago, you know that Wrigley Field, home of the Cubs, is not too far from the red line. And right around the red line are all the ticket brokers. I'd never visited one before, but I walked in and bought a ticket for that night's game knowing that it was Matt Morris's turn in the rotation. Walking out to the train, I smiled a little and sat on the platform enjoying the cool May weather and laughing when I noticed the wooden owl** that sits on the building just east of the platform.
The game itself was odd. I went alone, which when you're a Cardinal fan in Wrigley field is not necessarily enjoyable. Especially when your team does not win. Not that anyone hassled me--generally they don't. But, baseball is a social game. It's meant to be seen with friends. And in a way, being there alone was not helping me.
But, still. I'd come early for batting practice and seen some McGwire bombs and watching Matty Mo throw is a good thing. He had an easy motion that looked easy and effortless to the crowd. But when you're watching at home, with all the close-ups on his sweaty face and cap, you can see the intensity. So, while the Cards weren't victorious that day, they played well and something about watching the game was comforting--even if not the perfect therepy.
The second game came amid better circumstances. A friend had gotten amazing seats--first row just one the first base side of the plate. Amazing seats. And it was a gorgeous day. Sunny. Awesome. And I'd just gotten a new Cards hat.
At the time, the Cards and Cubs were the top of the Central Division and these games really had an effect on the standings. I was into it. I was really into it. The Cards, if I remember correctly, hadn't been doing so well lately. And they'd been hurting in the bullpen. They needed a good start from Matt Morris.
Unfortunately, Matty Mo gave up four runs in the first inning. And I wasn't handling it well. I squirmed in my seat and was cursing Morris under my breath (though I think my breath was quite shallow, so it's quite probable it wasn't as noticeable as I would've hoped).
But. The Cardinals were firmly within the Pujols era. And a comeback was not outside the realm of possibility.
In fact. We were sitting near some rabid Cubs' fans. Rabid. Since we were right near the visitor's batting circle, they had the opportunity to taunt the Cards before they got to bat. Which was fine when they did it to Tony Womack and he dribbled a ball to the infield. But. (And this is my favorite baseball memory.) You don't do that to Albert Pujols. I remember them yelling something at him and Albert turned, looked at them, made note of them and laughed. It was an easy laugh. Nothing to worry about. No care in the world.
And then the greatest thing happened. Albert stepped to the plate and I watched him unleash, in a gracefull torrent, the most fluid display of strength I've witnessed from that distance. And the ball. It suddenly hung in the sky, flying high above the buildings and bleachers across the street. There was no doubt. And I was on my feet and happy. Jubilant.
And as Albert crossed the plate, he looked at the man who'd taunted him, put a finger over his lips and let them know.
I mean, if someone told me this story, I wouldn't believe it. But I was right there. Amazing.
It was a good game. And before I knew it, I was looking up at the 8th inning and noticing Matt was still out there. He'd given up nothing since the first and he'd gutted out a good start. He'd given the team a chance to win, but more importantly (I think anyway), he'd given the bullpen (except one guy who came in for the 8th and 9th) a night off. He'd done his job and given the team exactly what he needed.
So many times in sports we laud the people who win or who do the spectacular. Like I did with Pujols. It's easy to do. And if you asked pretty much any fan, they'd tell you they go to sporting events to see amazing things happen. And that's great, and I love that part of sports. But what is at least as important is noticing the people who tough it out. The people who do their jobs well, even if things don't go as planned. And that was Matt Morris. That day, he got behind and battled to stay on the mound and do his job.
I doubt that anything from his 7+ IP made the highlights, aside from the first inning. But it was a beautiful thing to be able to watch it happen. And it's too bad that kind of effort goes unnoticed so often in sports. Because that kind of effort is as spectacular as the spectacular. It is harder to describe, I'll admit.
But, when they pulled Morris, I was more than happy to stand and applaud. Matt was often doing amazing things on the mound, but watching that game was the one that made me really a fan of his.
*Note. It's not that I'm not a religious person, I'm just not an organized religious person.
**Note. It's still there. Presumably to scare pigeons away? Either way, I find it amusing.
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