Stan Musial: "Baseball's perfect warrior"

Whenever I'm in St. Louis for a baseball game, I usually spend some time milling around new Busch Stadium admiring the statues of former Cardinal greats such as Hall of Fame outfielders Enos Slaughter and Lou Brock and legendary announcer Jack Buck.

My favorite is the Stan Musial statue, which I first saw in the summer of 1975 as a 9-year-old outside the old Busch Stadium. The statue of Stan the Man has greeted millions of red-clad Cardinal fans in front of both stadiums since its unveiling in 1968.

The statue is inscribed with a quote by former baseball commissioner Ford Frick: "Here stands baseball's perfect warrior. Here stands baseball's perfect knight."

Photo by Darrin M. Devault (taken on June 18, 2008)

Catching Dan Haren, a rising star

Dan Haren is now an established big-league pitcher, but he was a fast-rising star for the Triple-A Memphis Redbirds when I photographed him on July 6, 2004, at AutoZone Park in Memphis.

Haren, a two-time All-Star, just completed a terrific first season for the Arizona Diamondbacks, compiling a 16-8 record in 2008. He previously pitched for St. Louis and Oakland.

Photo by Darrin M. Devault

When it comes to mascots, bird is the word

I have a big soft spot for baseball mascots because of the way they interact with young fans and get them interested in our national pastime.

My two favorite mascots are redbirds—Fredbird of the St. Louis Cardinals and Rockey the Rockin' Redbird of the Triple-A Memphis Redbirds.

I took this photo of Fredbird on June 18, 2008, at Busch Stadium in St. Louis at a game between the Cardinals and Kansas City Royals.

Keep your beaks held high, guys, and someday you'll end up in the Mascot Hall of Fame.

Nana and her Big Red Machine

I loved my Nana (and her chocolate pie) as much as she loved following Cincinnati's Big Red Machine of the 1970s.

Nana was Iota Fry, my great-grandmother and lover of God, her family, and baseball.

Everyone else in Bruceton, Tenn., knew her as Mama Fry or Miss Iota, but she was simply Nana to my brother Michael and me.

Among many other life lessons, Nana taught us what it meant to fervently follow a sports team.

Her team featured the fearsome lineup of Johnny Bench, Tony Perez (she pronounced his last name "Ferez"), Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Dave Concepcion, Ken Griffey Sr., and Cesar Geronimo.

Whenever we visited her house, she was always ready to discuss the box score from the previous day's game and debate the strategies of manager Sparky Anderson.

And, on frequent Saturday afternoons in the mid-70s when the Reds were winning big, she got to watch the Reds play on the Game of the Week on her black-and-white TV.

Occasionally, when we tried to kid her about one of her Cincy guys, she kidded us right back by "threatening" to get us with her fly-swatter.

My parents took her with us to St. Louis to see the Cardinals play the Reds when I was 11 or 12 years old. She was in her 70s at the time, and I remember my parents being fearful that she would pass out from heatstroke inside old Busch Stadium on a blistering summer afternoon.

Nana wore a huge gardening hat to shield her fair skin from the sun. Fortunately, it worked and she had the time of her life.

The photo of her above is from a baseball exhibit we saw during the trip. We photographed her standing next to Bench's game-worn #5 Reds uniform and cap.

It's one of my favorite baseball memories.

I wouldn't be surprised if Nana watches baseball every day in heaven, and she probably can't wait for the Big Red Machine reunion.

1-2-3, Hey Reitz!!

The hot corner, in a hot town
Thousands dressed in red
Clydesdales marching between innings
A decade before the Wizard plied his trade

One, two, three, hey Reitz

Teamed with the Franchise, the Mad Hungarian, and Bake
Hall of Famer Red was the skipper
He was the Big Zamboni
Scooping grounders on plastic grass

One, two, three, hey Reitz

Five hours in a Buick
To the round, concrete Busch
The tip of the Gateway in view
Sun gleaming off its top

One, two, three, hey Reitz

Is this where the love affair began
Between a six-year-old and the national pastime
Hot dogs, Coca-Colas, souvenirs
Boys cheering their man at third

One, two, three, hey Reitz

Baseball fanatics share dream vacation

Looking back a baseball vacation from 13 years ago ...

Baseball Fanatics Share Dream Vacation

First published in The McKenzie (Tenn.) Banner

Aug. 23, 1995

My brother, Michael, and I have followed baseball since 1975, when we started collecting and swapping Topps baseball cards beneath the shade trees at our boyhood home on Ash Street in Bruceton.

Michael was 6 years old and I was 9 in the summer of '75.

The shade trees at our old house and our interest in baseball cards peaked several years ago, but our fondness for the game grows.

Now that we're adults, we like to take baseball vacations when possible.

Our past trips include a visit to Cooperstown, N.Y., for the Baseball Hall of Fame's 50th anniversary in 1989 and to Cleveland two years ago during the Indians' last year to play in Municipal Stadium.

Only the baseball strike stopped us from seeing a pair of Boston Red Sox games at Fenway Park last year.

Thankfully, the Red Sox refunded our money and we were able to spend it touring the city's vast American historical sites.

We started planning for this year's trip several months ago, gathering schedules and maps. Our top priority was a visit to the "Field of Dreams" in Dyersville, Iowa, where actors Kevin Costner and James Earl Jones starred in the movie of the same name.

Michael is a better organizer, so he found a week in August where we could sandwich a trip to the "Field of Dreams" between baseball games in five cities.

The following is a diary of our six-day, 2,406-mile baseball journey.

Day 1:

Sunday, August 6, 1995

We left Memphis at 6:30 a.m. and drove to St. Louis for a Sunday afternoon game. Busch Stadium brought back many childhood memories because our parents used to take us to see the Cardinals play.

The exciting Cardinal teams I remember from my childhood are quite different from the 1995 team, which is a lackluster bunch without injured Ozzie Smith playing shortstop.

Some names in the St. Louis starting lineup included Sweeney, Mabry, Caraballo and Sheaffer.

Who are these guys?

Where's Lou Brock and Ted Simmons?

We bought $5 tickets in the outfield bleachers. Several thousand Chicago fans followed their Cubs to St. Louis, and a few diehards waved homemade signs at the WGN-TV cameras.

St. Louis first baseman John Mabry emerged as the hero in the 13th inning. Mabry faked a bunt, then hit a run-scoring single through a drawn-in Cubs infield to give the Cardinals a 4-3 win.

After the game, we got lost trying to take a shortcut to Interstate 70 leading to Kansas City and endured eight miles of St. Louis slums. It was the scenic route, for sure.

We eventually found I-70, drove through a blinding rainstorm and camped at Finger Lakes State Park, which is located about 12 miles north of Columbia, Mo.

Coming tomorrow: Remembering Day 2 of the trip.

C'mon. Trade Me That Card!

Some 30 years ago, all the boys in our Bruceton, Tenn., neighborhood played baseball daily.

When we weren't playing, we traded baseball cards and talked about our baseball heroes.

One summer I took a liking to the specialty cards that Kellogg's inserted into its cereal boxes.

Most of the Kellogg's cards were 3-D, but one of my buddies traded me the majority of cards from the 1973 set, which were printed in 2-D.

It took some time, but I somehow managed to collect all of the cards in the '72 set except for stubble-faced Joe Torre of the St. Louis Cardinals.

Marty Roberts, who was a few years my junior, had the card that I coveted.

And he wasn't prepared to let it go without trading for something of greater value.

Smart guy.

It finally came down to a standoff between my prized card of Minnesota slugger Harmon Killebrew and Marty's card of Torre.

The standoff lasted for at least three days, long enough for everyone in the neighborhood to shout "Killebrew for Torre" at each of us until the swap was finally made.

Killebrew for Torre, anyone?