St. Louis, MO — The July heat is repressive. The humidity gets into your lungs, slows your steps and shortens your stride. Everyone in St. Louis felt the same that day. Let’s just get to nightfall and let the darkness wash away the sun and bring us all some relief. The sun set, and the city let out a collective sigh.
This July is no different than the past 36 i’ve survived on the eastern edge of Missouri. So, like the rest of town I waited till the sun fell past the western sky to hit the pub, celebrate a friend, and hear some music.
I arrived at Nick’s just a shade before 10 pm. We surprised Nancy Nation’s final issue on the 31st anniversary of his birth while his older brother sang songs of our youth in the background. I settled in on the smoke filled patio at the end of a picnic table beneath a ceiling of canvas and plastic.
At the edge of the table, over the sound of the PA, a self described Peruvian Cuban (who also happens to be a ginger?) and I began to talk baseball. I forgave him his identity as a Cubs fan, as one must do on occasion in life, and the topic quickly turned to number 22, Mike Matheny.
“The Cardinals are not going to fire him” I said with zero emotion. “It’s the kind of move they would never make. It’s just not what they do. They'll ride this out till October and put him out of his misery”
“Exactly” he replied. “You know they’re going to keep him at least till the end of the year.”
“What a waste of a season. Here’s to more mediocre Cardinals baseball!”
“I’ll raise a glass to that” he said with a smile.
“I bet you would.”
The resignation in my voice was palpable. I’d sat through two and half seasons of a slow slide from expecting them to win, to hoping they didn’t lose. What had become of us, of them?
I know in my rational mind it’s not all the manager’s fault, but as the Peruvian said, "ya know, it kinda is."
Through the smoke stained air my gaze listed upwards towards the television hung at the right end of the bar. I was directed to the scroll by the flashing red “Breaking News.” The next thing I read brought shock to me and my fellow patrons’ faces, quickly followed by cheers and raised glasses.
“The St. Louis Cardinals have relieved manager Mike Matheny of his Duties.”
“No blanking way” my friend said.
“Nations!!!” I yelled over the sound of Oasis’ Champagne Supernova…”Look at the TV!”
He did not scream, his eyes became the size of the moon. And he smiled as though Mr. Dewitt had planned this specifically for his birthday.
“Who’d they hire?” I asked.
“Mike Shildt.”
“Who is Mike Shildt?”
The conversation went on from their into resumes of coaches, why Jose Oquendo was passed over again, etc. The same conversation everyone had before their head landed on the pillow. The night faded into music, conversation, laughter, and sweet short rides home.
We rejoiced. The reign of mediocre was over.
The next seven days of reflection upon the situation have left me torn. Was this squarely at the feet of Mike Matheny? Was the cliche “They needed a new voice” simply used as a coward’s way to cover the true truth? We hired a man out of his depth that was carried by a stacked roster for a few seasons. Then, when true leadership was needed did his lack of a skill-set finally show through?
Did the front office see this coming 7 years ago when they hired Mike Matheny? He’ll get them through the ghost of Larussa till they can truly build the organization in their image?
Was Mike Matheny a patsy?
These are the questions I have no answers to. But, I feel they need to be asked.
My lack of answers leads to more questions. Why Mike Shildt and not Jose Oquendo? Why Mike Shildt and not Willie McGee.
So many questions with what used to be the rock solid organization of the National League for 15 years. Are the Cards just an also-ran? Are they the San Diego Padres of the midwest?
Like so many things on this big blue ball, only time will tell.
A litany possibilities lay at the feet of this leadership group. Which path will they take, no one knows but Bill Jr.
The autumns of the entire Cardinals nation is in your hands.
Godspeed Mr. Dewitt, Godspeed.