I’m not sure Joe Kelly’s outing yesterday can be described with words, so I’ll make only a brief attempt to try.
He struck out Paul Goldschmidt. He struck out Marcell Ozuna. He struck out Paul DeJong. One, a hall-of-famer. One, a top-twelve hitter just two years ago. One, a bright young star still emerging from his little star cocoon.
He threw a bit of gas, blowing a 99-mph heater past Paul Goldschmidt to end that particular at-bat. But when one only needs to throw twelve pitches to get through an innings, one does things like throw six straight knuckle-curves to slow down the moment—to savor it.
Of course, Joe Kelly began his career with this opponent he was now facing: the Cardinals. He played with them for two and a half seasons, and is still well-liked in St. Louis, if the Park Ranger at the St. Louis Arch who approached me enamored with my custom-made-for-personal-use-only Joe Kelly t-shirt is any indicator.
Which reminds me.
I’ve been meaning to tell you all about the Joe Kelly Soul Quest I undertook back over the All-Star Break.
To be honest, this was just a few hours spent in St. Louis on the drive from Crystal Lake (where I’d celebrated America’s independence) back to Austin (where I live). We parked. I got a picture with the Arch. We went under the Arch. We went up in the Arch. We looked down all misty-eyed at the mound where Joe Kelly made his major league debut just a day after he turned 24. We went to a movie about how the Arch got built that they were showing in the basement of the Arch, which is really a museum more than it is a basement. A Park Ranger liked my t-shirt. I neglected to tell him about this blog. I kicked myself for that. We went to lunch over by Wash-U at a taco place a friend recommended. The neighborhood was very nice. The people were very nice. I accidentally paid for the wrong parking spot. I intentionally paid for the right parking spot.
Anyway, St. Louis gets a bad rap from certain readers of this blog. Myself and the other bloggers here are Cubs fans (though I am more notably a Joe Kelly fan, and I choose to believe this will never force me into painful choices even if it already has), which draws in some Cub-friendly patrons. We’re also all from places in the Midwest that aren’t St. Louis, which draws in some familiar-with-St.-Louis-but-not-supportive-of-St.-Louis patrons. Anyway, while I, like many of my friends, get annoyed by Cardinals fans pounding their chests calling themselves the #BestFansInBaseball, I think it’s cool that St. Louis is a baseball town, and there are annoying things about all fan bases worth anything. Not all Cardinals fans are chest-pounders, just like not all Cubs fans were White Sox fans in 2005, and not all Dodgers fans booed Joe Kelly back in May and now look like idiots.
So, to address the matter of St. Louis. I wrote the following poem. Thank you for your consideration.
Ode to St. Louis
by NIT StuIt’s not the most glamorous.
Not the most grand.
It’s not the best city
across the whole land.
My friends like to say
that it smells like pee.
But you know what? St. Louis
is just fine by me.In fact, I’ll say it,
I like it a lot.
Even if the summers
can be a bit hot.
Yes, besides that big arch
(which is really quite cool),
there’s a part of St. Louis
that makes the place rule.It isn’t the music,
though we all love the blues.
It isn’t the steamboats,
though they’re good for a cruise.
It’s not all the French stuff,
or the high rate of crime.
It’s a piece of the city
from way back in time.Yes, back in the past,
in those dim, faded years,
when there were more K-Marts,
and plenty more Sears.
Before to the coasts
he was sent off to roam,
a hero lived here:
he called St. Louis home.A younger man then,
still without child,
but still with hard fastballs,
and still a bit wild,
our hero pitched here,
beneath that great arch.
Though I’m not sure he lived here
from November to March.Still, across three summers—
three glorious June’s,
three boiling July’s,
two gold harvest moons—
down there on a hill
built of rubber and clay,
the hero—our hero—
spent many a day.So say what you wish
for the Midwestern town.
Say all your mean things.
Put the place down.
But remember, the next time
you call the place smelly:
There was a time when St. Louis
was home to Joe Kelly.*Bows*
