A Season in the Sun by Roger Kahn

Author:Roger Kahn [Kahn, Roger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Essays & Writings, SPORTS & RECREATION/Baseball/Essays & Writings, Baseball, Essays, Sports & Recreation
ISBN: 9781938120428
Google: N7DkHo7PoMoC
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 1977-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

2

Outside the multipurpose stadium in St. Louis, a hundred yards past the vaulting shadow of the Gateway Arch, a hulking statue purports to represent Stan Musial at bat. It is a triumph of ineptitude over sincerity.

St. Louis baseball writers who had watched Stan Musial play baseball for almost a quarter of a century engaged a sculptor named Carl Mose to cast Old Number Six in bronze. Then Ford Frick composed an inscription for the pedestal:

Here stands baseball’s perfect warrior.

Here stands baseball’s perfect knight.

The shoulders are too broad. The torso is too thick. The work smacks of the massive statuary that infests the Soviet Union. It misses the lithe beauty of The Man.

“I saw the sculptor when he was working on it,” Stan Musial said, beside his pedestal. “I told him I never looked that broad. He said it had to be that broad because it was going to be against the backdrop of a big ball park. He missed the stance, but what kind of man would I have been if I’d complained? The writers were generous. The sculptor did his best. Look, there’s a statue of me in St. Louis while I’m still alive.”

A pregnant woman, armed with an autograph book, charged. “Write for my son Willie,” she commanded. Musial nodded, said, “Where ya from?” and signed with a lean-fingered, practiced hand.

“Thank you,” the pregnant woman said. “Willie is coming soon. After he gets here and learns to talk, I’m sure he’ll thank you, Mr. Musial.”

Inside the round stadium, the St. Louis Cardinals were losing slowly in wet July Mississippi heat. The final score would be Cincinnati 13, Cardinals 2. We had left after the fourth inning, when baseball’s perfect knight passed his threshold of anguish at bad baseball played by the home team.

To reach most old ball players, even millionaire old ball players like Hank Greenberg, you simply call their homes toward dinner time. A pleased, remembered voice comes through the phone. “I had a good day playing tennis. How’ve you been? Who’ve you been seeing? Say, if you’re in town, come over and we can talk about the old days.”

To reach Stan Musial, you call the office of the resort and restaurant corporation called Stan Musial’s & Biggie’s, Inc. When I did, a secretary said politely but crisply, “I’m sorry. Mr. Musial is on a good-will tour of Europe. He’ll be back briefly in two weeks. Then he’s flying to the Montreal Olympics. We’ll try to fit you in, but could I have your name again and could you tell me what this is in reference to?”

It was in reference to one thing. Stan Musial, neither a perfect warrior nor any sort of knight, is my particular baseball hero. I heard a teammate who knew him well call him a choker. “Considering his ability, he didn’t drive in enough runs,” the man said. Echoes reached Musial, who would not stoop to make a response. Across his twenty-two years with the Cardinals, Musial batted in a total of 1,951 runs.

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