Home Schooled in the 90s

I remember the 2004 World Series in particular because it revived the spark originally lit six years before by Mark McGwire's chase for 62.

Two months freshly married, I was 19 and for some reason late August had re-brewed the hype of sports in my life. Growing up, sports were moot. Home schooled in the 90s; organized sports didn't exist yet. There was a desert of opportunity: “soccer” after choir practice on Tuesdays, the occasional co-ed baseball when soccer got too old. Mostly because the boys got tired of the girls getting in the way when trying to score. I took a shot to the face once that stung like wasps; the kid who kicked the ball ended up being my brother-in-law. (I blame him for my crooked nose.) No, the closest thing to sports in my life – for most of my life – were stories of my dad's football glory days at McCluer North High School back in the 70's, and later a few at MIZZOU.

After nearly two decades, this drought was ending. By proxy, at least. I couldn't play myself, but the 2004 Olympics gave me a small flavor. Two days before my wedding, I was more interested in the results of the women's volleyball match than in which hairstyle my sister had planned for me for the big day. It sizzled a little more when I caught the fuzzy reception from Athens in our honeymoon cruise ship somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean.

So by the time I had settled in as the new Mrs. W., set up our cracker box apartment, and resumed big sister duties while my parents toured Europe for three weeks, I caught news of the playoffs between college exams and two days a week as church secretary.

And yet, even with all this revived verve for sports, I missed out. I have a snapshot of my baby sister (seven years old at the time), decked out in red and silver carnival beads while we waited for the World Series to start. Happy and hopeful for victories she couldn't yet understand in her Second Grade mind. Clearly I couldn't either as a 4th-year college student. How do I know that?

Because I spent Game 4 shopping with my mom and sister in a completely deserted Macy's.

Yes, Macy's. Why? To this day, I do not know. I hate shopping anyway. I remember brushing through lonely racks of sweaters, listening to the desolation of staticky radio over the PA system, indicating the end of October hopes downtown in a sober city. But once again, it was a slow sign of things to come.