It was a late Friday afternoon the week before Thanksgiving 2013, when my sister received some bad news. Well, heck, we all did. But I remember my sister being the most upset because this particular news featured a certain favorite Cardinals third baseman.
Earlier that morning we (my sister and I) had recruited ourselves to drive our grandma to Morton, Illinois, for the day. A recent victim of a hit-and-run, she required a new car and the best fit was a Honda Fit held in reserve for us at a dealership just three hours away.
It was cold, gray, what you'd expect of any Midwest November. Between the dealership, mechanic, and dealership again, I found myself splitting a late lunch appetizer platter of fried cheese, chicken fingers, wings, and spring rolls with my sister at the local Ruby Tuesday's, as recommended by the young Iraq veteran, Sam, who closed the sale. At the time, we were still unaware of another sale just closing back home in good ole St. Louie.
It was on the drive back – we were almost home; I had Grandma in the Fit while my sister drove the other car – that my sister learned the unsavory news. Like a bad telegram came the text from our cousin:
David Freese traded.
STOP
To Angels.
STOP
Gone forever.
STOP
Well, something like that. My sister was so upset, she missed her exit.
So, no, it wasn't a stellar off-season. At least not for my sister and any other admirer of David Freese. But then again, who doesn't love that affable fellow with the brotherly smile and funny laugh who just three years ago managed to save his beloved hometown. You can't forget a kid like that.
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