A lifetime of following the Cubs


I recently had an opportunity to take in a beautiful view of the Chicago skyline, Lake Michigan, and Wrigley Field at the same time. I enjoyed them all, but the one shot that I wanted to have with me in it was the Wrigley Field vista. That speaks volumes as to who I am, really.

I started following the Cubs by watching their games on WGN, Channel 9 in Chicago. The first time I tuned in was late in the 1975 season, when I was seven years old. And now, almost forty years later, I realize that it has been a large part of my identity over the years and decades. There aren’t too many things in life that are more deeply-seated than my attachment to the Cubs.

And they’ve disappointed me in so many ways over the years. Losing is the most obvious way, which forces me to watch while baseball’s other teams taste success instead. And even when they win, it’s just a prelude to more losing in the end.

After so many years and so many disappointments, I am, quite frankly, embittered. I have no faith in the rebuilding process that has been going on since 2012. I don’t think it will pay off with the championship that I and other Cubs fans are craving, at least not in my lifetime. And if it happens after I’m gone, what’s the point?

I don’t have any terminal diseases that I know off, and it’s not like I’m expecting to die anytime soon. That’s not the motivation for writing this. It’s just that every season should be treated as though it will be the last because for many fans, that’s exactly what it is.

A Cubs fan just like me will probably die over the next week. I won’t know who it is, but they’ll be a victim of this process of a still unknown duration. The younger men than I am who run this team can afford to take the long view of the process. The rest of us–who just want to see it once before we pass from this earth–don’t have that luxury.

Monday, Monday


After eight years in the broadcast booth for the Chicago Cubs, Bob Brenly has announced that he will not be returning in 2013. I liked Bob Brenly, but life is about change and he decided to move on. That’s fine, but it has raised the inevitable question of who will replace him. And even though I haven’t heard this name mentioned, I think I know the perfect candidate: Robert James Monday, Jr., better known as Rick Monday.

There are other names floating about, including Rick Sutcliffe, Gary Matthews, and Mark grace. Those are all ex-Cubs players, and I think that the importance of that cannot be overstated. Using Ron Santo, and now Keith Moreland, as exemplars from the radio booth for WGN, it’s clear to me that a name from Cubs’ past is important. Monday fits this bill, although Cubs fans under 40 won’t think of him as a Cub.

Monday’s was a name that Jack Brickhouse once called out, and that’s important, too. I’ve written about Jack Brickhouse before, and he embodied the Wrigley family era of ownership of the Cubs. The Tribune Company bought the team in the early 1980s, and they replaced Brickhouse with Harry Caray. I loved Harry as much as anyone, but Brickhouse and the players from that pre-Tribune era like Monday, Rick Reuschel, Jose Cardenal, and Bruce Sutter will always hold a special place in my heart.

So maybe you aren’t sold on the “link to the past” argument. Fair enough, then let’s look at the issue of experience. Rick Monday started working in the broadcast booth in 1985, for the Los Angeles Dodgers. By comparison, Rick Sutcliffe and Gary Matthews were still playing in that season, and Mark Grace was drafted by the Cubs that year out of San Diego State. If you’re the type of person who values on-the-job experience, as I do, then Monday certainly has that to offer.

But maybe Monday’s experience doesn’t convince you, either. Let’s turn it around and say he’s an older guy who the modern fan probably won’t relate to. OK. Your standards are obviously different from mine, but there’s still one more item on Monday’s  resume that, in my mind, is the trump card that nobody else can beat.

If you aren’t aware of what Rick Monday did in Dodger Stadium, while wearing a Cubs uniform in April of 1976, here’s a link to something I wrote about that incident. In a nutshell, two men ran onto the field in Dodger Stadium during a Cubs-Dodgers game, and attempted to set fire to an American Flag in the outfield grass. Monday smelled the lighter fluid, realized what was going on, and ran over to snatch the flag away from the men. He still has that flag, and it crystallized, in the year of America’s bicentennial, the connection that exists between baseball and the U.S. of A.

Monday was a veteran of the Marine Corps reserves during the Vietnam era, and it was the memory of this service that set him into motion that day in the Dodger Stadium outfield. For a nation that’s now been at war for over a decade, and one that thanks our service members at every juncture for the sacrifices they’ve made, Monday means a lot to them. And he means a lot to anyone who would have been horrified to learn that an American flag was burned in the outfield of a baseball stadium.

Monday’s hero status, together with his experience as a broadcaster and his status as a former Cubs player, are more than enough to warrant his hiring for the Cubs as their color analyst, for as long as he wants the job. He’ll be 67 this season, and could conceivably do the job for several years before he retires from the booth. I, for one, would like to see his name enter the conversation, to find out if he’s interested in the job on any level. It’s an opportunity that I hope this franchise will understand and appreciate.

Feelin’ Weasley

I recently got back from a few days at Universal Studios in Orlando. The main attraction at Universal is the Harry Potter section of the Islands of Adventure park. The park opened at 9 AM when we were there, but since we were staying on the property, we were able to get in an hour early. Nearly all of the people who availed themselves of this option made a beeline for the Potter section of the park. And with good reason, since it does a very credible job of bringing J.K. Rowling’s work to life. The people who put this together really did it right.

I bring this up as a background for something that occurred to me today. I’ve read the Harry Potter books, and seen maybe half of the movies, so I’m generally aware of the characters and their stories. One of the primary characters, Harry’s friend Ron Weasley, came to my mind as I was putting up some pictures of old Chicago Cubs players at work today.

Rowling’s world of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley and all the rest works so well because it was invented out of thin air. Like Baum’s OZ, and Tolkien’s middle-earth, it draws you in and makes you want to believe it exists, even when you know that it doesn’t. A world of muggles, or munchkins, or hobbits seems much more interesting than the world that we actually inhabit, and so reading these books is a way–the only way, really–of spending some time there.

A major element of Harry Potter’s world is the invented game of Quidditch. Harry’s friend Ron is a big fan of the worst Quidditch team of all, the Chudley Cannons. They’re a terrible team that never wins anything, but Ron Weasley supports them, anyway. It’s a bit like Charlie Brown and his favorite baseball player, the inept (yet fictional) Joe Shlabotnik. Players like Shlabotnik, and teams like the Cannons, somehow have a following in the worlds they inhabit, even though they’ve given their fans nothing to get very excited about. And so it is with the Chicago Cubs and their long-suffering, yet still very real, fans.

I thought about this as I was putting up three pictures of Cubs players from the 1977 team at my desk at work today. The three were Jerry Morales, George Mitterwald, and Gene Clines. The 1977 Cubs were in first place halfway through the season, and they led me a younger and more naive version of myself to believe that great things would happen that year. But they fell apart in August and September, and finished far out of the running in their division.

Had this late-season collapse been a sign of things to come in the decades ahead, I might have switched my team allegiances back to the St. Louis Cardinals, who are much the preferred team in the town where I grew up. But the bond had been forged, despite (or maybe even because of?) the team’s losing ways. Unlike the Cardinals, I could watch the Cubs’ games on TV, and I liked hearing the way that Jack Brickhouse called a game on WGN. He talked about Waveland Avenue and Sheffield Avenue as places that, like Hogwarts, I wanted to believe actually existed.

It would be a decade before I went to these places myself, and confirmed their existence on the North side of Chicago. But in the meantime, the Cubs became my version of the Chudley Cannons. They lost all the time, and that’s never an easy thing to cope with, but when you love a team, and the game that they play, their losses somehow strengthen that bond, rather than dissolving it.

Should anything ever happen to chase the ghosts of Jerry Morales and all of the other Cubs from the past away, well, that will be a fine day, indeed. May I live long enough to see it. I sometimes think that Ron Weasley’s Cannons will win a championship before my Cubs will. And if you were to tell me the Cannons don’t really exist, my reply is that’s exactly my point.

Hanu-Cubs, Night 5

We begin, as always, with Steve Goodman’s music. Every Cubs fan needs to know about this song:

The first night was devoted to Dave Roberts, the second night to Sam Fuld, the third night to Ken Holtzman, and last night was for Jason Marquis. Tonight the candlelight shines on another pitcher, Steve Stone. Stoney, as we fans call him, is well known on both sides of Chicago, as he has played for the White Sox (1973 and 1977-78) and the Cubs (1974-1976).

I don’t remember him that well as a player, but after his playing days were over (which included a Cy Young award with the Baltimore Orioles in 1980), he was in the broadcast booth with the late Harry Caray for 13 seasons on WGN. He has also worked on White Sox broadcasts with “Hawk” Harrelson in recent years. From this fan’s perspective, he knows the game as well as anyone else, and better than most. Thanks for all the memories over the years!

Tomorrow night will be another position player, and perhaps the most compelling personal story of all. I hope you’ll come back to read it. And the Stone card appears below:

Madlock took it away

1976 was the first full year that I considered myself a Cubs fan. Watching the games on WGN every afternoon was something of an elixir for the eight-year old that I was at the time. The games were always in the sunshine at Wrigley Field, and the away games must have happened, but they were never quite the same. Baseball looked better in the daytime, then and now.

The emergence of Bruce Sutter as a go-to reliever was the biggest surprise of the season. The pitch he threw, the split-fingered fastball, looked like a magic trick the way it dropped out of sight. Sutter learned to throw it after having surgery on his arm to revive a flagging minor league career, and I suppose you could say that it worked. 1977 was the best it ever got with him, as far as I was concerned, but the end of 1976 showed what was in store for the future.

The best storyline of the season, though, unfolded on the very last day. Some of this I remember, and some of this is computer-aided. The value of using the internet to assist with personal memories is discussed here. It was a Sunday at Wrigley Field, the Bears were playing the Redskins at Soldier Field, and fewer than 10,000 fans had come out to watch two baseball teams who were collectively 64 games under .500.

The reigning National League batting champion, Bill Madlock of the Cubs, trailed Cincinnati’s Ken Griffey (Sr.) in the league batting race. To make matters worse, Griffey planned to sit out his team’s last two games against the Braves. The Reds were defending world champions, and their playoff date with the Phillies was already set. If Madlock wanted another batting title, he was going to have to earn it.

On the mound for the Expos that day was the late Woodie Fryman. Madlock’s first at bat was a bunt to third base, which he beat out for a hit. Madlock came up again in the third, and beat out an infield hit to key a 5-run Cubs rally. Madlock wasn’t going down without a fight.

Madlock came up again in the fourth, and became one of the last batters to face Expos reliever Chip Lang, who at age 23 might have believed a long big-league career awaited him. Madlock singled in Tarzan Joe Wallis (I love that name) from third base, and things got even more interesting in the batting race. Madlock now stood at .3372, which was just an eyelash behind Griffey at.3375. I remember hearing Madlock’s average articulated out to four decimal places, and thought it was strange, but I understand it now. Madlock still needed another hit.

In the bottom of the sixth inning, Madlock came up against the Expos’ Dale Murray. He would pitch in other big-league games, if you’re wondering. Madlock lined a single to right on the first pitch he saw, lifting his average to .3385. Madlock had taken the lead in the batting race away from Griffey. The fans at the game that day will probably never forget what they saw.

But everything wasn’t over yet. Madlock’s turn in the order came up again in the bottom of the eighth. A hit would have raised his average even higher, but an out would have dropped him back behind Griffey. So Madlock “pulled a Griffey” when Rob Sperring, a utility player with one more big-league season ahead of him, took the at-bat instead. Madlock’s work was done for day.

When word of the events in Chicago spread to Cincinnati, Griffey interrupted his planned weekend off to try and counter Madlock. He pinch hit in the bottom of the seventh, and again in the eighth, but struck out both times, effectively handing the batting title to Madlock. It was the first time a Cubs’ player had repeated as the league’s hitting leader.

Madlock would try for a third hitting crown the next season, but in someone else’s uniform. Cubs ownership balked at paying a two-time batting champion what he was worth, and so they traded him to San Francisco for Bobby Murcer (more on him later). In the years since, Bill Buckner and Derrick Lee have won batting titles for the Cubs, but neither one in such dramatic fashion. And the young kid that I once was–who was watching the game on WGN–had another reason to follow his new favorite team.

Reconstructing an old memory

As a kid who wore glasses from an early age, I identified with ballplayers who wore them, too. One of the most prominently spectacled players was Jeff Burroughs, who had a long career in the majors, with most of it spent in the American League. For some reason, though, I have a partial memory of him from my childhood. The memory goes like this:

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and I’m in my parents living room watching a Cubs game on WGN. I’m dressed for church, because we would sometimes go to mass at 4 PM on Saturday to fulfill our weekly obligation. And that’s all it ever was in my family; we went to mass once a week for school, and once on the weekend. And we went on the holy days too. But it was never something we wanted to do, and I always saw it as a pointless exercise. That must explain why I haven’t been a Catholic for thirty years.

But all that is beside the point. I remembered having a Cubs game on, and the game ended in the bottom of the ninth when Jeff Burroughs let a routine ground ball go through his legs in left field. I remember thinking that I could have made that play, but somehow he missed it. I then turned off the TV, and we went to mass like we had done a hundred times before, and would continue to do until I went away to college and stopped going altogether.

With just that sketchy bit of information–Jeff Burroughs, left field, and a game at Wrigley that ended on an error, I wanted to see if I could reconstruct the game to find out exactly how old I was at the time. And as it turns out, it took less than 5 minutes to accomplish this.

I started off by using baseball-reference.com to determine which seasons Burroughs played in the National League, which turned out to be 1977 through 1980. The only National League team he played for was the Braves, so I was already able to establish the Cubs’ opponent on that day.

From there, I was able to eliminate 1977 as a possibility, since he played in right field only that year. In 1978, he was moved over to left field, where he played for the remainder of his time in Atlanta. The next step was to look for one run games in Chicago that ended in the Cubs’ favor, which eliminated all games from 1978. I was getting closer.

From there, I was able to identify the date of the game as Saturday, July 21, 1979. Jackpot. I was eleven years old at the time. From there, it was a simple matter of pulling up the retrosheet boxscore for the game, and filling in the early-40s me on what the eleven-year old me had witnessed and largely forgotten about.

The Cubs went into the ninth inning of that game behind 2-1. Mike Lum, who would one day come to the Cubs for the final season of his career in 1981, hit a pinch hit home run off of Mike Krukow to break a 1-1 tie and provide the  slimmest of all margins to Braves’ reliever Gene Garber. Garber had pitched the 8th inning already, and was in line for the win if he could get the final three outs.

In modern baseball, the ninth-inning closer would have been ready to go out and get the last three outs to save the win for Garber. But that practice didn’t begin until Tony LaRussa, Dennis Eckersley and the Oakland A’s of the late 1980s. Garber was already in the game, and it was his game to finish out.

The Cubs pushed the tying run across in the bottom of the ninth, when Dave Kingman came through with a pinch single to score Miguel Dilone. The words “Kingman” and “single” don’t always get used in the same sentence, but this was clearly an exceptional day at Wrigley Field. The Cubs’ next batter was Scot Thompson.

My neighbor across the street at that time was also named Scott, but his name had two t’s at the end, as did every other Scott I had ever met or heard about, with the exception of Scot Thompson of the Cubs. If you ever get stuck for a word in Scrabble, “scot” with one t means a form of taxation. It’s where the term “scot-free” comes from.  So don’t say you didn’t learn anything today.

Scot Thompson delivered a single into left field, the ball rolled through Burroughs’ legs, Kingman came around to score, and the game came to a happy end for the 28,000 in attendance that day. Every game the Cubs won was a “thriller” to Jack Brickhouse, but this one legitimately fit the bill. And I have to believe that the ending of the game made mass more tolerable that evening, too.

The internet helped me to fill in some of the blanks about that game, turning a vague memory into something a bit more clear. The time or effort that it would have taken me to research this game in the pre-internet age would have probably prevented me from taking any action about this. And the results, now that I know them, wouldn’t have justified the time expenditures, either. But the internet is a great thing, isn’t it?

My second favorite place on earth

I grew up watching Cubs games on WGN in Chicago. It was a central part of my youth, just like the school I went to and the things I did to keep myself amused and out of trouble when I couldn’t watch or play baseball. I watched other shows on WGN too, like Bozo’s Circus and the Ray Rayner show. On some level, I considered myself an honorary Chicagoan, even though I had never set foot in the city and had only a vague idea where it was.

When the time came to go away to college, I always thought I would be going to Champaign to attend the University of Illinois. It was a good school, and a state school that was not exorbitantly expensive. Good enough for me, or at least it seemed that way. But something was missing. When I went to visit the campus, there were cornfields everywhere. I had seen enough of cornfields by that time in my life, and didn’t want to go spend even more time surrounded by them.

But going to visit my other option, Northwestern University in Evanston, was remarkably different. I loved the traffic on the expressways. I loved the setting of the campus, even though it was cold and gray and the Lake was obscured, though it was right there on the campus. But most of all, I loved the complete and utter lack of cornfields. It wasn’t Chicago–not by a longshot–but it beat Champaign in every way I could think of.

The financial aid office worked its magic, and I somehow had enough loans and grants and scholarships to make a ridiculously high-priced education possible. And, although it didn’t overtly factor into the decision, I would also be able to finally see the Cubs play in Wrigley Field. With these issues involved, it was really not much of a decision at all.  Champaign was going to have to get along without me.

My first game at Wrigley was the second home game of the 1987 season, the year that Andre Dawson came to Chicago. I sat in the bleachers, of course, and seeing the green grass on the field for the first time was an unforgettable experience. Like the Eiffel Tower, or Mount Rushmore, or the Grand Canyon, you can look at pictures all you want to, but seeing it with your own two eyes is something else altogether. And so it was for me on that day. At 18, I had done what the seven year-old me, and the ten year-old me, and the 15 year-old me, had always dreamed of doing.

I’ve lost track of how many games I’ve gone to at Wrigley since that day. It’s upwards of 100, at least. When I was in school, I would deliberately schedule classes so that my afternoons were open during Spring Quarter. After I graduated and moved into the city, I usually lived within a few blocks of Wrigley, so that even if I wasn’t at a game, I could still go by the field and take comfort in its presence. And today, I’m still in the city and only a short drive or a longish el ride away.

Wrigley Field is not my home, and for that reason it can never be my favorite place on earth. But, at the same time, I can’t imagine that the physical or emotional distance between my home and Wrigley Field will ever be too great. No other place I’ve ever seen or been to can have that sort of an anchoring effect on me, and for that reason Wrigley is, and probably always will be, my second favorite place on earth.

Finding Joe Strain

I love the name Joe Strain, and I love the story about him told by Josh Wilker on his website CardboardGods.net  It made me wonder if I could play any part in proving that Joe Strain really did exist and, sure enough, I was able to find a crucial piece of the puzzle in the form of a baseball card. I don’t write a baseball card blog, but I have got more than a few of them in my possession, and they do inspire me on some level, so here we go:

First of all, we need to address the optics. The Joe Strain pictured above is just scary. The only other word for it is possessed-by-some-dark-force-that-I-don’t-want-to-know-about. Clearly, the Joe Strain above could freeze you in your tracks with his demonic gaze. That must explain how he was drafted and worked his way up to the major league level. His managers and coaches were probably afraid to put him on the bench or cut him, for fear that the locker room would mysteriously ignite.

But the actual Joe Strain–which I dug out of my collection of Cubs baseball cards– looked like this:

Talk about a contrast. The back of the card lists this guy as being 28 years old, but he doesn’t look a day over 15 here. He looks like the kid who wants to mow your lawn, or who wheels his aged grandmother down the sidewalk so she can get some fresh air. And the freckles that show up so well on this card only reinforce that image. Unlike the 1979 Joe Strain, there’s nothing the least bit scary or threatening about the 1982 Joe Strain. What a relief.

Joe Strain was indeed a prospect in the Giants organization, as indicated by the stats on the back of his card. Here they are, in case anyone is truly interested:

The card reveals that Strain was signed by the Giants in 1976 as a free agent. He would have been 22 at the time, so I’m guessing he played college ball somewhere. He then spent one season in Great Falls, another in Fresno, and still another in Phoenix. That might explain the P on his cap in the Prospects card above, if it is really him. But that seems doubtful, in light of the color image of him from three years later.

In 1979, the year of the Giants Prospects card, he played another 75 games for Phoenix and then got “the call” that all minor leaguers are playing for. So he came up for the rest of the ’79 season, hit a respectable .241, and slugged his only home run in the majors. But that’s one more than I’ll ever hit, so I can’t make light of it.

By 1980, at the age of 26, Joe Strain was in the majors for good. No return trips to Phoenix for him, at least as far as his baseball card is concerned. The trouble was that he played in only 77 games that year, and hit a surprisingly strong .286. The Giants’ everyday second baseman that year was Rennie Stennett, who has shown up in a previous post on this blog.

Of the 54 hits that Strain had in 1980, only 6 went for extra bases. Second basemen in those days, except for Joe Morgan, weren’t expected to put up power numbers, though. In fact, Strain had a higher batting average and on base percentage than Stennett did, but for some reason Giants’ manager Dave Bristol gave Stennett more playing time than Strain. While lots of bad plays on words come to my mind at this point, I’ll hold off on using any of them.

If you can’t get extra base hits, perhaps you can steal lots of bases to help your team that way. Not so for Joe Strain. Only one base was stolen by him in 1980 which, again, is one more stolen base than I’ll ever have. But I’m not seeing the kind of an impact player that the Giants might have wanted to have on their roster. So, on December 12, 1980–less than one week after John Lennon was killed–the Chicago Cubs decided to give Strain a chance. But just barely.

During the 1981 season, Strain appeared in 25 games for the Cubs and hit .189. I probably watched some of those 25 games on WGN, even. But I have no recollection of a guy named Strain. My guess is that he was sent down to Iowa after that, since he appeared in 11 games for them as well.

Clearly, by the end of 1981, his major league career was on life support. In fact, it was already over, since he walked and scored a run in his final big league game on June 2, 1981. This would appear to make the existence of a 1982 card for him somewhat inexplicable. But nevertheless, his career stat line of 169 games, 520 at bats, 60 runs, 130 hits, and so on are ones that almost any grown man–myself included–wishes that he had. It was probably the best three years of his life, playing in the big leagues.

I don’t know what happened to Joe Strain after 1982, but I hope that he’s  sitting at a bar somewhere, possibly in Colorado, telling his buddies about the time he stood in against Nolan Ryan. I’d buy him a drink just to hear him tell it, too. But for now I’ve proved that there really was a Joe Strain, and he really was a Giants prospect, and he really did set foot on major league turf three decades ago. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

#Cubs now 36 losses away from the historic #DoubleTriple

The Cubs lost again tonight, but Albert Pujols got his 2,000th hit. I hope he picks up another 1,500 or so in a Cubs uniform in the years ahead. I can dream, can’t I?

1975 Detroit Tigers

Expansion team: No

Overall record: 57-102

# of win streaks of 3 games or more: Three

Manager(s): Ralph Houk

Hall of Famers on roster: None

100 loss seasons since: 1989; 1996; 2002; 2003

Pennant wins since: 1984 (World Series winner); 2006

1975 was the year I will always point to as the year I became a baseball fan. I bought my first baseball cards that year, and the 1975 Topps design is still my personal favorite, with the two toned color scheme, and the team name in another color on the top. Classic. I had the Hank Aaron card pictured above, but I wouldn’t learn about what made Aaron so important until several years later. I love the abbreviation inside of the baseball, too. The idea of a DH is too ingrained to make that necessary anymore.

1975 was also the year of my first baseball game. My dad took me to a Cardinals-Mets doubleheader in St. Louis, where I saw Tom Seaver pitch, and Lou Brock steal a base. The fans all started yelling “Lou!” but they sounded like boos to my seven year-old ears. There was some sort of a fashion show between games, where this retractable runway popped up from the playing surface. It seemed a little weird, but whatever. I loved it just the same.

One afternoon in late September, I was changing the channels after school (which was done manually in those days) and I saw a baseball player pulling into third base after hitting a triple. I remember the announcer saying that it was the first time in history that someone had gone 7-for-7 in a nine-inning game. The player was Rennie Stennett of the Pittsburgh Pirates. The final score of the game was 22-0. And the venue was Wrigley Field in Chicago. Life was never again the same for me after that. Jack Brickhouse, and afternoon games at Wrigley Field, and WGN broadcasts all began to cast their spell on me, and all these years later, here I am. Emotionally scarred, yes, but just as dogged as ever in my loyalty to my team, to the game, and to the city I now call my home.

The 1975 World Series was about as good as it gets. But this blog is about losing, and there was one team in 1975 that hit this magic number. But, a mere nine years later, the Tigers were as dominating a team as I’ve ever seen. So turnarounds do happen.

The Tigers ended the first month of the 1975 season in first place. But they took a 17-3 pounding on May 1, and that began a painful five month stretch to end the season. They won nine games in a row at some point, but they also lost 19 in a row. Even this year’s Mariners team can’t relate to that. The Mariners themselves were still a few years away, but another round of expansion was already being discussed.

This trip through the 70s will undoubtedly continue as the weekend in St. Louis drags on.