A World Series recalled

The 2015 World Series playoffs are underway. Let’s see how it was going 30 years ago:

I’m writing this Tuesday evening, Oct. 22, 1985, right after the third game between Kansas City and St. Louis. The baseball gods and my family both know that I am a World Series nut. I dwell vicariously among the immortals of the diamond, seeking the company of those who can swing the bat and “take the horse hide downtown.”

Weeks in advance I begin preparations that put the pine squirrels to shame. I prepared a stock pile of health foods, such as corn chips, smoked salmon, pretzels and avocado dip. There is a cooler on the right side of my TV chair so i don’t have to miss anything when the need arises to stave off dehydration.

In order to prevent muscle atrophe during those long hours of study and concentration, we bring up my rowing machine from the basement. It is placed to the left of my chair ... right next to the Porta Potty. A guy is either organized, or he isn’t.

This year the first two games were won at Kansas City by the St. Louis Cardinals. I did not miss one move, not a single spit of tobacco juice, double play, bad call, or crotch scratch: but always I was waiting for that Kansas City home run to break things open. The “long ball” is what baseball nuts live for. It is the instantaneous climax to hours and even days of intense anticipation and hope. It is the magnificent fulfillment of the supreme moment of everything that is AMERICAN.

There were no home runs in the first two games of this year’s playoffs, but I am a patient man. Tonight I was again waiting in great anticipation ... alone. For reasons I can only guess, Iris always disappears when the games start.

In the third inning, the Royals got a couple of runs to go ahead, two to nothing, but I couldn’t really relax until we got some padding. In the top of the fourth Kansas City got a base runner and a conference was called to talk to the Card’s pitcher, Joaquin Andújar. At that moment I heard wild noises in our bedroom and without thinking, dashed to see what it was. Baseball is a game of intense concentration but even the best of us have a momentary mental lapse, even when everything is on the line. That was mine. While straightening out a fight between our cocker spaniel and calico cat, the mound conference ended and Andújar put a fastball up over the plate.

Somebody parked that baby in the upper deck in left field to give the Royals a four nothing lead. It broke the Cards’ back and sent Andújar to the showers. I got to see a little bit on the replay.

When Iris gets home from the movies, we’re going to have a serious talk. It’s going to be a difficult time, but I’ll bite the bullet and spell it out for her. Either she’s going to have to (a) stay home and take care of the pets, (b) the pets have to go, or (c) I’ll have to give up my big league career.

The way I’ve got it figured, she might chose option (a), providing I give up the rowing machine and the Porta Potty.

G. George Ostrom is a national award-winning columnist. He lives in Kalispell.