St. Louis residents have an unhealthy obsession with Cardinal baseball. They have cardinal tattoos, cardinal vanity plates, cardinal shirts and birthday parties and special days at work devoted to wearing red.   When you listen to the radio in the morning, the broadcasters give the weather, the smog report . . . and how Albert Pujols’ wrist is feeling that particular morning.

And what he ate for dinner.

And his blood type.

And his grandmother’s maiden name.I’m not saying these Cardinal fans are cultish (I am. I absolutely am.), but I’m pretty sure that if Fredbird jumped off a bridge, the entire city would too, one red jersey right after the other, Anheuser Busch mugs in hand.

It would be, to quote St. Louisians, “a beer-acle!”

Don’t forget, friends. We may be in a large city, but we are still in Missouri.  That said, if you’re ever in St. Louis on a balmy (read: 101 degree) evening, have free tickets from CPH to a game, and have a good friend who also doesn’t understand baseball so that you can spend a few hours eating ice cream, talking about boys, and generally doing anything other than watching the game, you should probably go once.

As in just once . . . which will probably be enough for a while.  And by “a while” I mean “probably your whole life.”

Because let’s get real: the only team worth watching is the Minnesota Twins, and they stopped being cool the day Kirby Puckett stopped being able to see.

Also, if you never hear from me again, blame it on the guy in the red jersey. All eleventy-two million of them.