Foul Ball

As Busch Stadium again begins to bustle, a long-standing mystery once more demands reflection: Why does Joe Sixpack still care? During the past two to three decades, Major League Baseball has increasingly shunned “the common man,” and nowadays, the stink of betrayal taints the fragrance of ballpark franks. Year upon year, fewer and fewer games air free on TV, and a nosebleed seat at Busch today costs more than twice the minimum wage. In all likelihood, dinner for two at Tony’s would run less than a visit to the stadium. A family of five, moreover, would almost have to swing a second mortgage to finance seeing bats swing from behind home plate. Concessionaires, meanwhile, have all but traded peanuts, popcorn and Cracker Jacks for croquettes, foie gras and vol-au-vents. The RBI’s been sent to the minors by ROI; the national pastime has become a rich man’s game. All of baseball, in short, has been Steinbrennered. It seems tragically apt that next year marks the 20th anniversary of the death of the Cardinals’ beloved Gussie Busch, who always maintained a common touch despite his wealth. For some former fans, socioeconomically, the boys of summer long ago Caseyed at the bat.