Collegiate Times

St. Louis, Game 4, Section 435, Row 6, Seat 16, Virginia Tech Hokie.

For most, this would be unheard of, bordering on blasphemous. That on a nationally televised Thursday night game, against the number 10 team in the country a student at Virginia Tech would not be in Lane Stadium or even watching the same sport. For this gobbler, however, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity too good to pass up, and well worth the $150 price tag. This was the Major League Baseball World Series.

Albert Pujols, Scott Rolen, Ivan Rodriguez, Justin Verlander, these are household names for most baseball fans; especially for one that goes to over 20 games a summer. The chance to see them all on the field, live, at the most exciting time of the season has had me salivating since early October. When it was confirmed that our paths would become intertwined, it was, most certainly, the mark of sweet justice and clear-cut destiny.

My World Series experience started hours before game time. With a renewed sense of hope, but also urgency after a Wednesday night rainout, fellow managing editor David Grant and I set out around 5 p.m. on our quest for tickets. Tickets were selling between $600 and $1,000 a seat on eBay, and rumored on the street for just as much. Wednesday?s rain was MIA, so we set off across the wet pavement in search of the perfect seedy character who would sell us the tixs, but not rip us off.

With two fingers in the air, a sure sign that we were buying, we were stopped at first by a Cardinals fan looking for $300 or $400, depending on the seat. It was still early and as poor college students, our goal was a maximum of $250. Four steps ? and I do not exaggerate ? we ran into our savior. A beam of light broke through the clouds illuminating his amazing mullet and $150 offer. Like any shady deal, we had to complete our transaction off the street and we followed our aspiring entrepreneur into his office.

Down the street, we entered the bathroom of Caleco?s bar expecting to get jumped just as much as getting WS tickets. Our fears of being introduced to a pair of brass knuckles were soon assuaged when a little old man walked in behind us, allowing us to complete our deal in semi-private, straight cash. We were officially ridin? dirty. Still almost two hours before game time, our excitement and nervousness had to stomach a cheap meal while we waited for the gates to open.

Still dumbfounded by our extraordinary good luck, we walked three blocks from our hotel to the stadium, overwhelmed by an ocean of Cardinal red. Walking alongside jerseys that ranged from Pujols to Taguchi, our personal excitement was still mixed with apprehension; fake tickets would turn our elation 180 degrees and rain DC justice down on the clown that sold them to us.

Walking through those left-centerfield gates of Busch Stadium unleashed the wave of ultimate realization. With our World Series presence confirmed, it was only natural to dial everyone in our phones: relatives, roommates, friends, ex-girlfriends, everyone was fair game to hear about our good fortune as we basked in the 49 degree heat of St. Louis glory. The game hadn?t started yet so after watching a bit of the Detroit Tiger?s batting practice, we set off to find our thrones of glory on high.

Climbing the Everest of stairs we finally settled where even the beer vendors seldom frequent. However, on such a cold, night we did see our fair share of souvenir hot chocolate vendors. After reading through the World Series edition program and watching the variety of pre-game preparations, it was finally time for Game 4 to begin. On our feet, we joined Busch stadium in an Olympic roar, waving our rally towels as the boys in red sprinted onto the field.

Baseball I believe is a game of match-ups, individual battles under the lights of the grand arena. Each pitch, each play, is a moment frozen in time. The roar of the crowd is momentarily silent for that split second as tension fills the stadium and a quiet intensity electrifies the air. Game 4 was not without its moments of triumph and heartbreak. For the St. Louis Cardinals, it obviously had more triumphs, but the do or die play that defined the game and the entire series was what would turn out to be the game winning hit of Game 4.

In the bottom of the 8th, with the game tied 4-4 and a passed ball putting a runner on second base, David Eckstein hit a line-drive towards Craig Monroe in left-centerfield. All eyes were on the sprinting outfielder and the entire stadium waited with baited breath, hushed, as the play that would determine the outcome of the game unfolded in front of them.

As Monroe converged on the ball?s path, he hurled himself parallel to the ground; however, his full-out dive would be for not. As the batted ball tipped off the very end of Monroe?s outstretched glove the 50,000-plus person crowd ? which had been anxiously stifled by the play?s uncertainty ? exploded with a force that would equal even Lane Stadium on its best of nights. Eckstein would end up standing on second base, adding to his 4/5 2RBI night, and propelling him towards the World Series MVP that he would eventually win.

I will always remember my St. Louis World Series. Simply being in the city, surrounded by that atmosphere would have been enough, but to actually see the game in person was a dream come true. From the moment I arrived in St. Louis, it was a match made in heaven, a baseball guy, in a baseball city, on the verge of the World Series. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it what you will, but the best thing that I can take away from the whole experience is Carpe Diem.

When opportunity knocks, answer the door and pay the scalper his money because the World Series awaits.