The Angels were in the outfield, as well as the infield. (That’s how baseball works.) In the visitors dugout: the St. Louis Cardinals.
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Unusually, the Cardinals were in Anaheim for an interleague matchup: a National League team, the one I root for, against an American League team. In an earlier era of baseball, this intermixing would have been considered against the natural order of things. Now it’s an occasional feature to keep things lively.
I thought I should see a game. Here was a chance to see the Cardinals in Southern California, and outside the confines of Dodger Stadium, where they’ll play at the start of September.
I had three options: Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. The choice was made for me when reader Eric Haynes of Upland, an Angels season ticketholder, emailed to say he would be unable to go to Tuesday’s game and to ask if I’d like tickets plus preferred parking.
As a matter of fact, I would.
And so Tuesday found me riding with my friends Madison and Wesley from Riverside to Anaheim. It was time for some Cardinals baseball.
Or for some Angels baseball, for Wesley, a fan of the team. Or simply for some baseball, for Madison, a Dodgers fan who wore a Red Sox cap.
This is a whimsical side interest Madison has cultivated in part because the Red Sox are on a winning streak, and in part to prank her father. According to sources embedded within her family, this joke has been a great success.
My one and only previous Angels game was in, I believe, 2002. This was prior to the advent of Arte Moreno, the team’s beloved owner. Just kidding, everybody hates him.
Trivia note: The Angels’ interim general manager, John Mozeliak, is the retired general manager of the Cardinals. Everything is connected.
I came dressed for success in a Cardinals cap, a Cardinals jersey and a T-shirt from Imo’s Pizza, the St. Louis-centered pizza chain. This signifies my allegiance in a subtle way.
I was barely inside the stadium when a Cards fan saw me and exclaimed, “Imo’s!” See, it works.
I also came in thinking my visiting team had a high probability of beating the home team. The Cardinals, who had been expected to tank this season, instead have been one of baseball’s biggest surprises. The Angels, meanwhile, are dependably one of the worst teams in baseball.
In the first inning, however, the Cardinals didn’t get on base and the Angels quickly racked up a 3-0 lead, with only one out. Players and manager headed to the mound to give Cardinals starter Matthew Liberatore a pep talk.
A couple of pitches later, he gave up a two-run homer. So much for the pep talk. It was now 5-0 Angels. I turned to Madison and Wesley and said, “We can go now if you like.”
In the fifth, the Cards finally scored a run, making it 5-1. “If they can just score one run per inning,” I said to Madison feverishly, “in the ninth they’ll tie it.”
Did you know the Angels have a player named Jose Siri? His teammates must constantly ask him random questions just to get his goat.
“Hey Siri, what’s the name of this song? Hey Siri, what is the 27th Amendment? Siri, tell me all the state capitals, arranged by the length of their names, but in reverse alphabetical order.”
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Our seats were along the third-base line, at club level. I left to head up to the deck to look for St. Louis fans. I didn’t find any. They were probably hiding somewhere and drinking Budweiser. But on my way back to my seat, a man walking past said to me quietly, “Go, Cardinals.”
St. Louis Cardinals first baseman Alec Burleson is seen here in the first inning Tuesday with the Los Angeles Angels’ Jo Adell, who had just hit a two-run homer. Burleson later hit a foul ball into our columnist’s row. (AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill)
St. Louis Cardinals starting pitcher Matthew Liberatore gave up five runs in the first inning Tuesday in Anaheim against the Los Angeles Angels. The Cardinals lost 5-1. (AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill)
In my section, I chatted with two fans in Cardinals gear, here on vacation from St. Louis. “You know Imo’s!” the wife exclaimed, impressed. They’d arrived the night before and saw glimpses of Monday’s game on the TV at the hotel.
St. Louis had led until the ninth inning, when the Angels tied, then loaded the bases, then scored when the batter was — d’oh! — hit by a pitch. Yes, a hit-by-pitch walk-off victory.
“That was embarrassing,” the husband said disconsolately.
In the bottom of the sixth inning, Angels fans began migrating toward the near-empty last section of the right-field upper deck. From where we sat, they looked like ants making an orderly progression toward a blot of syrup. The section was soon full.
“Sell the team! Sell the team!” they chanted, waving their shirts overhead. This has been a regular feature of Angels games this season.
The stadium looked about two-thirds empty, a sign of a dispirited fan base. Nevertheless, this team was beating my team.
In the eighth inning, Alec Burleson, the Cardinals’ heavy-hitting first baseman, was at the plate. He hit a towering foul ball in our general direction.
The ball caromed off the overhang above us, then ricocheted into our row to bounce around. Wesley says he touched it. The big guy to my left began to make a move across me toward it.
Madison ended up with the ball, to her elation. With a happy sigh, holding her foul ball, she said of Angel Stadium: “I don’t ever have to come back. I’m done.”
Although Madison was at an Angels game wearing a Red Sox cap, I suggested that Alec Burleson could be her new favorite ballplayer. She agreed to consider it. Obviously she’s open-minded.
Wesley, meanwhile, was eyeing a plastic Angels helmet full of untouched nachos at the feet of fans across the aisle, wondering if it might be left behind. He didn’t want the nachos. He wanted the helmet.
The game ended as a 5-1 loss. I felt bad for the St. Louis couple in the section. I’d only traveled to the game from Riverside.
“Sorry, David,” Wesley said apologetically. “That was a good game. Angels fans don’t see those very often.”
I tried to see the bigger picture, but probably failed.
(The next day, the Cardinals won 1-0, avoiding a sweep.)
When our section sufficiently cleared out, we got to our feet. The plastic helmet of nachos was gone. But Wesley found, unbelievably, a second abandoned Angels helmet of nachos. He scooped it up, got napkins from an usher and wiped it clean.
“I got a helmet, an Angels helmet,” he enthused.
As we walked to the parking lot, I sized up the situation. Wesley was going home with a souvenir Angels helmet. Madison was going home with a souvenir Angels-branded baseball hit by a St. Louis star.
Quoting a certain animated holiday special, I remarked: “All I got was a rock.”
David Allen writes Friday, Sunday and Wednesday, three bunt singles. Email [email protected], phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky.
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