FOR THE LOVE OF THE GAME; SOUVENIR, IDEA PART OF GREAT DAY AT BUSCH

Of all of the Cardinals games I had previously attended in person, none compared to my visit to Busch Stadium on Monday night.

Dressed in my oversized, red Mark McGwire jersey, I had just completed the day's last session at the Mid-America Press Institute "Building a Better Sports Section" seminar.

With my free ticket in hand, I made my way to the ballpark at about 5:30 p.m. (game time was 7:10) because I had nothing better to do and because I had never witnessed the phenomenon otherwise known as McGwire batting practice.

By the time I reached my seat in Row 10 of Section 280 (just beneath Big Mac Land and a few feet in foul territory), the Cards had just started B.P.

There were several youngsters crowded down by the railing, thinking they might have a better chance to catch a ball if they could hang over the metal rails and snag one before it dropped into the section below. And they were right. It seemed like five balls found their way to that one section, just 15 rows or so in front of me.

So I was tempted to move forward. After all, I had never even come close as a kid to taking home a major league baseball.

But I figured I'd just stay put. I thought if I moved up, a ball would land in the seat that I had just vacated and wind up going home with some guy named Pierre whose favorite sport is ice skating.

Plus, I reasoned, if I actually grabbed a batting practice ball up there, I'd end up the butt of some lame catch phrase on SportsCenter.

"Oh yeah, isn't he just as cool as the other side of the pillow," Stuart Scott might mock. Or "They're so cute at that age," Kenny Mayne would say as they show me again in slow motion as I -- the one adult among 20 or so kids -- wrestle the ball away from an 8-year-old who had his right arm in a sling.

I didn't want any of that. So I just sat. And watched.

Then it happened -- the moment that I had dreamed of since I started visiting Busch Stadium as a kid.

Off the bat of Eric Davis, zeroed a line drive in my direction. It was zipping my way and I had a radius of probably 20 feet to myself.

As it screamed closer and closer, my heart pounded faster and faster. There was no way I was going to catch the thing on the fly as it was about six or seven seats to my right. But I knew I could get it because there was nobody else around in that direction.

The ball hit a seat, and, as if it was a Patriot missile locked in on a SCUD, the official ball of the National League was on a direct collision course for my nose.

But, thankfully -- as my life flashed before my face -- my catlike, sports-writer reflexes surfaced and I deflected the ball and then quickly picked it up.

"Ooooooooooooh," bellowed the fans who saw it and for one moment I was the center of attention at Busch.

The reaction was one like: "Boy, that sure would've hurt." But I'd like to think the crowd was thinking: "Gee, did you see the amazing speed in which that brave young man diverted that screaming line drive."

Hey, I can dream can't I?

A short time later -- after I consumed a $4 jumbo hotdog and a $3 soda -- some lady dropped her beer on the steps behind me and some of it splattered on me. But that was the one and only bad experience of the evening.

In the third inning, Mark McGwire hit a monumental 473-foot bomb that left a parabolic trail comparable to only that of the Gateway Arch.

And the highlights would continue.

Throughout the game, the usual vending personnel made their way around the ballpark. One of the workers was selling cotton candy and, after just an inning or so, her eyes were already about to pop out after hoisting the whole stash above her head and hiking up and down the stadium steps.

Granted, cotton candy isn't heavy, but have you ever tried holding your arms up for a long period of time?

Then an idea struck me like Eric Davis' foul ball almost did.

I believe I have come up with a solution that would fix the Cardinals' pitching woes this season.

Why not make the Cardinal pitchers sell cotton candy on their off nights?

They could build up their arm strength and stamina and might actually earn some of their keep that way. Hey, the Cardinals organization is paying these guys millions of dollars to blow baseball games. I think it would be much more logical to have multimillionaire cotton-candy solicitors.

If opposing batters are licking their chops when they come to St. Louis, why shouldn't these pitchers provide the same service for their fans?

The couple sitting next to me thought it was a great idea.

But after pondering the idea, I don't think that it would be fair to all the people behind the scenes who are producing cotton candy as a source of income. Knowing the Cardinals' pitching staff, sales would bottom out after the fifth inning.

Bob Miller is a sports writer for the Southeast Missourian.