My Baseball Summer in Saint Louis.

Story and Photos by Nic Romano

Some of life's greatest adventures begin in the most unexpected ways.
For me, one of those adventures began during the summer of 1973.

At the time, I was a journalism student at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville and served as Sports Editor of our student newspaper, The Alestle. That title came with a remarkable privilege: a St. Louis Cardinals press pass.

To a college kid living on a tight budget, it felt like I had won the lottery.

For the cost of a tank of gas and a small parking fee, I had full access to Cardinals baseball. I could walk onto the field before games, visit the clubhouse, interview players, attend post-game media sessions, and sit in a press box in the next booth from legendary broadcasters Jack Buck and Mike Shannon.

There were even complimentary roast beef sandwiches, hot dogs piled high with mustard, and cold beer waiting in the press area.

Needless to say, I attended as many home games as possible.

That summer, I brought friends, roommates, family members, and anyone else willing to make the trip to downtown St. Louis. Looking back, those countless drives helped cement my love of baseball and my lifelong devotion to the Cardinals.

One memory stands above the rest.

Before one game, I brought my father and uncle onto the field. While we were walking around, my father spotted Cardinals legend Red Schoendienst. Years earlier, Red had occasionally stopped at my father's tavern, the Starlight Inn in Decatur, Illinois, during the Cardinals' annual winter caravan tours in the late 40's.

To his surprise, Red remembered him.

Watching those two men reconnect and reminisce about old times remains one of my favorite baseball memories. It was a reminder that baseball has always been about more than scores and statistics. It's about relationships, shared experiences, and stories passed from one generation to the next.

Then came the opportunity of a lifetime.

On July 24, 1973, I traveled to Kansas City to cover Major League Baseball's All-Star Game at Royals Stadium.

My father paid my airfare and hotel. I packed my camera bag with rolls of Kodak Tri-X black-and-white film, which I was using in a summer journalism photography course, and headed off to what would become one of the most unforgettable days of my life.

The adventure began before I even reached the stadium.

At the Kansas City airport, I recognized several All-Stars arriving for the game. Everywhere I looked were players I had admired from afar and now found myself standing beside.

That year's All-Star Game featured an astonishing collection of baseball greatness. Future Hall of Famers filled both rosters, including Hank Aaron, Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, Joe Torre, Tom Seaver, Willie Stargell, Pete Rose, Willie Mays, Reggie Jackson, Rod Carew, Brooks Robinson, Nolan Ryan, Carlton Fisk, Rollie Fingers, Catfish Hunter, and many more. In total, nearly twenty future Hall of Famers were involved in the game.

Before first pitch, approximately 150 journalists were allowed onto the field for interviews and photographs. As game time approached, the media was instructed to leave the field and head to designated seating areas.

On my way out, I noticed Detroit Tigers star Willie Horton standing near the American League dugout. I introduced myself and began asking questions.

To his credit, Willie patiently answered every one of them, probably realizing that my stories were destined for a college newspaper rather than the front page of a major publication.

Then something unexpected happened.

The game started.

And nobody told me to leave.

Players, coaches, photographers, and league personnel were moving in every direction. Somehow, I simply blended into the background. I assume everyone thought I belonged to someone else.

So I stayed.

For the entire game.

Inside the American League dugout.

Even today, it feels unbelievable to write those words.

From that vantage point, I photographed eight rolls of black-and-white film while trying to absorb every second of the experience. Every so often I would stop, look around, and remind myself that this was actually happening.

I watched Hall of Famers joke with one another between innings. I saw players disappear down the tunnel for a quick cigarette before returning to the dugout. I listened to conversations that never made it into newspaper stories.

One of my favorite photographs captured Pete Rose sprinting toward first base while the American League turned a double play. Even in an exhibition game, "Charlie Hustle" never stopped running.

The National League would go on to win the game 7-1, and it would become the final All-Star appearance of the legendary Willie Mays. More than fifty years later, I still remember that day in remarkable detail.

The official press pass is probably buried somewhere in my garage. The photographs are tucked safely away in boxes. But the memories remain as vivid as ever.

Those experiences taught me something important.

Baseball isn't simply a sport. It's a collection of moments. A father reconnecting with an old friend (Schoendienst), now a baseball legend. A young reporter standing in awe of his heroes. A hot dog covered with mustard on a summer evening in my own press box. A game shared with family and friends.

A story worth telling decades later.

Because sometimes the best stories begin with a baseball game, a little mustard, and a summer I'll never forget.

And staying a Cardinal fan for over fifty years and counting!