Mitch
Crawled Through 5 FB Fields
What a great word "smitten" is. Do you know how the word was derived?
To smite is to strike---
The name Smith is a derivation---because, for example, a blacksmith is one who strikes or pounds metal into shapes like---arrows!
Thus---to be smitten is to be struck in the heart by Cupid's arrow.
Such was the case for me when I was 8 years old---it was November 24, 1963---the day my uncle took me to my first pro football game at Yankee Stadium. The New York Giants versus the St. Louis Cardinals.
As fate would have it---when my uncle and I emerged from the tunnel---and I saw the field for the first time (which is love at first sight for many kids), the Cardinals, clad in white and red jerseys and milk white helmets and blood red cardinals on the sides, were warming up in the hazy New York sun.
Cupid---at that instant---fired an arrow deep into my heart and I was totally and helplessly in love.
My uncle, a life-long Giants fan and season ticket holder, was so gracious about it and even bought me a Cardinals pennant after the game, which was especially kind of him seeing as the Cardinals eked out a nice win that day.
In fact, my uncle then made it a yearly tradition to invite me to the Cardinal game.
For years and years, it became my annual thrill and humiliation---for beating the Giants in New York at times seemed impossible.
It got so bad that one year while waiting in line to buy half-time beers and hot dogs, a drunken Giants fan waiting beside me in the line screamed over to a friend, "Gotta LOVE the Cardinal game! They suck so BAD! Every year the game is OVER by half-time! YEAH!"
Yup. The truth.
I remember before the days of NFL Sunday Ticket, having to drive 40 minutes to the only bar around that showed out of town games just to sit amongst screaming Giants' fans while watching the Cardinals get beat by the Redskins on the smallest TV in the place---without being able to hear the audio because, thanks to the Giants' game audio being blasted on high, audio of other games were on mute.
I remember when I was first a Cardinals' fan---how I was on pins and needles all day on Halloween, not for trick or treating, but for the fact that Cardinals were playing the Bears on Monday Night Football beneath a full October moon. I remember begging my parents to let me stay up for the game, even though it was a school night---and crying when they at first said no. Fortunately, the Cardinals were playing so well that night my dad got into it and let me watch until midnight, when he scurried me off to bed right after Roger Wehrli made the game saving interception!
Yet, I remember so vividly years later how bad things got for the Cardinals---especially on Monday nights---that I once found myself in my car in the parking lot of a bar bawling my eyes out because Neil O'Donohue missed a chip shot field goal that would have won the Cardinals the game after a great comeback.
I remember thinking that the Cardinals were the epitome of Murphy's Law---whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.
Loving the Cardinals was like getting dumped over and over again. It actually became abusive.
The move to Arizona was extremely agonizing. I loved the arches of Bush Stadium and all the lore of the St. Louis baseball and football Cardinals. Nothing about the move seemed right.
Then to see the players and the 18,000 fans having to endure the sweltering and oppressive heat in Sun Devil Stadium amongst more fans from the visiting teams was beyond abusive---it seemed throughly inhumane.
But then came the efforts of Michael Bidwill, who helped spearhead the push for the new stadium---and when a long-time dream became reality, I felt smitten all over again.
Then came the Kurt Warner magic---and the unthinkable: the Cardinals winning the NFC Championship!---at HOME in the new stadium---and then Larry Fitzgerald's mad dash in the Super Bowl and being ever so close---
Then the heartache of losing Warner and reverting back to horrendous quarterback play and porous defense---
But then---Mr. Michael Bidwill put his foot down and said enough---he did what so many of us fans had been begging for all these years---he put the football decisions in the most capable hands he could find in Steve Keim and Bruce Arians.
Just listening to their press conferences when Keim and Arians were hired gave me goosebumps. I thought it was OK to love again because the words and the music seemed to finally match. It just felt right.
Then to realize that the Cardinals under Bidwill, Keim and Arians are a first-class organization that is focused on one main goal---the very goal that has never seemed possible---to see the players so committed to the culture and the goal---to see free agents want to be Cardinals and pick the Cardinals over teams like the Packers, Saints and Cowboys---I mean I still have to pinch myself---I mean this is real, people!
And yesterday I felt the arrow in my heart plunge all the way through when Bruce Arians introduced Jen Welter as an interim coach. In a way it feels like I am watching the beautiful Cardinal I fell in love with so long ago blossom before my eyes. She's adorable---she's passionate---she's wickid smaht (Boston term!)---she's wonderfully articulate---she's a pioneer---she's a trailblazer---she's the ultimate underdog, yet the ultimate scrapper, fighter and warrior.
The image of Jen Welter hoisting the Cardinals' helmet over her head---after hearing all the incredibly passionate and heartfelt things she said about the Cardinals---was as if this adorable Cardinal I have been in love with all these years, through thick and thin, has finally smiled at me said, "I love you---just as much as you love me. We are going to make this work---after all."
To smite is to strike---
The name Smith is a derivation---because, for example, a blacksmith is one who strikes or pounds metal into shapes like---arrows!
Thus---to be smitten is to be struck in the heart by Cupid's arrow.
Such was the case for me when I was 8 years old---it was November 24, 1963---the day my uncle took me to my first pro football game at Yankee Stadium. The New York Giants versus the St. Louis Cardinals.
As fate would have it---when my uncle and I emerged from the tunnel---and I saw the field for the first time (which is love at first sight for many kids), the Cardinals, clad in white and red jerseys and milk white helmets and blood red cardinals on the sides, were warming up in the hazy New York sun.
Cupid---at that instant---fired an arrow deep into my heart and I was totally and helplessly in love.
My uncle, a life-long Giants fan and season ticket holder, was so gracious about it and even bought me a Cardinals pennant after the game, which was especially kind of him seeing as the Cardinals eked out a nice win that day.
In fact, my uncle then made it a yearly tradition to invite me to the Cardinal game.
For years and years, it became my annual thrill and humiliation---for beating the Giants in New York at times seemed impossible.
It got so bad that one year while waiting in line to buy half-time beers and hot dogs, a drunken Giants fan waiting beside me in the line screamed over to a friend, "Gotta LOVE the Cardinal game! They suck so BAD! Every year the game is OVER by half-time! YEAH!"
Yup. The truth.
I remember before the days of NFL Sunday Ticket, having to drive 40 minutes to the only bar around that showed out of town games just to sit amongst screaming Giants' fans while watching the Cardinals get beat by the Redskins on the smallest TV in the place---without being able to hear the audio because, thanks to the Giants' game audio being blasted on high, audio of other games were on mute.
I remember when I was first a Cardinals' fan---how I was on pins and needles all day on Halloween, not for trick or treating, but for the fact that Cardinals were playing the Bears on Monday Night Football beneath a full October moon. I remember begging my parents to let me stay up for the game, even though it was a school night---and crying when they at first said no. Fortunately, the Cardinals were playing so well that night my dad got into it and let me watch until midnight, when he scurried me off to bed right after Roger Wehrli made the game saving interception!
Yet, I remember so vividly years later how bad things got for the Cardinals---especially on Monday nights---that I once found myself in my car in the parking lot of a bar bawling my eyes out because Neil O'Donohue missed a chip shot field goal that would have won the Cardinals the game after a great comeback.
I remember thinking that the Cardinals were the epitome of Murphy's Law---whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.
Loving the Cardinals was like getting dumped over and over again. It actually became abusive.
The move to Arizona was extremely agonizing. I loved the arches of Bush Stadium and all the lore of the St. Louis baseball and football Cardinals. Nothing about the move seemed right.
Then to see the players and the 18,000 fans having to endure the sweltering and oppressive heat in Sun Devil Stadium amongst more fans from the visiting teams was beyond abusive---it seemed throughly inhumane.
But then came the efforts of Michael Bidwill, who helped spearhead the push for the new stadium---and when a long-time dream became reality, I felt smitten all over again.
Then came the Kurt Warner magic---and the unthinkable: the Cardinals winning the NFC Championship!---at HOME in the new stadium---and then Larry Fitzgerald's mad dash in the Super Bowl and being ever so close---
Then the heartache of losing Warner and reverting back to horrendous quarterback play and porous defense---
But then---Mr. Michael Bidwill put his foot down and said enough---he did what so many of us fans had been begging for all these years---he put the football decisions in the most capable hands he could find in Steve Keim and Bruce Arians.
Just listening to their press conferences when Keim and Arians were hired gave me goosebumps. I thought it was OK to love again because the words and the music seemed to finally match. It just felt right.
Then to realize that the Cardinals under Bidwill, Keim and Arians are a first-class organization that is focused on one main goal---the very goal that has never seemed possible---to see the players so committed to the culture and the goal---to see free agents want to be Cardinals and pick the Cardinals over teams like the Packers, Saints and Cowboys---I mean I still have to pinch myself---I mean this is real, people!
And yesterday I felt the arrow in my heart plunge all the way through when Bruce Arians introduced Jen Welter as an interim coach. In a way it feels like I am watching the beautiful Cardinal I fell in love with so long ago blossom before my eyes. She's adorable---she's passionate---she's wickid smaht (Boston term!)---she's wonderfully articulate---she's a pioneer---she's a trailblazer---she's the ultimate underdog, yet the ultimate scrapper, fighter and warrior.
The image of Jen Welter hoisting the Cardinals' helmet over her head---after hearing all the incredibly passionate and heartfelt things she said about the Cardinals---was as if this adorable Cardinal I have been in love with all these years, through thick and thin, has finally smiled at me said, "I love you---just as much as you love me. We are going to make this work---after all."
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