Super Bowl Sunday. Time for too much snack food, beer, and partisan bickering among friends. All of that somehow brings to mind not giant-sized, over-loud, super-hyped events that seem to dominate the sports scene today, but the more innocent sports of my youth.

I came to sports later than a lot of kids. I was likely 8 or 9 before I paid any attention whatsoever to sports. The baseball Cardinals' success of 1967 and 68 captured my attention and converted me with the fervency of the newly baptized to baseball, a blessing or, at times, affliction I hold to this day.

Dad, Mom, my brother Robert, and me in the front (circa 1966)

Love of baseball was one of the things I shared with my Mom. I remember summer afternoons with Jack Buck and Harry Caray, then later Mike Shannon, calling the game on KMOX. Mom would likely have been sewing a button on or ironing one of Dad's shirts, but would pause when the game got tense. I'd listen while playing solitaire or sometimes keeping score on loose leaf paper on which I'd draw lines for the innings. We'd talk about whether Brock should try to steal or if Sizemore would try to move him over to third on a hit and run. We'd wish for a Gibson strikeout to end the inning. I even figured out how a batting average was calculated while listening to those games (with a little help from Mom).

One of the local grocers ran a premium in which each week they gave away baseball card sized stickers that you could paste into a booklet they gave away. After a couple of months, if your mother was dutiful to this solemn exercise, you'd have the starting line-ups of all the teams in the National League.

That scrapbook became my backyard play-by-play book. First, I'd drag the picnic table out of the way. Then, I'd decide which team the Cardinals would play, set a line-up, and toss the ball up and hit it. Depending upon where I hit it, I'd score a hit, extra bases, or an out (pop ups were always outs). I'd even try to hit behind the imaginary runner so he could easily go from first to third. To be fair, a swing and miss was always an out. After the "play," I'd go chase the ball and then do it all again. Of course, along the way, I'd do my best Jack Buck imitation calling the game. This was a game I could play for hours.

This memory may have been embarassing at one point in my life. Seriously, here's a kid by himself in the backyard hitting the ball, running after it, and narrating aloud the game inside his head. But, then, I think of that kid. There's a certain innocence in imagining deeds done and heroes made, an innocence in believing you were somehow part of that, a wide-eyed hopefulness about today and beyond. What part of that wouldn't be worth owning today?

Now, it's too easy to be cynical about almost everything. Did McGwire juice or not? Trash talking seems to be more important than the game, if you watch ESPN. What did T.O. say now? The joy of the game, won or lost, seems to be forgotten in favor of winning at all costs. The Astros are trying to push out Jeff Bagwell despite the fact he has been a loyal, productive soldier for years? And these are only sports analogies. Imagine if we were talking about the work world! When I look at it this way, my game may have been the best thing going.

To me, the beauty in sports has always been in watching a group of people pull together, work towards a common goal, and support each other to its end. The dreams that spring eternal as my team takes the field seem worth suspending the cynicism that comes almost as second nature now. These things seem worth the time I invest in watching, reading, and digesting sports. Something less seems false to me.

So before I down one more chicken wing, pop the top on another beer, and gently rib my friends when my team pulls ahead, here's my Super Bowl toast: Here's to simplicity. Here's to quiet grace and beauty in winning and losing. Here's to doing your job on the field and letting your actions speak for themselves. Here's to acting like you've been there before... Here's to the joy of the game.

Note: Yes, I started talking about football, but ended up with baseball. Go figure, huh? Besides, I couldn't think of any songs about football other than the Hank Jr. song. So, I chose this Michael Franks song that is slightly about baseball.