Paul Goldschmidt was not an emotional man on the field.
As a Cardinals mainstay, he was always collected, a typical “man of the job.” But in the final game of the season, in the bright afternoon sun of Busch Stadium, his eyes did not find the ability to fake, nor did they direct the scoreboard. He just looked quietly at row G – seat number 18 – which had belonged to his grandfather, Walter Goldschmidt, who had passed away just a few days earlier.
He was the first person to teach Paul to pitch.
He was the one who recited every Cardinals game on the radio, the one who endured after pitching on a summer afternoon. They had promised: “Someday, you will start for the Cardinals. And I will sit in the front row, watching.”
But today, the chair was empty. On it was a small bouquet of flowers and a handwritten note:
“I am watching you. Love, Pop.”
Inning 7. Cardinals up 3-2.
Goldschmidt stepped up to the plate, with a small black band emblazoned with the word “Pop” sewn inside his sleeve.
First pitch – strike.
Second pitch – foul.
Third pitch – the writing rang out with a resounding thud. The ball flew high, leaving the field in a storm of ecstasy: home run.
Paul didn’t sleep on his hands in celebration. He eased into left, looked up at the stands, and then returned to the dugout in silence. For him, the hit wasn’t necessary to score a run, but to keep a promise.
After the game, Goldschmidt said in a press conference:
“My grandfather was never a big name. But he’s the reason I’m here. And today, I’m just judging him for being the biggest fan I ever had.”