I haven’t made it to many games this season, but I went to the one on Wednesday against the Pirates. It was, unexpectedly, lovely. A late summer evening, the kind that teeters on the edge of fall—when the sun sets earlier, but not so early that you lose the light. The air had that first hint of autumn in it, a soft chill brushing against your skin while the last rays of sun stretched golden across the stadium. It was warm and cool at once, like the season itself couldn’t decide.

I sat there in my seat watching the shadows stretch across the outfield as the sun dipped behind the Arch. It felt like a secret—like I’d stumbled into a private showing of a Cardinals game, just for me and a few thousand others. No lines at the gate. No crowd at the concessions. It was, in a word, lovely.

But th

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