Testing His Theory of Relativity

In the ambulance, Brian Jordan comforted his son. They were on their way to Cardinal Glennon Hospital, in downtown St. Louis. The child is only 2. His dad still wore his Cardinal baseball uniform.

At the ballgame, little Bryson had fainted. He was in something called the “Junior Cardinals” room, a combination playpen and day-care center for children of the players. It was warm in there. And then, Bryson’s daddy hit a home run to win the game, and everybody jumped and yelled, and Bryson passed out.

He was hyperactive at the hospital, but “after that ambulance ride, two Popsicles and some ice cream,” Brian Jordan said, everything was OK. The boy had gone limp in the arms of his mom, Pam. The doctors said he was dehydrated and hot, nothing worse.

During the excitement at the hospital--”I felt like I was Mr. Clinton and my wife was Mrs. Clinton,” Jordan said--over the outcome of the game and what happened to the Cardinal hero’s kid, it occurred to this St. Louis outfielder and former football player what a toll events such as these can exact on a family.

I have been thinking about this myself.

The family ties of this October baseball season have been uncommon, to say the least. There have been brother combinations, for example, on the Orioles (Cal and Billy Ripken), the Padres (Tony and Chris Gwynn), the Cardinals (Andy and Alan Benes) and the Dodgers (Ramon and Jesus Martinez), even though today’s teams draw their players from all over the world, as the Dodgers in particular can attest. Todd and Tim Worrell were rivals in the playoffs, as were Robbie and Sandy Alomar.

In the World Series this weekend, Cardinal pitcher Todd Stottlemyre could pitch against a New York Yankee staff coached by his father, Mel. Asked what his mother thinks about all this, Todd laughs and says, “I think that question’s a little premature.”

Todd then went out and lost a game that could have put St. Louis in the World Series, 14-0. He said afterward that he planned to phone his dad.

While waiting for the Series to begin, Manager Joe Torre of the Yankees has been worried about his brother, Frank, who is ill. Joe and Frank both played ball in the majors.

Mark Hirschbeck, who has umpired the Dodger-Brave and Cardinal-Brave series, is the brother of John Hirschbeck, the umpire spat on by Roberto Alomar. Mark has been worried about John, who recently lost a son to an illness and has another son with the same illness.

Joe Buck, who has broadcast many of these postseason games for Fox, is the son of Jack Buck, who after not having missed a Cardinal postseason radio assignment since 1954, was absent Sunday and Monday because of a nerve disorder, related to a hip pointer. Joe said of his dad, “The pain he’s feeling is in his heart, for not being here.”

Vowing to be in Atlanta, Jack Buck said, “I’ll go Federal Express if I have to.”

Also in the booth is Skip Caray, the Atlanta announcer and son of Harry, who was the voice of the Cardinals last time they met the Yankees in a World Series. Chip Caray’s in there with his dad, Skip. They have concern about Harry, who had a stroke a few years ago, and recently cut back on his Chicago Cub commitments.

Baseball has always been a game for fathers and sons. Yogi Berra’s kid made the majors, as did Maury Wills’, Bobby Bonds’, Ken Griffey’s, Ray Boone’s, Bob Boone’s and dozens more, with varying degrees of success. Pete Rose’s gave it a shot, as did Carl Yastrzemski’s and Roberto Clemente’s. I always wondered what a son of Ruth or Cobb or Gehrig or Mays would do.

Baseball brings brothers together too. The other night, when the Benes boys pitched in the same game, I believe it was the first time this happened in postseason play since Hank and Tommie Aaron did so. Back in 1934, though, the Cardinals had a couple of popular brothers pitching for them, one of them Dizzy Dean, the other Paul, who wasn’t nuts about being called Daffy.

I had to laugh the other day, at what one of the Cardinals’ new owners said.

The wife of part-owner Fred Hanser was hit with a foul ball at Busch Stadium, and briefly knocked unconscious, which wasn’t funny at all. Kathy Hanser, 54, however, said she was fine, and would wear a helmet next time. To which Andy Baur, another part-owner, chuckled and said, “They took X-rays of her head and, like Dizzy Dean said, they found nothing.”

Some day, somebody’s daughter will play.

I would love to have seen a Jo Ann DiMaggio, a Sandra Koufax, a Regina Jackson, a Billy Jean Martin.

But, like I say, this has been a long and strange season for families. Rod Carew lost his darling girl. John Hirschbeck lost a son. His fellow ump John McSherry collapsed and died on opening day.

No wonder New York made such a fuss about that 12-year-old kid with the baseball glove.

He could have been anybody’s.