January 14, 2016 by Amy

St. Louis > Rams

I’ve thought about this Rams debacle for awhile now, going through all seven stages of grief. I’m pretty sure the rest of St. Louis has gone through these as well.

Shock
Oh my God. We’re the greatest sports city in the world. He would be crazy to move the Rams! Crazy!

Denial
Nope. He won’t do it. He can’t. St. Louis is awesome. He should know it’s awesome. How can he not know how awesome we are? We are toasted ravioli awesome and provel cheese awesome and frozen custard awesome and where did you go to high school awesome. We are like a giant, unbelievably-flat pizza of awesome.

Anger
Are you freaking kidding me? Why the freak is he even talking about leaving? And what did he just say about St. Louis? Okay, dammit. The gloves are coming off. We can take him and his stupid mustache and his really bad rug. You suck, Kroenke.

Bargaining
Okay, no, we’re kidding. Totally. Don’t go, dude. Here, let us give you this big ol’ stadium, even though you have a trillion dollars in the cushions of your couch. Please stay. Pleeeeeease. We love you, and we can’t live without you.

Depression
He’s going to go. We know it. And there’s nothing we can do about it. Nothing. We are doomed. The NFL hates us. Kroenke hates us. The people in LA are still mad that the Rams came here in the first place. Everyone hates us.

Testing
Okay, maybe there’s a better way. Maybe we can commit to building a stadium anyway and he’ll see how great it is and he’ll stay. Maybe we’ll get another NFL team. Maybe we can re-purpose the Edward Jones dome into something usable, like the world’s biggest ball pit or a disco roller skating rink.

Acceptance
Go away, Kroenke. Don’t let the door hit you in the Arch on the way out of town. We don’t need you. We don’t want you. Bah. Hey, anybody know when Spring Training starts?*

At this point, for me, it’s a matter of civic pride. Nobody talks smack about my beloved hometown. St. Louis is a great city, despite a few jacked-up statistics that are easily misconstrued. This is one of the best places in the U.S. to raise a family. Our world-class zoo is free, and so is our world-class art museum. We have Forest Park and the Loop and beautiful suburbs and a downtown that is well on the path to revitalization. The South Siders are just as proud of their community as the North Siders. It’s easy to get around, and there are a few gigantic companies, some really fun start-ups, and very special mom-and-pop institutions like Crown Candy Kitchen. We have the best baseball team, a heartbreakingly good hockey team, and a freaking 630’ tall stainless steel arch. We have the best-tasting water. It’s a good city.

If Kroenke had just owned his greed and said, “Yeah, I think I’ll make more money in Inglewood,” then I wouldn’t be so upset. I’m a firm believe that business owners can do whatever they want with their companies (as long as they don’t hurt people). But he trash-talked St. Louis, which has bent over backwards to be good to him and his team. That makes me angry. Not Incredible Hulk angry where I turn green and my arms shred my t-shirt and I have the strength to start throwing cars around, but, you know, regular person angry. An average rage, I’d say. Although it would be pretty cool if I could pull off the Hulk thing.

When I was in high school, I dated a boy. I thought he was the bee’s knees and I thought that I was in love with him and that he was in love with me. Turns out I was wrong on both counts. He decided to start liking some other girl who better fit his idea of perfection. I tried so hard to get him back. I changed who I was, what I liked, and even what I wore. I embarrassed myself. When I came out the other side, finally, heartbroken but still whole, I learned a lot about myself. I learned that I would never, ever debase myself like that again. If a boy was going to love me, he was going to love the real me. All of me. Even the parts he didn’t like. And in return, I would offer the same. I wanted a man who would love me for me and still maintain his own dignity, his own person. In college, I broke up with a boy who didn’t care if his identity disappeared; he was all about what I wanted. He became who I was in the high school relationship: the doormat. I couldn’t stand it. And then I met M, who has never asked me to change who I am, and who for darn sure knows who he is. This is why I fell in love with him (and in the process learned what true love really feels like) and married him (and in the process learned that when a man says he has “hobbies” you should ask him to quantify his hobbies in American dollars and amps).

I feel like St. Louis, lately, has been like the high school me. The city has groveled and pleaded and changed its priorities to try to keep a man who didn’t want it. Who never wanted it. St. Louis debased itself. And that’s fine, so long as we learn from that and NEVER DO IT AGAIN. I hope we never again offer to buy dinner for a millionaire when we’re struggling to get off welfare. I hope we never again put on fancy clothes when we are most comfortable in jeans and ratty old Cardinals t-shirts from the ’82 World Series. We have a lot to be proud of, and we don’t need to change. Not for Kroenke, not for anyone.

*47 days. Go Birds.

#blog#personal essay#rams#St. Louis