Three days at Busch ended Adam Wainwright’s career and launched a Cardinals’ legacy

The locker in the extreme northeast corner of the home clubhouse at Busch Stadium has only ever had one occupant. When the ballpark opened in 2006, it was tucked away behind a stack of wooden mailboxes that held the sorts of documents and reports that now are delivered daily via email.

Over the years, couches appeared. A chess board was brought in and swiftly removed. Televisions were installed and then upgraded. Champagne, stinging the eyes and lifting the spirits, soaked through carpets and into the memories of the locker’s occupant, but the name and number above the stall never changed.

Adam Wainwright said Friday that he was curious about who would take his spot when he was gone, and asked teammates about it. Each begged off. When it was suggested to him that maybe they should encase it in glass, he pursed his lips and looked sideways through the corner of his eyes in a familiar fashion.

Someone’s going to have to take over. That’s the way it goes.

Friday

Four expensive bottles of alcohol sat in the locker when the clubhouse opened in the afternoon, alongside a bag with a card tucked inside and a congratulatory box of Crumbl cookies. Wainwright sat for a long time in his chair, diligently working his way through a stack of jerseys to sign, presented to him by a clubhouse attendant.

He’s taught countless young players the value of signing neatly enough that a fan, years down the road, will see more than a scribble.

Frequently, he adds a Bible verse – Acts 20:24. “But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God,” one translation reads.

It’s also common to add personal accomplishments to the signature. Wainwright typically references the 2006 World Series, and over the last year, the battery record shared with Yadier Molina.

Many of his teammates delayed their requests for as long as possible so he could add one last achievement to the list – 200 wins. After perhaps his longest, hardest summer, he can affix that now and in perpetuity.

By the time he got to the field to take batting practice for the first time in two years, his hands were already aching from the penmanship. Still, he muscled three home runs over the left field wall, each drawing a loud cheer from the gaggle of fans lucky enough to have field access.

“Everyone saved their BP passes for today,” a bemused teammate noted.

By the time he came to the plate in the bottom of the sixth inning, the Cardinals were trailing 14-2. The Reds were still mathematically in the playoff race, and manager Oliver Marmol was reluctant to turn to a stunt in a game that might matter. That game, though, was done.

Wainwright took two healthy hacks at two high fastballs from Brandon Williamson, and grounded the second to second base at an exit velocity of 102 miles per hour.

He was slightly late arriving to his locker to meet reporters after the game. With two days remaining in his career, his number had come up for a random drug screening, and so he had business to which he must attend.

“That’s what happens when you hit the ball 102,” he cracked.

Saturday

Marmol spent part of the day on the phone with the league office, discussing Wainwright.

The prior night’s substitution had created confusion with the umpires on the field, who eventually ruled that, because Wainwright was listed as a pitcher on the lineup card, the Cardinals technically ought to have forfeited the designated hitter and Wainwright should have been forced to pitch to three batters – or be too injured to continue.

Reds manager David Bell didn’t raise a fuss (why would he?), Andrew Suárez was allowed to continue pitching, and the band played on. That he bothered to check, though, was telling. There was still a chance he might get back on the field.

He did play that night, from the concrete pad above the berm in centerfield. Backed by his songwriting partners, Wainwright played through three original songs from his forthcoming debut country album. Thousands stayed to watch; Wainwright estimated the previous largest crowd he’d played to was 800.

Willson Contreras said he’d never been to a country concert before. Neither had JoJo Romero. Zack Thompson saw the band Montgomery Gentry when he was in college, and Ryan Helsley saw two shows at Busch this summer while injured.

All were on the field to watch Wainwright as he more than acquitted himself with a guitar and behind the microphone, choking up as he prepared to launch into a song about his relationship with Cardinals fans and the city.

Masyn Winn, all of 21 years old, leaned on the dugout rail to watch. It was suggested to him that he had another 20 years to write his own songs, and he laughed and swore. He was a two-way player when he was drafted, but not a singer-songwriter.

Sunday

“I want Waino to enjoy the heck out of it,” Marmol said from behind his desk when asked what he wanted his team to take from the season finale. “This year has not been ideal for anybody. Nobody’s happy about it. But you have to be able to set that aside on a day like today.”

A dozen former teammates, many clad in their earned red jackets, took the field for a ceremony to honor Wainwright before the game. His family was there, of course, including his chosen brother. Yadier Molina’s attendance had been a mystery, and as late as Saturday, one source close to Molina estimated a 10% chance that he would make the ceremony.

At nearly midnight Saturday night, Molina checked in and confirmed his attendance. He and Albert Pujols mounted the dugout steps and took the field together, and Pujols joined Chris Carpenter in moving speeches to the delight of the crowd.

Wainwright was gifted an engraved Tiffany bowl, along with Molina, in honor of their starts record together. Team president Bill DeWitt III painted his portrait, and the Cardinals and their charitable organization made a $100,000 donation in Wainwright’s name to provide clean drinking water in Honduras. He was also gifted a Gibson Les Paul guitar with a Cardinals design painted on the front and notes from his five children on the back.

Oh, and a dog. For years, asked in spring about his future plans, Wainwright explained that his children badly wanted a dog, and he was holding them off until retirement. On Sunday, Jenny Wainwright carried a Lagotto Romagnolo named Louie onto the field in a wicker basket. When Adam stepped to the microphone for his goodbye speech, he started with, “well, I have a dog, so I’m officially retired now.”

And he was, or so he thought. He wore tennis shoes in the dugout for most of the game, despite the possibility that he would hit. In a one-run game, Wainwright said, he wanted to respect competition and give Miles Mikolas a chance to go out a winner.

Then, the scoreboard showed a fan holding a sign that said “we want to see Waino hit!” Half an inning later, Molina dangled an identical sign hastily scribbled on cardboard from the window of the Spanish broadcast booth. From there, the dye was cast.

He struck out swinging against Alan Busentiz.

“I walked out of the dugout today for the last time ever with a bat and wearing my spikes,” Wainwright said. “That’s a pretty good way for me to go out. I like that.”

The Cardinals won 4-3. They finished the season in last place with a 71-91 record.

Someone else will fill Adam Wainwright’s locker, if never in quite the same way.