Bryan Stalder
Contributor

When the Los Angeles Dodgers clinched their second consecutive World Series title last Saturday, Toronto’s hopes of a comeback faded under the stadium lights. But more than three decades ago, the Toronto Blue Jays celebrated their first championship — and standing on that field in October 1992 was a pitcher who grew up right here in Kansas City’s Historic Northeast.

David Cone was 29 years old then, a hometown kid turned big-league ace. For Kansas City fans, it was more than a game on television — it was the story of one of their own, a boy from the streets around St. John Avenue who’d spent his summers playing baseball in Budd Park.

In the 1970s, Budd Park was a second home for kids in the Northeast. The grass wasn’t perfect — patchy in places, worn down where the bases had been — but to those boys, it might as well have been Royals Stadium. They’d show up with gloves slung over their handlebars, sack lunches in hand, and baseballs bought with money earned from Northeast News paper routes.

Between baseball, Boy Scout meetings, and Sunday mornings at Holy Cross, the rhythm of life in the Northeast revolved around community. Everyone knew each other’s parents, and on long summer days, the park echoed with shouts, laughter, and the steady thud of baseballs hitting leather.

There was always a game to be played. Brothers teamed up with classmates, Holy Cross kids went up against older players from Northeast High. Somebody pitched, somebody hit, and somebody chased down balls until the streetlights came on. Summers were about the sound of the bat, the feel of the ball in your glove, and the joy of the game itself.

Among those kids was David Cone — younger, smaller, but determined to keep up with his older brothers, Chris and Dan. His father, Ed, was a mechanic who worked for the meatpacking plant in North Kansas City. After long overnight shifts, he’d come home to coach ball in the evenings. Baseball was part of the family’s rhythm, a way to stay connected and grounded in the neighborhood’s working-class spirit.

“David would cry if we didn’t take him with us,” one friend remembered on Facebook. “We’d take sack lunches to the park and play all day and come home when the streetlights came on.”

Those long summer evenings were the first steps in a remarkable baseball journey. After graduating from Rockhurst High School — which didn’t even have a baseball team — Cone pitched in Kansas City’s Ban Johnson League against older college players. He caught the eye of scouts at a local Royals tryout and was drafted by his hometown team in 1981.

He made his major-league debut with the Royals in 1986, then was traded to the New York Mets the following year, where he became one of baseball’s most dominant pitchers. In 1992, he was traded again — this time to Toronto — and helped lead the Blue Jays to their first World Series title.

That was the moment that connected Kansas City’s Budd Park to baseball’s biggest stage. Cone, the kid from Northeast, was now a World Series championship player.

He’d go on to win the American League Cy Young Award in 1994 and, later, four more World Series rings with the New York Yankees. Over 17 seasons, he won 194 games, pitched a perfect game, and became one of the most respected and cerebral pitchers of his era.

These days, Cone is a broadcaster for the YES Network, where he’s known for blending sharp analysis with the same mix of curiosity and creativity that made him a standout on the mound. Off the field, he’s shared his story in two acclaimed books: A Pitcher’s Story: Innings with David Cone by Roger Angell, and Full Count: The Education of a Pitcher, co-written with journalist Jack Curry.

Fans who want to dive deeper can also listen to Full Count: The Podcast, a five-part series that expands on the lessons and memories from Cone’s life in baseball — from Budd Park to the Bronx.

For those who grew up in the Northeast, who remember playing catch in Budd Park, Cone’s story is a reminder of how far a Kansas City dream can travel.

Before the championships, the awards, and the perfect game, there were just kids, a field, and a baseball — and a boy who learned to love the game beneath the glow of the St. John Avenue streetlights.