The number of players on the Disabled List has just surpassed the number of people who have been gouged by the utility companies. Cardinal nation is sitting Shiva. I guess if you had to find a bright spot in the current state of the Redbirds, I think it would have to be the distraction of a much greater loss.

This past Monday, June 18th, marked the fifth anniversary of the passing of Jack Buck. As everyone searches for answers to the problems with pitching and hitting, I remember Jack as the one who always put those things in perspective. It wasn’t just his knowledge of the game, or even his ability to predict what the team should do to get out of precarious situations. For me, it was more about his soothing tone and knowing that with him in that booth, we were already so much better off then most of the baseball fans around the nation.

I sometimes feel guilty (being an Irish Catholic Jew, that just goes with the territory) about my relationship with Mr. Buck. I first met him when my father came to KMOX in 1971, and at first, he was just another man working with my dad. After seeing me hanging around a few times, he’d give me a dollar when he’d see me in the hall. I still have that first bill!! OK, not really, but it would have made for a great hook to the story, right?

Anyway, I got to know him even better when we’d go over to his home on Christmas mornings for the now classic “Christmas at the Bucks” radio shows. For years, I thought every family gathered for the holidays live bands and choral ensembles in the living room and microphones draped everywhere.

Years later, when I had a chance to share a mail slot at #1 Memorial Drive with Jack, I came to appreciate what kind of man he really was. I knew how considerate he was. The stories of his generosity are historic. Before I checked in to the legendary 1120, I knew he had a wicked sense of humor. That fact was driven home daily as he held court in the sports office, leaving those of us lucky enough to be in attendance in stitches.

I can’t let a blog about the great Mr. Buck pass without adding my favorite story. I ran into him, about a year before he died, at his second home, in the ballpark. I had just gotten off the elevator that dumps out in front of the press box, and Jack was standing around, collecting his thoughts. I greeted him with the usual salutation, “How’s it going, Jack?”

He proceeded to tell me the truth. “Well, the Parkinson’s is getting bad. I have pneumonia in my chest and the arthritis is starting to travel though me pretty good.” He followed those with about seven other maladies I’d never even heard of. It’s not often that I am at a loss for words, but how do you respond to that?

I stood there for a minute, put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Well, at least you have your health!” Jack began to howl with laughter and I was overcome with a sense of accomplishment like I’d never felt in my life. I had just cracked up the great Jack Buck! About three months later, I was in attendance at a charity event he was hosting. Jack, of course, being the MC, owned the room. All at once, he launches into a story about being at the ballpark and not feeling particularly well. My ears perked up and, with a certain sense of pride, I alerted the table that this story involves me. He proceeds to tell the story just as it happens, except for one small detail. Instead of mentioning me with the line of a lifetime, Jack says, “and then my daughter Julie says well, at least you have your health.” The room roared. When Jack finally released the podium to another speaker, I made a beeline to the dais and sputtered, “What the F*#k, Jack!? That was my line and you know it! He looked at me, and in the most matter-of-fact tone you can imagine, said, “What can I say kid, you’re not family.”

Sadly, on one level, he was right. On another level, though, we were all family. At least he felt that way to us. For more than four decades, the man painted the picture of our national pastime. He rode in our car, visited in our homes, sat alongside our beds, and always resided in our hearts. And it is in that last place, Jack, where you will forever stay.

So long for just a while…