A Missed Opportunity With Legendary Jack Buck

On Friday, July 22, 1994, I was in the press box at Busch Stadium in St. Louis.

The Cardinals were about to take on the Atlanta Braves in a double-header, and I was there as a reporter and photographer representing the Daily Press in Paragould, Ark.

I wrote about that experience in this space just a few weeks ago, but there is much more to tell.

At that time I was a classroom teacher and the gig at the newspaper was parttime work, but it was a great experience.

In the press box they fed members of the media pretty good.

Before the game I was enjoying a burger and the legendary radio sportscaster Jack Buck strolled by my table, whistling to himself, alone in his thoughts.

I wanted to speak, but I didn’t want to disturb him.

I’m sure that thousands of fans always wanted to talk to him, and ask for autographs, and tell him about how they have listened to him do Cardinal games since they were kids.

That’s what I would have told him. But I didn’t.

I mean, he was getting ready to broadcast the game, and perhaps he had a pre-game ritual that was necessary for his preparation. So I stayed quiet.

Almost eight years after that day, Buck passed away, and I remember how he was eulogized for his life and for his connection to baseball. They said he always liked to meet the fans and visit with them.

I always regretted not speaking up when I saw him in person, and when I learned that he really liked to mingle with Cardinal fans, I regretted it even more.

I mean, for just a moment in that area of the press box in 1994, it was just him and me.

If I had broken the ice and spoke up, I probably wouldn’t have asked for an autograph, but I could have told him that I grew up in Arkansas and that my dad and my brother and I often listened to him call the games.

And I could have thanked him for his work, and for teaching me a lot about baseball, and for making each game more interesting. But I didn’t.

We can simply call it a missed opportunity on my part. A major missed opportunity.

Or Buck himself might characterize it with the words he used so often: “Swing-and-a-miss!”

But no matter how we look at it, I missed out on a story that I could have told again and again.

I mean, we have a story here and I didn’t even have a conversation with Buck. Imagine how good of a story this would be if I had simply said hello back in 1994.

Opportunities like that don’t come along often and I have learned my lesson.

When it appears that greatness might hurl a pitch in my direction, I’ve got to get in the batter’s box and be ready.

If I encounter a wellknown person that is worthy of my admiration, I want to express my gratitude for what he or she does. And in the process I will likely come away with a treasured memory.

I’m fortunate that I have many fond memories about baseball throughout life— particularly when I was growing up—and many of those involve hearing Jack Buck on the radio.

In 1987 he was the recipient of the Ford C. Frick award in the broadcasters’ wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame. In his acceptance speech he talked of how much he enjoyed calling baseball games from the center of a vast region that was considered Cardinal country.

“I have the number one job in baseball,” he said. “Not the number one job in broadcasting, but the number one job in baseball. I don’t want to be belligerent about it, but I kind of think … that St. Louis is, not only the heartland of America, but the best baseball city in the United States.”

Many people cheered, and then fans from other cities began to boo.

Buck ad-libbed, “Boo me if you want. Go ahead. That’s what baseball is all about…” Then he continued, “I have the job every night of walking in to the best seat in the ball park and describing Cardinal baseball.”

That’s a great outlook to have. In fact, it could be summed up the same way Buck often capped off the final play of a Cardinal victory.

With great enthusiasm he would simply say, “And that’s a winner!”