Schuckman: Opening Day and baseball should make us all feel like kids again

Blessed and spoiled. There is no more apropos description for the fall of 1982.

By then, my passion for baseball and complete love for the game was complete. I was blessed to watch my favorite team and my favorite player fight their way to the National League pennant, and I was spoiled to listen to who I consider the greatest play-by-play voice of all-time crackle through my radio every night.

I fell asleep to the lullabies of Jack Buck, thanks to parents who allowed me to have a radio next to my bed and would slip into my bedroom after I was asleep and turn it off while I dreamed of playing catcher for the St. Louis Cardinals.

To make the experience complete, I celebrated my ninth birthday the day between the Cardinals winning Games 1 and 2 of the National League Championship Series against the Atlanta Braves. My parents even agreed to let me stay up past my bedtime during the World Series.

Some fans wait a lifetime to see their favorite team win a championship. I witnessed it 12 days after my birthday. It was the perfect gift.

Since then, baseball has kept a grip on my heart and soul. It’s part tradition, part ritual, part elegance, part suspense and part intrigue. Co-workers can attest to the fact I keep a baseball on my desk to toss around when I have writer’s block or find myself searching for inspiration.

There’s a custom-made wooden bat next to my desk, too.

Baseball makes me feel 9 years old again. It conjures up the joys of watching Whiteyball and screaming out loud when Willie McGee robbed Gorman Thomas of a home run in Game 3 of the World Series. It’s left an indelible imprint on my life.

No day means more to a seamhead like me than Opening Day.

It’s the renewal of the fight. It’s hope against all hope. It’s tradition on display and a reason to be romantic about the national pastime. It’s not an official national holiday, but it should be. It’s better than the Fourth of July or Easter or President’s Day. It tops the opening day of the Illinois firearms deer season.

It’s baseball and it’s glorious.

This Opening Day is like no other, especially for Cardinals fans.

Thursday afternoon, in front of what is expected to be an enthusiastic Busch Stadium crowd, the Cardinals will face the Pirates while celebrating nostalgia and tradition. Adam Wainwright will be the Opening Day starter, Yadier Molina will be his batterymate and Albert Pujols begins his final season back where his Hall of Fame career began.

There will be the Clydesdales, the red jackets and the parade of players that all make Opening Day at Busch Stadium more than just a game.

At the same time, I have my own Opening Day traditions to uphold. Each year, at least for the last 25 years, I begin a new season with a new Cardinals cap or t-shirt or jersey. In honor of the 40th anniversary of my favorite Cardinals crew, I found a powder blue t-shirt with the Cardinals logo splashed across the front.

I’ve also purchased a box of baseball cards, which allows me to rip open pack after pack searching for cards I find intriguing and unique. 

Cardboard crack you can call it, and I’ve been addicted to the thrill of discovering what’s inside each pack since I started collecting baseball cards more than 40 years ago.

Baseball truly does make you feel like a kid again, and if this season turns out anything like the magical fall of 1982, the 9-year-old inside of me will be listening to the radio every step of the way.

So celebrate baseball’s rebirth. Hang the bunting, grill the brats and get out your glove.

It’s Opening Day. Let’s have a ball.